Living Room Royalty
We were the kings of the couch. Striped brown, white, and black, like a roll of Oreos when you first open the pack, it was my throne. Perched on the back, pressed against the wall with my arms stretched up I was still two feet short of the ceiling. My brother, the heir apparent, sprawled across as much as he could, never managing to take up more than two cushions at a time. During the week, it was a place to re-tie shoelaces and check backpacks for homework or sharpened pencils. But come Friday night at six pm, I climbed atop the perfectly squared firmly squishy cushions and declared my sovereignty!
We jumped up and down for hours, never quite managing to reach the ceiling or cause an injury serious enough for the ER. But we did fly off the couch and into each other, ribs aching from laughter and throats raw from screaming in sheer ecstasy in our defiance of gravity.
Eight o’clock found us properly tuckered out, the couch transformed from throne trampoline to movie theater bed. As we got older (I was six; he was three) we didn’t even need my parents to pull the cushions off or unlock the pull-out. We just did it. Safely ensconced under the blankets, footie pajamas stuck out the end, we watched The Incredible Hulk. Bill Bixby and Lou Ferrigno got into situations, got angry (“Don’t make me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”), HULKED out, broke things, caused explosions, and then walked away alone and lonely still trying to find a cure for their overdose of gamma radiation. Snoring mere minutes after Dr. David Banner walked away, we maintained control of the Oreo roll as far into Saturday morning as possible.
Sunshine found us breaking our fast (cereal in the bowl before the milk, of course), and singing along to cartoon propaganda (“We the People, in order to form a more perfect union…”) while pretending we couldn’t hear my Mom calling us to get up and get ready to go to Grandma’s. After the third reminder (never push past three warnings!), we slowly slid off the bed, pushing the OFF button, and carried our cereal bowls to the sink. The couch, understanding our reign had ended, seemed a little sad to see us go, stripes bending just a little into frowns as we walked away, leaving it alone and lonely.
