It's a Long Story

When we spend the night at John's parents, I push the bed up against the wall so Luke doesn't roll right off onto the floor. I do this partly because Luke is an active sleeper. But, Luke has never fallen out of any bed he's slept in. So I think I also do this out of memory of sleeping at my grandma's once when I was little, and rolling out of the bed into the space between the bed and the wall only to awake in some eerie, claustrophobic-inducing cavern that I was convinced had trapped me and was filled with spiders waiting to eat me.

So when Luke called me at 3:00 am to come "snuggle" and I went into his room and saw that the very heavy bed was moved away from the wall, I asked him, "Why is the bed moved away from the wall?"

"It's a long story," he said.

It was three in the morning. How could there be a long story at three in the morning? And what was so urgent that Luke needed to move the bed away from the wall? And how was he strong enough to do it? And how did he do it without waking his brother who slept next to him in the same bed? And how did he do it without me hearing? And did he accomplish what he needed to by moving the bed?

And the answers to all of those questions would have indeed led to a very long story. And did I mention it was three in the morning? So my tiredness won out over my curiosity, and the long story of the bed remains a mystery.