The other side of the bed

 

There’s one small, cheap bedside unit, its handle replaced with copper buttons, giving it a vintage look. As I move it - and me - to the other side of the bed, I wonder why it’s taken me a year to try another position.

And yet my sleep is tormented. Outside, heavy rain soaks the already sodden ground, the incessant sound keeping me awake. I’m hot, I’m cold, I’m dozing, I’m alert. What is it about this side that’s so different to the other?

I can’t say I’m new anymore: 12 months have passed since I moved south, away from the madness and excitement that’s Auckland. The buzz of the metropolis, crazy drivers who own the road, endless restaurants and Two Dollar shops in the burbs. I miss my son, I miss my friends, I miss Pride, and the colours of the rainbow. Thank goodness for Auckland Libraries online catalogue.




“The Gift” is open on my tablet, and also “Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science & Sex.” These days, I’m not compelled to finish books, or even to read every word. I skip through them both, fascinated by the concept that gifts have power to create community. I’ve discovered TVNZ+ and Tāmati Rimene-Sproat talks about the significance of koha in "Hongi to Hangi." I thought I knew about Te Ao Māori but it turns out I still have lots to learn. The sex book – more than a decade on – is just as intriguing, challenging what I think about gender and physiology and psychology.

I trawl through my files, searching for resources to share with my new colleagues in local government. A quiz on unconscious bias pops up, and a clip I hadn’t seen for years. Love has no labels, and I forward it to two women, suddenly thrust into the limelight as they share their own journeys. Like me, they cry when they see it – overawed with love and humanity.

It is Monday, and I’m standing in front of a crowd, a smiling woman beside me in yellow: yellow coat, yellow glasses and OTT yellow earrings. She has worn them for her friend, who lies quietly beside us, in a lavender casket, topped with bright spring daffodils and a knitted teddy bear. We have never met and yet we are connected. Just one degree of separation – this woman and I - and it seems fitting that I deliver her final farewell. The strangeness is swamped with familiarity in this place I used to call home.

And yet I wonder, how long will it take until I sleep easy on the other side of the bed?

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