We Fight Every Night

 We fight every night. 

At the bell, a silent internal clock lulls us into a stupor drawing us to the horizontal slabs where our battle will take place. I go to my corner, remove all jewelry, place my water bottle within reach, plug up and turn down the volume of my phone, then pull on my aloe infused battle socks. Next, I twist my tresses into a high bun above my head to prevent injury. He goes to his corner and plugs up his phone, places his glasses on his book within easy reach, and lays it atop his Ipad, also for easy reach. Then we announce one at a time to the mediator to begin the battle. My call is “Alexa, turn off “the” light.” He calls out for his corner, “Turn off “my” light.” Occasionally if the call is not done within a close amount of time, he takes it upon himself to make my call for me. We settle in, and the battle begins. 

It starts with me forgetting my nightguard every night and getting back up to get it which disrupts the once perfectly smooth blankets. Then he sucks his teeth and rolls over which pulls the covers from my half. I climb back in and yank them back, but not before having to defend my move as a fair one due to his oblivion of having taken my portion. 

As the battle ensues, cover is pulled off feet, pillows are wrangled as if they were the target of the Lightning Thief’s Capture the Flag challenge at Camp Half-Blood. I awake pillow-less, while he has them under his head, beneath his arm, under his back and between his legs. Other times he has confused my Perfect Fit $90 flat soft pillow with his five inch high contour Perfect fit $150.00 brick leaving me with a crook in my neck at my C5, C6 herniation for the rest of the day. 

My husband, who is retired and does not have to wake up, wakes me and barks, “Roll over, you’re snoring!” I shove him in the ribs to stop his. Once in a while, I awaken to find myself in an almost 90 degree angle as he has taken my remote and lifted my side of the Sleep Number bed to stop the snoring. He does not care or maybe he forgets in his quest for peace that sleeping upright aggravates my L5,S1 herniation, locking me into a vee shape of pain in the morning. 

“Turn off that phone!” he demands on my restless nights as I try to doom scroll under the cover to mask the light. Meanwhile, he wakes me on his restless nights as he, in turn, scrolls on his phone without any concern for the glow of the blue light that wakes the light sleeper in me. I, wanting pitch blackness, cover the night light with a hamper leaving him to stub his toe during nightly potty runs. I pretend to not hear his anguish cry.

Occasionally, blows are even thrown, or skin is scratched – accidentally, I think? Twice he has made it to my side of the battlefield leaving me to believe I was in the center of my own half only to find that I was actually on the edge. A truth I discovered when I had rolled over to switch positions and crashed to the floor. “What are you doing?” he had the audacity to yell when the noise woke him. Though never admitting unfair moves, he sheepishly ensured all body parts remained on his side of the ring for the next few nights.

Eventually, the match always ends as we both settle into a deep enough sleep to not be bothered by each other’s nightly stealth moves, and we awake somewhat rested… (did I say somewhat?) greeting each other with a kiss and “Good Morning Baby, how’d you sleep?” as we make the bed together, congenially preparing it for our next battle.