Requiem for a LIttle Sofa

Requiem for a Little Sofa

It has been more than a month since a little sofa appeared beside the road by a dumpster not far from this rural horse camp. It was the size of a love seat, but overstuffed in a pretty flowered print on navy blue background. I couldn't see any rips or tears, but it was badly soiled.

I drove by it every few days, and each time I was drawn to it almost as if it called out to me. It looked very comfortable, and had graceful lines that would have done proud to the decor of any living room.

I began to give it a human persona. I wondered who had sat on it perhaps in loving pairs. What secrets had it heard? What made the owner think it was not worthy of cleaning or repair? Did it feel shame sitting there by a dumpster? I even had a few tears well up in my eyes thinking of it in human terms.

I couldn't help feeling that it was deserving of a better fate than being thrown on a dump. If I lived in larger quarters than a trailer, I would have taken it home to give it another start in life.  I thought of an old friend, Mattie McDonald, who took a night class in upholstering, and after repairing her own furniture, scoured the alleyways for cast-off furniture to repair. She would have loved this little sofa. I am too old and incapacitated to try upholstering at this time in my life, and I have no place to put a sofa, even a very small one, if I had taken possession of it.

So, I kept driving by until last week it disappeared. Someone probably put it in the dumpster when there was finally enough room. But I have a remote hope that someone of Mattie's ilk rescued it, to be repaired, and returned to a place of honor in a living room.