A Mattress Built for Two

“I know,” said Pamela, with an understanding sigh. “We call you one of ‘The Hopefuls.’ I suggest you trade the twins for our single-chamber queen, and you’ll sleep comfortably on the left or right, or even in the middle.” Just like Meg Ryan.

I swallowed. My fantasy of sweet shared nights with Mr. Right, dialing our individual numbers—together but separate—shattered in an instant by a well-meaning customer service representative. Did I need the counterweight of a partner’s body just to get a decent night’s sleep?

“We can ship the single to arrive in three days,” said Pamela. “And you can always exchange it if, when, you know . . .”

When the new mattress arrived, I deflated and folded the twins, removed the foam center, and slowly boxed them to send back. I could keep the second remote for future use. Then I attached the hose to the compressor and, as the new mattress inflated, the second control dropped to the floor with a final clunk. That night, I planted myself securely in the middle of the bed.

Hallelujah! I slept dreamily for eight solid hours, the air evenly distributed, the weight of my solo body perfectly aligned for rest and comfort.

I’m sleeping well these days. It’s not that I've resigned myself to a non-dual existence. It’s more like a Buddha thing. If I try too hard to create something for the future, then I’m not really in the present. It’s about accepting what is and embracing the moment. If my singleness changes, I will change.

So I got myself some 300-thread-count cobalt-blue sheets and a giant corduroy reading pillow, happily sharing the expansive space with my cats and a stack of books.

And the second remote still lies under the bed, unused. For now.