“Something I haven’t done for awhile is sleeping on the opposite end of my bed,” he said last Sunday. “I used to do it all the time! I did it the first few days when I moved.”
Having had slept at many places in the last 10 years, there are times when I wake up that I am disoriented. The room is darker…or lighter. The bed feels different—sometimes better, most of the time, worst.
On Sunday, I tried sleeping backwards. My feet where my head usually is. My head where my feet usually lie. As the night quickly fell, I shut my eyes and drifted away.
When I awoke to my roommate’s footsteps, I opened my eyes. Blind, nearsighted blurriness. But disorientation? Not at all. My memory of sleeping backwards flooded back…quickly.
I wonder though if there was a murderer…a psychokiller…would he pause in confusion when he opened my room to find that my feet are at the head of my bed? Would he still shoot in cold blood murder? Or comment on the situation…then shoot? Or laugh in absurdity?