I’m republishing this piece for my students, who just learned their Enneagram types. It’s a very fun piece in which almost every sentence conveys a bit of “four-ness” or “nine-ness”.
A Four and a Nine Crawl Into a Bed
Four and Nine crawled into bed, and surrounded themselves with their nightly rituals – book, Mac Book, popsicles, and lip balm.
Four was reading a tragic love story about a time traveler who was married to a stationary wife. He was constantly appearing and disappearing without rhyme or reason, while she tried to be brave and stoic and have a good attitude about being abandoned and rejoined over and over through her life.
Nine was playing a video game that involved creating railroad systems across the nation, for the shipping of grain, ore and things, so that villages could eat and bridges could be built. Not a lot of action, just a lot of pointing, clicking, dragging, and watching the trains go back and forth.
Four finished the book, which had, of course, ended with the husband knowing the date that he would leave his wife for good, then telling her, then dying in her arms, only to come back one more time when she was eighty-two, and had been waiting for him every day for the last forty-five years. Is this a happy ending, a sad ending? It is not an ending to turn the light off and roll over with. But Four tried, anyway.
Nine closed the laptop, and they assumed Part I of their sleeping dance, in which she spooned him, and he warmed his cold feet on her ankles. Moved by the book’s tragically romantic ending, Four burrowed just a little tighter into Nine’s back, executing special spoon moves that conveyed love and happiness into his back and butt. Then she apologized for being insensitive earlier in the day. He could be taken from me any day, each spoon could be our last spoon, and I am so self-centered and insensitive so often… Feeling tears well up, she thought no, no, not going there tonight, it’s too late for maudlin, just try to be a better wife in the morning and go to sleep. In and down… in and down… But sleep did not come.
What did come was the recognition that a dear friend was turning thirty-three tomorrow. It was, also, her first day of teaching at their shared alma mater (where Four had been almost, but not quite, hired last year). The friend had also just passed her boards. She was a thirty-three year old, fully licensed doctor of psychology, teaching at her alma mater. She had a nice house and cute kid, too. It wasn’t a bad haul in thirty-three years. In comparison, Four was forty-two, had yet to pass the boards, did not get the teaching job, had never weighed more than at this moment and looked to become one of those obnoxious people who treat their dog like their child. The Four/Nine homestead was a very sweet but disappointing piece of real estate, sinking into a very cute little lake. It was in no way sellable, and by far the smallest and most challenged home of any of their friends or family. The idea, metaphor, archetype or meaning of ‘home’, was so loaded for her. It hurt deeply to finally have finally arrived at “Doctor Four”- ness while remaining mortified of house and zip code. All the years of drama, all the tragic romance, what a sad waste of time and energy, now I am middle aged and it’s too late …. But it’s not, another part argued, because here you are, being spooned in the popsicle bed.,, by the kindest man in the world. You are right on time…, this is all there is…. In and down, remember, in and down….
Four sometimes felt abandoned when she was the back-spooner… shorter than Nine, all she could do was hold him around the middle and stare at his back, which often felt like a closed door. Feeling middle aged, and in love, and jealous, and trying to be grateful wasn’t mixing well with abandonment. So, she rolled Nine over into Part II of their sleep dance, in which Nine lays flat on his back, and Four finds what that other crazy-but-charming Four from “Sex in the City” – Carrie – called “the nook”, which is the place where under-the-arm meets on-the-chest. She thought that hearing Nine’s heartbeat would be anchoring and soothing and, perhaps,she’d sleep.
Nine willingly assumed the new position and Four settled in to comfort herself with the sounds and smells and nearness and nowness of him. Some time passed, in which Four chastised herself for feeling lonesome while laying atop of her husband, but she was. His attention was elsewhere (in sleep, where it should be) and she was left to contemplate matters existential and banal. Just then, as if on cue, Nine murmured, pulled the blankets high up around Four’s shoulders and neck, kissed her forehead and drifted back to sleep.
Four’s heart exploded with childlike glee at his tacit understanding of her need, and his offer of comfort. “That was the perfect thing to say!” she whispered to him. “Mmmm…” he replied amiably. And then, “What’d I say?” “You said blanket tuck and forehead kiss, and that was exactly what I needed to hear!” “Good sweetie, I’m glad”, he mumbled. They moved silently into the final part of the sleep dance – Part III – where Nine is the spooner, tall enough to see over Four’s head, or nestle her neck or nibble an ear. This was Four’s favorite part. She liked feeling small and all wrapped up in him. A heavy, bed-tipping thud announced the arrival of Seven-the-dog, who took the only empty spot she saw by curling into Four’s belly. Now they were three spoons in the popsicle bed. Four was sandwiched between the two beings who saw her at her daily worst and were crazy about her, anyway. And just like that, the house didn’t look so bad, nor did her butt or the bags under her eyes. And for her friend who would have a perfect day, tomorrow, she felt happy, because she, herself, was having a perfect night, tonight.