They had their most intimate conversations on the motel line. The problem was, while he was sharing, expressing, confessing, and sometimes crying, she couldn’t stop yawning. Once she let one loose, they kept coming, one after the next after the next, like waves crashing. They often came in sets of three. Then, a little break. Then another set arrived. They seemed to be generated by something deep inside her, deeper than boredom, some force she didn’t understand. Perhaps if she yawned openly and loudly, she wouldn’t have this problem. Instead, she yawned silently, out of politeness.
