A Bed of My Own

A Bed of My Own by Noha Ratouit is the 2nd place winner of the Nostalgia short story competition, organized by Cálice Magazine and SUM. Read the 1st and 3rd place stories here.

I hear him crawling into his bed, only a few meters away. During the day, the sound of the cicadas covers everything, but now, only the far barking of the dogs can be heard. The sleeping bag brushes the mattress as he finds the right position, places his pillow, and lays on his side. The dimmed lights of the camp allow me to distinguish the features of his face. Even in the darkness, every grasp of his lips, every piece of his nose that I catch reminds me of his beauty.  

I know he can also see me, but not as well. I have been in that bed, I have lain where he lays. I know how much my friends could read of me when my face was enlightened like his is now. I still always felt so hidden and safe, in open beds among the enclosed tents. The thin cover that they provide are only a façade for us to think a rest of intimacy is left. In reality, every movement, every sound, almost all our thoughts mix and intertwine during the day, the night, in the tents, or outside. His respiration has become calm and regular. He is always fast asleep, everyone is, exhausted by the sand and the sun. I also used to fall asleep within seconds, only living the reminiscence of my current happiness. But not anymore.  

These beds, witnesses of dreams and immense joy, have become the escape of my own tent. I look at him thinking of her, I know she is largely spread out on our deflated mattress, I know she has not even noticed my absence. She told me she felt lonely and I agreed. I pushed away the memories of my friends, of my tent being my home, of the beds enlightening my stories. I pushed it all away and took all her loneliness. Would it be a lie to say that I only realized after? That I didn’t know what I was doing?  

Now, she changed the sounds of the dogs, so they prevent me from falling asleep. She led the cicadas, so they would sound louder for me than for anyone else. She made the light of his face turn grey and the life of his lips fade away. I let her make me a refugee in my own home and saw myself finding excuses as to why I was flying away. She acted, and I complied. She came to disappear in the place I had come to existence, and I foolishly joined her way.

Written by Noha Ratouit.

Cover image by Enjy Ashour.