overcome by sleep…another time (lyn)

I’m talking to m this morning and she reminds me of the other time I left a group of people to escape to sleep.  Only that time I wasn’t even in my own home.

I was living in Boston.  M and I lived about a block away from each other in Back Bay.  We were both also very friendly with V.

V had moved to Boston from Chicago to work for Gillette, and in doing so, had left behind her husband Matt (not his real name, but I’m trying to avoid yet another initial).  V’s move wasn’t intended to be a break-up, but it evolved into that the longer V was in Boston.  On the times Matt visited Boston, the four of us would socialize, and somehow Matt found a confidante in M.

One night, Matt wanted to talk to M about V, and she was dreading the conversation.  M knew what it would be.  Matt talking about how much he loved V and how much he wanted it to still work out between them and M knowing it never would but not wanting to say that and really, having no idea what to say at all.  So her solution was to involve me, as in, “I’ll make dinner and you’ll come too.  It’ll be fun.”

There aren’t too many dinners where I remember what was served.  Usually the memory is more of the people and the conversation.  But in this case, I remember the food as well.

M decided to make scallops.  It seemed like a good idea.  What she forgot to take into account was the shrinkage factor.  What started out looking like a lot of scallops, ended up not even filling an 8-ounce measuring cup.  I remember our hysterics before Matt arrived.  The whole dinner looked like it could maybe satisfy one five year old who wasn’t even that hungry. I was thinking we'd split it, small as it was, but M said,  "There's not enough for three.  You and I will have to drink instead."


So Matt arrives.  He has the scallops for dinner and M and I have wine.     Soon the conversation turns to V.  And my role now becomes important.  I’m there so M won’t have to handle Matt’s heartbreak alone.  But as the conversation drags on, I get more and more tired.  I'm not much of a drinker and one glass of wine on a near-empty stomach will do me in.   I feel this enormous cloud of exhaustion hovering over me.  I can barely keep my eyes open.  I get up and say, “I’ll be right back.”  They assume I’m going to the bathroom.  That’s my intention.  But as I pass through M’s bedroom and see her bed, I can’t resist.  I lay down in it (for a minute, I think)  but don’t get up until the next morning.  Poor M ends up sleeping on the couch in her own home.

I’m sure that had I stayed up, the outcome would have remained the same.  Matt and V got divorced.