Calling you an air mattress simply doesn’t do you justice. You are, and have been, the Life Raft on my ocean of despair.
You came into my life unwanted but required. She left on Saturday morning. The Friday night prior, her and I tried to inflate the one we inherited by accident from a friend of a friend. Turns out hosting 30+ visitors on that hand-me-down left it broken. The air just wouldn’t stick. I woke up that Saturday knowing the love of my life was removing my heart, soul and sleeping vessel. I’d start by trying to fill in the latter. Luckily my sister had you tucked into her storage locker. I strapped you to my back, and waddled down the block back to the Depression Station or later dubbed, The Crime Scene. The location in which my partner of 12 years told me she was ending our life together, was no longer “home.” “The apartment,” also sounded too normal. I cope by re-naming things apparently.
Once there – you filled my empty-bed hole beautifully. Your thick, solid, cord plugged into the wall and with a flip of a switch, you quickly came to life. Over the next four weeks, I’d come to know your buttons well. I’d deflate you entirely, move you across town, and periodically flip your switch just for an extra oomph.
But our relationship together, now, like many other things, has come to its end. I bought a bed from a very curious Asian man at the Bedroom Outlet. He thinks I’m an artist and peppered me with questions about my single status. I wanted to punch him like I’ve wanted to punch half of the human race lately. Questions aside, he gave me a deal on a mattress-boxed-spring set, including free delivery (!). Now it rests where you once were. Please, Life Raft, be assured your presence will be missed and remembered fondly. We were, like many other things, good while we had each other.