Pillow Case

Pale yellow pillow case, inexpertly sewed together by myself in primary school. Thin material, almost translucent, cheap. Not smooth, not too rough. Slight plastic odour coming from the dye, disappeared when washed. A rush of pride at having made it myself, at operating the sewing machine, sitting down, pedalling with foot the staccato whir of the needle punching in and out of the fabric. If I chewed on the pillow case, which I most probably did, it would be a gentle brush across my teeth, saliva pooling in the fabric, wet and dark when set free from my mouth. When slept on for too long, the stale rancidity of sweat and oils, dark yellow stains on the previously pure pillow inside the case. The pillow would always have to be tall enough and solid enough to keep my head above the mattress, but in later years I find I need two pillows. Else my balance is swayed and I feel as if my head is falling behind the bed, a feeling that persists. Turning over, sometimes taking the thinner pillow and holding it between my legs to stop the sweat from the heat of skin on skin.