One of us has to sleep on the floor, she says. I’m not allowed to share a bed with a man.
The man tries to be reasonable. They stand on opposite sides of the bed.
Why don’t we draw a line in the middle, he says. We’ll use our suitcases.
That will not do, she says. I told you, it’s against my religion.
We both pay the same share for this room, argues the man. In your email you said you did not mind sharing a room with a man.
I can share a room, says the woman. I cannot share a bed.
The man paces in the room. It’s a really nice room. Expensive, too—which was why he'd agreed to split the cost with a total stranger. His friends have done this before and highly recommend the practice. It saves money, they say. There's a website where you can register your name and ask to be paired with a total stranger for the duration of your stay at some hotel somewhere. He didn't believe it at first. Convenience is not the same as comfort and one almost always comes at the price of the other. But the website is quite popular among seasoned travelers and they leave testimonies that pretty much say, It's a great way to meet new people. Of course, in the beginning, he was skeptical. Who's to say he won't be paired with a thief or killer? His friends laughed at the notion. You're insanely paranoid, they said. Take a chance, once in your life. So he did.
The bed is more than enough for three people to sleep in. He doesn’t understand why two people would have such a difficult time sharing it. He wonders if he had missed something in her profile. The profile did not ask them to state their religion. He is not a religious man. He believes in cosmic forces.
This is bullshit, he snaps. The man begins to fluff the pillows on his side of the bed.
You can sleep on the floor if you want, but I’m taking the bed, he says.
The woman quickly grabs the stuffy duvet off the bed and pulls it into her thin arms—white, fluffy globs overflowing her tiny frame. She raises her chin over the soft mass. I’m taking this, she says.
That’s not fair, he says.
You’re crazy, says the woman. I thought you would act like a gentleman.
I’m not your boyfriend, says the man. And if I were, I should still be offended. Tell me, why would I give up my space, which I have paid for, for someone I barely know?
Because it’s the right thing to do, she says.
That is ridiculous, he says.
The man saunters around the bed toward her. They are face to face now. He can smell the stale perfume on her, mixed with the dampness of her sweat.
Her journey was longer than his. She had traveled half the world to get here. This beautiful city. This beautiful room.
The woman is on the verge of tears, but she stands her ground. She needs a shower. Then she needs a good, long sleep. It’s so simple. She hasn’t asked him for his life. All she wants is the bed. When he approaches her, she almost instinctively takes a step back—but she doesn’t. He smells like cheese and smoked meat.
Pay me, he says.
What.
You can have the whole damn room, he says. Just pay me back my share of the room.
I don’t want the whole room, she says. I only want the bed.
The bed is the room, he says.
What?
Don’t be an idiot.
That looks really comfortable, she says, pointing toward a red sofa near a writing desk. You can sleep there.
I’m too tall, he says. My legs will cramp.
She sizes him up. He’s right. Her average height seems more like a joke against him. If she'd stood on her toes, the top of her head would only reach as high as his shoulders. The man is really tall. The sofa will not fit his entire frame. What a shame.
The floor, then, she says.
You can’t make me sleep on the floor, he says. I will write a complaint letter about this.
I don’t care, she says. You’re a selfish son of a bitch.
Watch your mouth, he warns.
I’m done with this. I'm going to get cleaned up and then I’m going to bed, she says.
You can’t just decide that, he says.
Sure, I can, she replies.
What gives you the right to—
I can do whatever I want, she says.
He looks at her, hard. She grinds her teeth. No one is giving up anything.
This whole thing was a stupid idea, he says.
Yes, she says. I am only here because I wanted to know what it’s like to stay at a five-star hotel.
It’s just bigger and fancier, he shrugs.
I don’t know why I thought this would work, she says. Everyone told me not to do it.
The bed is always the star of a hotel room, you know, says the man.
It is, she replies.
Next to that is the bathroom, he says.
She narrows her eyes. Yet before she can do anything, the man has dashed into the spacious, marble-designed bathroom fit for a king—and locks the door.
The woman lets out a desperate cry.
You can have the bed, shouts the man. The bathroom’s mine.
In this fashion, a bargain is reached. MT
