My old bed frame goes to a new home | Stories of Things

4 Jul

Old bedframe

The nice couple who bought this bed from me had just moved into a new home up in a forested little enclave in the San Bruno hills. “We don’t need curtains,” the wife said. “This is the first place I’ve ever lived where you don’t need them,” the husband said, as he worked to disassemble the frame.

They were buying the bed for their daughter — well, his daughter, “But I think of her as my daughter,” the wife said, and you could tell it was genuine. “We just got her 50 percent of the time,” she said proudly.

They were an attractive couple. She had long, thick, dark brown hair and an authentic permanent smile. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut short, and his grey t-shirt fit him like someone who worked out regularly. They met at a gym, and joked “Not that you can tell, now” for a little too long. It must have been a sore spot, and it only stuck out because otherwise they were so comfortably sweet with each other. He put his arm around her. She gazed at him admiringly.

She was a born conversationalist: great at small talk while we watched him take the frame apart for a solid 30 minutes (I only had one screwdriver and it had to be broken down enough to fit in their Suburu). She was genuinely interested in people.

As I helped them load the pieces into their car, I was thrilled that my little bed frame was going to be part of this new beginning for them and their family.


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