The black sheet.

On a quiet Thursday night a few springs ago, I curled up on the couch in the family room, under a sheet, in front of the TV. After my show ended, I shut it off and shut my eyes. I fell asleep.

Before 5 a.m. on Friday, my brother — who then still lived at home with us — woke up to get ready for work. He rolled out of bed and wandered toward the family room. As was his occasional custom, he intended to spend the first few minutes of his day sleeping some more, but on the couch.

Meanwhile, I still lay sleeping.

All of my body except for my head was buried beneath a black sheet.

On a dark brown couch.

In total darkness.

Too tired to grab his glasses, my brother squinted to see, so he wouldn’t walk into furniture. At the couch, he leaned over it to look for a throw pillow. With his uncorrected eyesight, he saw what he assumed to be one of the peach ones.

But what he actually saw was a really blurry version of my face, which was sound asleep.

Until he grabbed it.

If it is scary to have your face grabbed in your sleep, it is scarier to have your pillow turn out to be a face. We both screamed. Then, I laughed, almost non-stop, for exactly 30 minutes, no exaggeration.

True story.

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This post is part of a series called “True Story.” Click here to read other posts in the series.