Bill

In and out of sleep, I was at first only dimly aware of the figures the approached my bed, their murmurs, their departures. The procession was endless and the voices soft. I struggled, crippled by my drowsiness, bound in haziness and sheets. I lolled about, twisting the quilt around me, trying to hear what my visitors were saying and unable to ask them. The bed was warm and it smelled of sleep. I pulled a cooler pillow to me and thrust the hot one away. I closed my eyes tightly and tried to listen, but I slept, slept endlessly. Hours or seconds later, their words drifted down to me, pushed through the rumpled blankets and made their way into my consciousness. See how he moves? First on his side, now on his back. Another voice. And now on his side again. And now his back. Yet another. He lies on his side. A third voice from the other side the bed. See now? On his back! The voices continued as I fell back into slumber, fell back out of that foggy world. Minutes or days went by and I could hear them again or still. He’s been on his stomach for some time. I craned my head to hear better. See him move? He’s on his back!.