You're half-asleep when you feel the tremors. You know what, or rather who, it is. The wall to your right slides away and the space is filled with my face, looking in and, hilariously, having an expression of deep trepidation as I try to be as quiet as I can. As if. "What? Get in here," you mumble, affecting anger but laughing inside. "I wish," I whisper. "Work awaits." "Fuck woooorrrrrk," you warble, waking one of the cats. Hearing no reply from me, you decide to make the decision for me. "Well then take me with you." You see my face brighten in the dim light. Could that be what I wanted all along?
Probably. You'll have to ride me for that one later, you think.
My hand crowds into the room, filling it and then some. My fingertips brush the side of the bed and you roll dramatically on. I'd clap if my hand wasn't otherwise occupied. My fingers curl, bringing you just a bit farther, then everything spins and rotates and you slide down my fingers into a pocket, army green and soft with age. You know that on the inside wall, the side facing me, you once wrote MY ROOM NO BIGGOS ALLOWED OK in Sharpie, and you know it's still there, a joke for you and me and nobody else. After a moment, blankets from your bed and a couple pillows drop onto you. You nest, deep in there. I look down. You're deep in, so far that I can't even see you. Barely a lump. Nobody will notice. I've got you, hidden in plain sight. "You ready?" I ask quietly. You reply: three soft thumps against my chest for 'yes'. I tap three times by the pocket, and then stand up and plod away, towards work. Am I jealous? Damn right I'm jealous. But I'll get my turn. And anyway, it's not so bad being big when you've got a great tiny to be big for. No, it's really not bad at all.
