I don’t know what year this was, maybe 2005? My parents were out for a walk. My sister and I were at home. We had a power cut. My sister and I lit a candle, it was common and didn’t feel like a big deal. Our parents were out for only a few minutes. We lit the candle and kept it in one of the “chamber” our bed rest had. We thought we were so grown up, lighting a candle on our own and not feeling scared. Our parents came back. Instead of being proud, they scolded us. “Why did you keep it inside and not on the top of the bedrest?” “It could have burned the bed and whole house with it!” We were so taken aback with this information that we didn’t even protest, either of us.
That bedrest had three parts. One on the right, the papa’s part. The one on the left, our part. And one in the middle, the one with the giant mirror. It had putty all around it to hold the mirror but it was always getting off. It also had a solitary “bindi” on it, somehow, anyhow. And the extreme left and right had small lamps in it. We could see the mirror and over time we had pushed the mirror back in its socket, And could make out a bulb and a holder. Although we never saw it lit.
Somehow, I can’t put a finger on it, but the other side of the bed, our side, felt a little more friendlier
A littler more inviting, a little morel forgiving.
The right side was responsible, strict. Only available while the cat was away.
The left side wasn’t our’s entirely, or the mama cat’s. It just was.
A blank canvas to draw an entire childhood on.
A few whiles later, this bed underwent a transformation.
It didn’t change, but it changed its surroundings.
We shifted it to our room.
There it felt a little more normal, a little more mine, ours.
Then, after fulfilling its purpose like a brave solider, it was time.
Time for it to go.
A buyer was waiting. A seller was eager. A boy was confused, as always.
We let it out hanging by a rope In the front of our house, where a giant trolley was waiting to catch it.
It was let down slowly, but it still brushed its side on our walls.
Breaking off that cheap sun-mica, as it slowly rested on the bed of the trolley.
A few reassurances (to the buyer) later, it was gone.
Just a bed, but our childhood, kinda, sorta.
It’s so silly to have written these many lines about an in-animate object, lest a bed.
But it had our childhood in it, on it.
It started creaking when we didn’t stop jumping on it.
I would practice WWE moves on it, while also eating/reading/writing/watching/sleeping on the same surface.
I write this, sitting on my IKEA sofa-cum-bed, reminiscing about that old bed, in my hometown, in my home, in my room.
While the IKEA one is good, many times expensive, it can’t compare to the one in my mind.
I don’t want to return to it, but I, for sure, don’t want to forget it either.
It has something very expensive in it - my childhood.