My Side

It’s taken me four long nights to accept the fact that I don’t have to huddle on the left side of the bed anymore. I can spread out. I can sprawl in the middle. I can leave my light on. I can eat chocolate chip cookies on the duvet, or cheesy puffs while I’m under the covers. Nobody will care. Nobody will criticize. Here’s the hitch, though: Nobody will even know.

I always slept on my side of the bed, the left. “What’s left is mine,” I teased more than once in my married life. That’s me: slightly snide. Black knew that when he married me, said it was one of the things he loved, my non-Southern-belle bite. Right. Some of my getting-the-leftovers sarcasm comes from marrying a man while he’s in his last year of law school. A prescription for problems. One of those hindsight ah-has.

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One of Charlotte Morgan’s stories is included in the Pushcart Prize Collections. She holds an MFA from Virginia Commonwealth University where she studied with Lee Smith and Paule Marshall. Her first novel, One August Day, was considered for the annual Fiction Prize by the Library of Virginia. For twenty-five years she has been writer-in-residence at Nimrod Hall Summer Arts Program.

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