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When churchyards yawn

Although I know it’s rude to do it when someone is talking to me, especially if they are telling me something important about their life, there are some things that just happen, eh? I’m not sure what starts one off, but even thinking about it is sometimes enough to start the process in motion. The exchange of wind, even subtly done, is usually noticed. It’s one of those things that discourages unnecessary dinner invitations I think.

In fact, there are several embarrassing members of the wind ensemble that often flaunt their presence around the time dessert is served. There is one that is particularly difficult to disguise however, and is more notable for the intake, than the egress of air. It occurs at ‘the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world.’ Sorry for the rather Hamletic excess, but there are times when a yawn stirs things up. Unintended things…

I learned fairly early in my university career that an accidental yawn lets slip the dogs of war not only in a classroom, but also on a date. On one memorable occasion, it seemed to bespeak a lack of interest -an expected enthusiasm gone awry- rather than a sleepless night trying to memorize clever things to say on my first date.

But if yawning is merely caused by a lack of sleep, then why do I also yawn if I see someone else doing it in an elevator, or sitting across the aisle from me in a scary movie? I mean given such a gratuitous expenditure of unnecessary energy, why would Evolution decide to include it in its panoply of resources? Why the animalian ubiquity? How in the world does it benefit Cocker Spaniels, or lions? There are so many things to wonder about when you’re retired, aren’t there?

For years, I assumed yawning was just a way of getting more air in -as if I hadn’t been sucking in enough and my body was occasionally simply righting the wrong. I think I’d read that in one of the Reader’s Digests my parents kept in the bathroom – what, in those days, amounted to a literature search. Then, more recently, and even more alert to breaking news, I came across an article in the Smithsonian magazine that had the temerity to suggest that yawning was actually a cry for help from the brain.[i] Apparently the human brain uses 40 percent of the body’s metabolic energy, which means it tends to heat up more than other organ systems. When we yawn, air travels through to our upper nasal and oral cavities where the mucus membranes are covered with many blood vessels that project almost directly up to the forebrain. When we stretch our jaws, we increase the rate of blood flow to the skull, and as we inhale at the same time, the air changes the temperature of that blood flow, bringing cooler blood to the brain.

Well they’ve shown that in mice, anyway. I’m not sure if mice smile in groups, however; I’m not sure if they’re even equipped with mirror neurons like the ones it’s rumoured that we possess. We’re pretty social as well though, so maybe the contagiousness of a yawn is actually an empathy thing with us, as some have also suggested.[ii]

Remember that first date I mentioned at the beginning of this essay? Well, actually she yawned first, and mine was simply a riposte after an initial eye-roll parry; one has to answer these things in kind.

“I’m sorry,” I added after I’d surprised her with my improvised version of a counter-yawn. “I can’t help myself when somebody yawns at me.”

Her eyes suddenly opened wide, and then shrank to little pinholes. I didn’t think that was even possible with a glare. “Honestly, G! You’re so easily offended,” she said as she buttoned the top fastener on her parka. I suppose I should have bid goodnight to her on the bus, but I was new at dating and thought I’d wait until we were at the door of her condo. “Aren’t you cold?” she added, shivering so I would see that at least she was.

I smiled in reply. At last, I thought, she wants to invite me in for a Pepsi or something. I attempted an innocent shrug, as if to indicate that I wouldn’t refuse an invitation to sit on her couch if she asked. “I am a little cold, I guess…”

“Yeah, and that bus we had to take from the movie didn’t help much did it?” She managed an ambiguous little scrunch with her face.

But the way she said the word ‘bus’ made me wonder if she’d been disappointed I hadn’t showed up for the date in a car. Like I say, I was new to the dating scene. “I think we should have complained,” I admitted. “But at least we didn’t have to wait very long for the bus,” I said, to put things in a better light. “And we didn’t have any trouble finding a seat.”

She shook her head slowly and sighed. “That’s because the bus was empty, G,” she said, this time stifling another yawn and glancing furtively at the door to her flat.

The inevitable happened; I couldn’t help it and riposted with another yawn, and it immediately spawned a little smile on her face. It was an excuse-smile I think, because she pushed the sleeve up on her parka so she could look at her watch. “You’re right G, it is rather late…” she added unnecessarily, and reached for my be-mitted hand to squeeze it.

I wasn’t sure what protocol demanded on a snow-filled step at 9:30 on a blustery winter evening but I raised her hoar frosted mitt to my lips hoping it would jog her memory of how dates are supposed to end, but it merely evoked another eyeroll.

“For God’s sake, G, just kiss me on the lips and get it over with, okay?”

Were her eyes actually twinkling in the blowing snow, or was she just trying to stifle another yawn? The thought, of course, triggered my mirror neurons and she suddenly turned and put her key noisily in the door as I succumbed to my own unstifled reply. She was gone before I could explain anything about empathy…

[i] https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/why-do-we-yawn-and-why-is-it-contagious-3749674/

[ii] Ibid.

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