We have this diminutive yet unfathomably heavy pull-out couch that just can't seem to say goodbye. Let's call her Bertha. We originally got Bertha from my aunt and had her reupholstered in what I thought at the time was a beautiful floral pattern. Today I wonder, as you often do 12 years later, "What the heck was I thinking?" At the time it went perfect in our house in Connecticut - its dainty proportions fit the living room and the pull out was great for slumbering Massachusetts relatives. When we moved to Massachusetts almost nine years ago, Bertha started her slide into the dreaded "how-the-heck-can-I-unload-it" status and she was having none of it.
First the moving men made the usual Bertha type remarks.
"Shit. This is heavy."
"No man, I mean really f'ing heavy."
"I never seen a couch this heavy."
"Lady, you better know exactly where you want it 'cuz we ain't moving it again."
So it was that Bertha found her new home in the totally unused living room of our current house. No, she didn't fit. She was puny in the high ceilings. No, she didn't match. The walls and the rest of the house are warmer tones and her burgundy is more of a wine color with a floral pattern of blues and pinks with some grayish-pink-taupe color popping through. But no biggie. We had just moved in and it was just temporary until I decided what color to paint the living room.
Nine years later...
I am embarrassed to say that I still have not decided what what color to paint this little used living room. Mostly because it would involve buying a whole new set of furniture and truth be told I just didn't care enough about this space to put the effort into the whole decorating thing.
I still hate poor neglected Bertha. For nine years Bertha has sat unloved in a big room with other unloved pieces. Except for when the kids went through their fort building years and used her cushions for all manner of wall, ceiling and bridges; Bertha got almost no attention at all. Only at Christmas does she have anything to look forward to - the annual visit of Chrissy, our Christmas tree. They are great friends but she pales in his shadow.
Chrissy visits once a year for a month or so. The whole family makes a special trip to pick him up. As he arrives the air fills with festivity. We fawn over him with decorations and worry daily about his health - he has a hydration issue. After New Years though he is off to bigger and better things. He gives one last wave to Bertha from the curb as he hops in the back of a truck toward his next adventure. Bertha never moves. Never gets decorated. And never is the center of festivity.
But today it is finally time for Bertha's adventure. On Tuesday my sister and brother-in-law dropped off a new couch and chair that will be Bertha's replacement. As the new younger, more hip furniture sat in the driveway we moved Bertha to the very spot on the curb that Chrissy sits and waits for his ride every year. My brother-in-law was the first out with, "Holy crap. This couch weighs a ton!"
The three of us huffed and puffed as we lugged the diminutive load out the door. I must admit I was relieved as we placed her down on the curb. Friday is trash day and she'd be out of my hair was all I could think. Poor Bertha. Could she read my mind?
She sat motionless as we moved the new furniture into her old room and took out the paint chips talking excitedly about which colors would best match these youngsters. Night fell and the wind kicked up. Bertha was alone and waiting for her adventure to begin.
Friday morning broke and Bertha still sat patiently waiting. But before the trash men came, a pickup truck stopped. The driver, a nice middle age woman, asked directions to myself and two neighbors who stood gabbing rudely at Bertha's side since the school bus had departed some ten minutes prior. Within minutes the driver had returned. We thought she was still lost but instead she sheepishly looked at Bertha.
"Are you getting rid of that gorgeous couch?"
"She's all yours if you want her."
"Really?!"
The driver had a bad back so my neighbors and I hoisted Bertha onto the bed of this pickup. Bertha smirked knowing my back would hurt for a day or two thanks to this final goodbye lift. She was a good couch who served us well and only looked for a little love in return. Love I just couldn't give in this new place with this new life. May the driver's niece, who is graduating college this spring, appreciate Bertha for the beautiful and useful couch she is at heart.
Bon voyage! Bertha. Enjoy your new life. I will probably not think of you nor even miss you. But my scrap books are filled with your pictures from every Christmas morning. And you do look pretty underneath all that spent wrapping paper sitting next to your old pal Chrissy.
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