Broken Bed

Dearest Rachel –

Another day, another task I’m not looking forward to having to deal with. This time, it’s a case of having to either buy an extra mattress, or find a handyman to see if the old Jenny Lind bed can be repaired or not.

If I remember you and your mom correctly, that bed, while actually an imitation ‘Jenny Lind’ (whatever that means; I still only know that name as the “Swedish Nightingale” from the original Greatest Show on Earth, as assembled by Phineas T. Barnum back in the late 1800s. What she has to do with beds, I’ve no idea), still dates back to some time in the twenties. So even if it’s not a genuine antique, it’s still something like a century old.

And let’s face it, the thing has seen its fair share of wear and tear. Your family had moved it to the basement before you headed off to college, where it served as a guest bedroom. I should know; as I spent a few nights down there when I would visit you during the summers after my graduation but before (and, I suppose, after, if you count 1992) yours. You would often come downstairs to wake me up, and after doing so, I would playfully keep you from heading back upstairs for more time than I probably should have. You told me later how your folks assumed there was much more going on down there than actually was – only an odd question from you during the preparations for our wedding (the exact subject of which I never found out about) gave them any indication that we hadn’t gone as far as they presumed we had – but it’s not as if we didn’t put that bed through its paces back then.

And with that bit of sentimental value (if nothing having to do with its antique status), we took that bed with us when you moved out of your parents’ orbit and into mine. It literally served as a test bed for us to get to know each other as a married couple does, before we decided to splash out (also literally, since we got ourselves a waterbed, despite being some two decades out of fashion) for a bed of our own, which came complete with storage space beneath us – although it never worked out too well, as the mattress frame fell out of place. A casual glace wouldn’t suggest that anything was amiss, but it’s low enough that it prevents one from pulling out the drawers underneath the bed frame. Well, it’s not like you married me for my furniture-making skills.

Both beds came with us when we moved into the house we – I guess I can still say “we,” because I’m including Daniel – now call home, although the Jenny Lind never got much use until recently. What we call the “yellow room” was painted specifically for Ellen, but she didn’t end up spending a whole lot of time there. Ultimately, by the time you had to leave, there was no possibility of using the room for anything but storage, as it was crammed with stuff you had brought back from your folks’ place after their passing. I’m sure you had every intention of doing something with much of it, but you never got around to it, and since very little made any connection with me, a lot of it got purged, I’m afraid. On the other hand, it’s possible that the bed would have been grateful for the weight taken off of its… can a bed be said to have shoulders?

But not for long. While I made some plans to make the room into a man cave, those were scuttled in favor of letting Daniel’s friend Logan move in, so as to make his way in the world, per his parents (not that I’m any more strict as a landlord than they might have been, had they stayed as such, but whatever). The bed was back to bearing weight, and one that would likely move around during the night…

…until Wednesday morning, when it literally came crashing down.

I decided to delay my reporting to the office today, so that Daniel and I could go out and get a new mattress for Logan, which we would then set up, princess-and-the-pea style, with the box spring on the floor, the old mattress atop it, and the new mattress on top of that, thereby giving him both a reasonable height to his “bed,” as well as the added softness of multiple mattresses.

We actually started at a place that advertises itself as having a ‘hassleless’ purchasing process, without salesmen or the like, but when we got there, it turned out that their ordering kiosk was broken. Even if it wasn’t, there would have been a need to arrange for delivery, which would have defeated the whole purpose of having Daniel along with me (I assumed that, with my weight training, I might be able to carry the mattress home and up the stairs, but its sheer bulk would make that awkward at best). Additionally, I was suffering from a slight case of sticker shock, looking at their offerings.

And while I may not have preferred to actually deal with a sales clerk, the guy at the next place (which was barely a block down the road from our first stop, go figure) found us a deal on a hybrid coil-and-memory-foam mattress that was half (if not a third) of the price of any of the items on display at the first place. And here I would have thought that having fewer people on the payroll would reduce costs, which could then be passed on to us customers; shows what I know.

And we still get to keep the basic frame of the old bed, for what it’s worth. Sure, it’s not like I’m so attached to it that I wouldn’t be able to get rid of it, but it holds its fair share of memories, and if we don’t need to get rid of it, why go through the trouble? We’ll find out how well this works come tomorrow morning, after Logan gets his first night’s sleep on this new arrangement.

For now, though, keep an eye on us, honey, and wish us luck. We’re going to need it.