Sandwiched

I’ve been writing about how my mom’s been messing with me ever since she passed away four and a half years ago.  I’ve heard her quite clearly calling out to me on several occasions.  She knocks things off walls and counters.  She tugs on my sheet or sits on the bed while I’m trying to go to sleep.  She rearranges objects around the house.  She turns on fans and lights and small electronics, like our security camera.  I’ve seen visible signs of her presence on video clips in the form of a mist and floating globes of light.  She stops by often but doesn’t adhere to a regular schedule, so I never know what triggers her visits.

The latest was Tuesday night, the day after we got back from a Memorial weekend trip to Silver City, NM.  Bill and I crawled into bed at about 10:30 and, within five minutes, Bill’s soft snores were the only sound in the room.  As I felt myself drifting off, the mattress of our adjustable bed suddenly started to move. 

The remote control units to make the head and foot go up and down were inside my nightstand drawer and the last time I’d used this feature was well over a year ago, after my double mastectomy.  I would raise the head of the bed so I could sleep comfortably elevated during my recovery.  But, despite the fact that the remotes were securely tucked away, the mattress began elevating on its own.  The head started to rise then the foot started to rise.  Bill woke up with a start, uttered a couple of choice swear words, and we both rolled off the bed before we became the center of an adjustable bed sandwich. 

I told Echo to turn on the lights and began looking for the remote controls in my nightstand.  The remote for my side of the bed was laying against the back of the drawer.  The twin remote that control’s Bill’s side of the bed was laying an inch or so in front of it. 

I began pushing buttons on my remote to lower the mattress but it seemed to be dead.  I pushed down on the HEAD button, down on the FOOT button, then down on the LEVEL button.  Nothing.  The mattress just kept going up.  I tossed Bill’s remote to him and he started pushing buttons.  His remote apparently worked because the mattress stopped moving and began to slowly lower his side, pulling my side down with it, but only to a semi-level position.  “What the heck was that all about?” Bill asked rather sharply as he finally lay back down.  “What did you touch?”

“Me?  Nothing,” I responded, crawling back under the covers and trying to get comfortable on my somewhat skewed mattress.  “I was just laying here trying to fall asleep.  I didn’t touch anything.”

“Well someone did,” he snorted.  “And we both know who that was.”

“Mom!” we shouted together.

“That’s it,” I exclaimed.  “We’re getting another bed.  I’ve hated this one since we inherited it, but now it really needs to go.  It’s like a deadly weapon.”

“Okay, fine.  All you have to do is save up a couple of thousand dollars and we’ll get a new bed,” he replied as he turned on his side to go back to sleep, thinking, foolishly, that that was the end of the discussion.

In the morning, as I started to make the bed, I saw that the mattress on my side wasn’t level because my remote had refused to work.  The head and foot were both still raised slightly.  I retrieved the remote from the drawer of my nightstand and pushed the LEVEL button.  I was prepared get new batteries for it but, with a muted whirling of the motor, the mattress evened out.  Why it didn’t work last night is a mystery.  Or maybe not. 

“Mom!” I yelled.  “I will not be made into a bologna sandwich in the middle of the night again.  Not funny!”

My quest for a new bed starts today!