To the Maroon Snap Blankets That Lived On Our Couch for 20 Years,
You lived with us through so much. I remember when we got you both, as a gift, at one of the big family celebrations at Christmas. Those were so fun, so lively. So many jokers in one room. My mom and dad snapped you together into the giant onesie suits that you were designed to transform into – snaps at the wrists, ankles and head (to make a hood) – and then they zipped up the thick, black zipper to close themselves in. They waddled around. We all laughed.
I don’t mean to insult you, Blankets, but do you know if you were you a gag gift? I kind of always wondered. Doesn’t matter where we start in life, though, does it? It’s about the relationships you form along the way. That’s what I always believed.
You didn’t get snapped together all that often, I know, but you were very useful as blankets on the couch in our den. I remember one day I was home sick and my dad decided I needed some air so he bundled me up in one of you and put me in the front seat of his grey Buick sedan. We stopped by the mailbox and somewhere else: I don’t remember. What I do remember is the sun was bright and the sky was blue and I was disoriented from having been lying in front of the TV all day. I loved driving with my dad, but he kept looking at me out the corner of his eye. At one point he looked at me and asked me why I was sitting forward like that and I said I don’t know, why? He shrugged. “Just wanted to make sure you were feeling OK,” he said. But why am I telling you, Blankets? One of you was there. It’s just funny the things you remember. The things you look back on to try to puzzle meaning out of. He was probably afraid I was going to puke in his car.
And you survived so many years of being spare blankets, shoved down in the crevices of the couch, crumbs worked into your polyester fibers, your cotton batting getting frizzed through small rips. So many movies, so many TV shows we watched together. There was a time when my dad spent all day in that den with you – and then we just moved the hospital bed in – I bet you were called on a lot then. Or were you folded neatly and stored? Either way, you saw a lot, Blankets.
And then only one of us was left in that house. But you know that, Blankets. You were needed once again for evenings in an old, drafty house. Did you know how big that house must have seemed? Did you, through thoughtful concentration, gather your weight together to imitate the feel of an arm around a shoulder, one leg resting next to another? When it was time for bed you were left on the couch like a shed cocoon. You sat. Did you sigh?
I wonder what became of you? Did you land in a Goodwill somewhere, move on to a pet’s crate?
Are you still together? It’s hard to think of family being separated.
There was so much waiting. Witnessing. Your embraces never demanded anything in return.
Thank you,
-e.