Memories

On a trip to the dump, I was met with this simple image of an old couch that had seen its day and was now discarded so its previous owner could purchase a new and better looking piece of furniture. It gave me a strange feeling inside, knowing that the couch had been used and then thrown out when it was no longer wanted. I felt stupid for thinking such a ridiculous thought because it would be childish to think that the couch cared one way or the other. The scene surrounding the dejected couch may have been the culprit for my internal angst; the dump was a graveyard of unwanted items that had at one point been useful or wanted by someone. Themes of betrayal and pain danced in my mind as I tried to imagine the vast amount of memories that couch held, from Christmases to Sunday football games.

My dad called me back to the truck to help him unload a mass of nail infested walling from a project in our house. I slipped on my worn, leather gloves and got to work unloading the abusive cargo. However, the ideas the forgotten couch had evoked inside of me still stirred and whirled around within my ever-brooding mind. I let my thoughts drift back to imagining all the memories that the couch could have possibly seen in its day. I was rudely brought back to reality with a previously unseen nail that set itself into my arm as if it had belonged there all along. My dad laughed at my mistake and told me not to get his gloves bloody. I chuckled at this but went back to my couch thoughts. We finished up with the unloading and I slipped off my gloves and set them in the car. My dad hopped in the drivers seat and turned on the ignition. I looked back at the couch and realized that I could not just forget about such a special piece of trash. I jumped out of the car with my digital Nikon D70 and, when I pressed that little silver button, felt my camera take on the heavy burden of years of memory and even a little wisdom. With the sound of the shutter, I knew the couch would at least not be forgotten in a graveyard of once-loved memory holders. I turned around and saw my dad driving slowly away, making me run after him. I knew he was laughing to himself.