memory sucks us dry

I have a strange memory
of passing a book in bed.
Each of us reading a chapter aloud.
We were into a routine,
and a glass of water passed
from side table to side table as well.
Reading out loud can be taxing.
We enunciated, as if on stage,
only more softly. Conscious
of mistakes, but weighing
the greater disruption
- whether to smooth over and on, or
exacerbate by backing up,
repeating?

We each read well,
in strong voices,
clear and warm.

I don't remember what book.

I don't remember what bed.

I don't remember what us.

Who were we?