Day 244: 342 Words About My Parent’s Bed
Hey, cool, it’s Thursday already. Time to bother somebody I know to pick a random number and object so I can have an excuse to write something stupid! This weeks suggestion comes from my dad, who chose 342 and bed. Problem is, I write about beds all the time. So I decided to be more specific and write about his bed. And get your mind out of the gutter. There’s other reasons why I suddenly dreaded going there! Also, the cover photo is not their bed. I wasn’t sure if they wanted their real bed published on the internet. I didn’t even bother to ask.
When you’re a kid, there’s no object, place or terrain larger than your parents bed. Each corner of it has a different vibe. Different lighting, different smells, different climates, et cetera. For example, the Northeast corner of the bed smelled of dust and pledge. The southwest corner was much cooler, as it was close to the air conditioner. The Northwest corner reeked of rotten apple cores. And the southeast corner was for losers. You got no airflow and you couldn’t see the TV from that vantage point. Only fools hung out on the southeast side of Bedtown.
And that was obviously the one reason to be there. Our parent’s bedroom had cable, on a tiny TV inside of an armoire. It wasn’t the best setup in the world, but when it’s 90 degrees out and your Dad is watching a boring Tigers game, the best place to be was watching Nickelodeon in a giant, air conditioned bed. To make things even cooler, it was a king size waterbed. Although I had a waterbed myself, this one was a goddamn Cadillac. It was the difference between being on a Yacht and a raft.
But then one day, my sanctuary was ruined. It was a normal evening and dinner was almost ready. But I had made a huge mess filling out Valentines on my parents bed. Cards and envelopes were strewn everywhere, I got overwhelmed, not knowing which went where. Suddenly, my Mom called out that dinners ready. I had to clean up the mess and I had to do it quickly. I fumbled with the stacks of paper, but I couldn’t get a grasp on everything.
Growing impatient, my Mom yelled to “get your ass out here NOW”. I tried getting off the bed, but I couldn’t. Suddenly, the door slammed shut. The doors on the armoire swung open, and the TV turned on, playing some scary shit.
I woke up, but the damage was done. I couldn’t be alone in that bed again. That was when started begging for cable in my bedroom.