A few years ago, on an undisclosed trip at an undisclosed location, I was staying with a friend who lived in a house with a few other college girls. They were all very nice and welcoming. They showed me the couch I’d be sleeping on for the next couple days. It was caddy-corner to a love-seat in their living room, and I was happy because the couch was actually long enough to accommodate my height.
“Sorry you’re kind of in the middle of things,” my friend told me.
“That’s okay,” I said. “Seriously, don’t worry about being too loud. I can sleep through pretty much anything.” I assured all her housemates the same thing.
That night, after a lovely day of urban exploring, I laid on the couch, tied a bandana around my eyes, and conked out.
A few hours later, I drifted to the surface when I heard two people talking close by. I was almost going to drift back down into sleep, but then I heard my name and woke up fully. I soon recognized the voices as one of the housemates and her guy friend.
“So how long is she gonna be here?” the guy asked.
“A couple days,” the girl replied. “It’s interesting, she was homeschooled.”
The guy snickered. “I can tell.”
“Be nice!” the girl snapped.
The conversation turned to other things. Feeling vaguely offended and also a little guilty for listening in, I tried to get back to sleep. But it’s hard to fall asleep when two people are sitting three feet away from you having a conversation at normal volume.
Just when I was thinking I ought to ask them to leave, I heard a strange, soft smacking sound. And then another. And another. I froze. Could it be? Oh, crap…
Yup, they were smooching. Pretty passionately, from the sound of it. Three feet away from me. And I had no way to escape.
For several long, agonizing minutes, I tried to figure out what to do. They gave no signs of letting up. Finally, I pretended to wake up— ever so gradually, giving them plenty of time— and I peeked out from under my bandana. They were sitting side by side on the couch, the picture of innocence. “Hi,” I murmured thickly, as if just waking up.
“Hi,” they said.
I didn’t know what to do. So I just smiled and said, “Goodnight,” and rolled over.
They were quiet for a while, but only a little while.
This lovesick not-quite-a-couple made out until four in the morning. Four in the morning! And all the while I laid on the couch and tried to meditate or think detached thoughts or go to sleep or figure out if there was any way I could possibly get them to stop smooching and leave the living room.
Finally, the guy left for his dorm room (thank God), and the girl returned to her own room.
Finally alone, I pulled off my blindfold, looked at the time, and groaned. I was going to be trashed tomorrow. And, in the interests of the girl’s anonymity, I wouldn’t even be able to post this miserable and somewhat funny story on my blog!
Years have passed since that day, but I can tell you this: I never, ever told anyone ever again that I was a deep sleeper. That lesson I learned well.