This Old Futon
our old futon
My wife had been campaigning for some time to replace our old sofa. Her case was solid: this old sofa - or to be more precise, this old futon - had been in continuous use for almost twenty years and its upholstery was now quite tattered as a result of continuous abuse from our children and our dog. For the record, my wife and I were ourselves looking quite tattered as a result of this same abuse from both our children and our dog, but as my wife explained, the sofa issue could be solved by a quick trip to IKEA.
I countered by stating that a new sofa would be expensive and that the same parties actively working to destroy our old sofa would instantly turn their attention to whatever we purchased to replace it. It seemed wise to first eliminate at least one of those adversarial forces.
"We can get a new sofa if we get rid of our dog," I said.
"You can't just 'get rid' of a dog," she replied.
"Sure you can," I countered. "We can probably get rid of a child or two as well."
Despite the logic of my argument, I soon found myself sleeping on the old futon. As I unfolded its ripped upholstered cushioning to convert it into something vaguely resembling a bed, I found several years' worth of accumulated crumbs and dog hair along with a surprising amount of candy wrappers, uneaten popcorn, confetti, and a discarded apple core. I then decided we did, in fact, need a new sofa and checked to see how late IKEA was open.
Later, as this old futon was moved out of its place of honor in our family room, I couldn't help but feel an unexpected pang of nostalgia. This was the first piece of furniture my wife and I bought together. It was delivered to the apartment we shared as a newly married couple, allowing that apartment's small second bedroom to function as an office and, on occasion, as a guest bedroom. I studied for most of my architecture exams on this old futon and, after we moved it out of the apartment and into the home where we now live, I wrote most of my book. As with most futons, it was neither the most comfortable place to sit nor was it the most comfortable place to sleep. It wasn't really the site of any particular moment or historic event (that distinction belongs to a different futon I had back in college and is beyond the scope of this essay), but it was a constant presence in the background of our evolving domestic life. Our children slept and played (and occasionally vomited) upon it when they joined our family just as our dog slept and played (and occasionally defecated) upon it when he later (and unfortunately) joined our family.
Our new (FRIHETEN) sofa is a sleeper sectional that features a hidden storage area under the chaise where our children can conveniently dispose of their candy wrappers and apple cores. Its (SKIFTEBO) blue color matches our back door while contrasting with the white dog hair our dog has begun shedding upon it. This new sofa seems to be well on its way to acquiring the same stains and tears of our old futon, but although these marks could be seen as unfortunate blemishes, in another twenty years they will serve as happy reminders of the lives we have lived.
