Livingroom

    I sat in silence for a long time, watching the river tracts of multiple raindrops trace their way down the window. As I stared out, I remembered the once strong feeling of sunlight that had penetrated this room when it was still an empty shell, calling in agony to be filled like a painter’s canvas.



    That first summer we started fresh, with everything before us laid out like an unwritten novel. I remember our drawn out conversations, evenings on the makeshift couch that we had cobbled together from an old patio set and a multitude of mismatched cushions you had sewn together using a borrowed sewing machine. We had the world at our finger tips, but we were unable to fathom the boundaries of all that lay ahead of us.



    Time drew on, and as we grew, so did this house. The old home made furniture gave way to items more sturdy as we could afford them. With each passing day we had become more and more accustomed to each other’s habits, learning to love the little things that had at one time driven us crazy.



    I remember distinctly that second couch. I had found it at a garage sale in Everton, and tried my best to have it in the door before you got home. Looking back, it was hideous, with coffee stains and pet hair molting the fabric. I remember the horror on your face when you returned from work that night, and the blocks we had made to replace the legs as they fell out.



    We came to love that couch, after we found a suitable fabric to cover it over. It was probably the most comfortable piece of furniture we ever owned. I remember the way we would sit there on Sunday mornings and read the paper, I sitting on the end by the window, you stretched out with your head in my lap. It was a simple time, and we led simple lives.



    Then came my new job here in town, and the pressures of having a boss that expected us to entertain clients within the comforts of our own homes. The old couch was replaced by the sectional, the large oversized cushions in royal blue that hid the foldout on one side and the recliner at the other end.



    Shortly after the blue couch arrived, so did our first child. The nights we spent with him in our arms, the three of us cradled together in the corner of the couch, are some of my fondest memories in life.



    I am still amazed at the changes in life that have taken place due to our adding another life to our world. With his introduction, some things in life changed forever, while others grew stronger. Sometimes, our desires grew apart during this time, but no matter what, we always tried to support each other, through thick and thin.



    Our son was soon joined by his little sister, and our once small twosome had expanded to four. During this period of our lives we seemed to have less and less time together, as the demands of my job and the activities of the children often had us going in opposite directions. We talked less and less, and for a time it seemed like we hardly talked at all.



    I believe at this point we had purchased the leather couch. Its slim sleek lines and taut covering gave it a somewhat sterile look. It was lovely, but had no character. We spent less and less time in this room, as we were always occupied elsewhere. At times, we were hardly ever in the house, and days would go by when we barely even saw each other.



    And now the kids are grown. We are down to the two of us, and yet our lives are still full of demands, commitments pulling us in multiple directions, circles of responsibilities that have us once again at loss for time.



    That changes tonight.



    As I was rummaging in the basement today, I found those original cushions, the ones you had made to go around the makeshift frame. I sold the leather set to the Johnsons across the street, spent some time at the lumber yard, and have to the best of my abilities put the old couch back together.



    It may not be as comfortable as I once remembered it, but it is more comfortable than all the other couches we have ever had. Even now, with my old bones being what they are, the couch feels like a gentle cradle, calling me home.



    The weather is clearing now.



    The sun is slowly pushing out the clouds.



    Our schedules have been cleared.



    The room is back down to a single piece of furniture.



    All that’s missing is you.