The Midnight Hour

Staying up late came naturally to him, but not so much to her. He had habits of the night; late snacks, quiet, cool darkness in a quiet courtyard. She was the day; morning conversations over coffee, the trash that had to go out early, sunlight on a clean pillow.

He drew her in. She began to stay up later and later and sleep later and later. It was never enough. She was given to bouts of sleepiness. Her regular job had recently ended and she felt lost during the day with nothing to do. Sometimes she fell asleep in the big chair, a thing she had done when she lived alone. Sometimes she stayed awake because she was too shy to say goodnight.

The cat, who during the winter would stretch out against her and snuggle his head under her chin making her loathe to get up, adopted a summer habit of leaping onto her chest on his way to the window sill where he would watch the birds. She would look at the clock: 6am. She would try to sleep longer, but it was broken sleep; daydream and idle speculation about once she got up, how long she must remain awake.