I'm a writer, so of course, I've cleverly placed my complaints in the form of a short story. Here's the whole ridiculous deal. Enjoy.
Memoir of the sofa cushion
I’m sleeping on the couch tonight. I’m not even that mad anymore, I just feel like I’ve got to make a point where I can. I call Kelly. It’s too late to call her, it’s Thursday and she goes to bed early on Thursday because on Thursday she teaches at the community college and she says the inability of her students to grasp simple concepts depresses her. It’s a sociology class. Kelly’s an anthropologist. She’s also depressed that she can’t find a job in her field. I call her anyway though, even though I know it’s too late. She answers in the middle of the fourth ring, right before the machine is forced to fulfill its obligation.
“Is it too late to call?” I ask, knowing full well that it is.
“Oh no,” she hurries to convince me. “I’m still up.” She’s lying. That’s the good thing about a person with really good manners; they’re too polite to tell the truth. I knew she’d say that.
“I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.”
“I’m sorry. What happened?” Her voice perks up a little.
“It’s uniquely stupid.” I say.
“It always is.”
I breathe out in preparation for the telling.
“He wouldn’t recycle a plastic container.”
“He what?”
“He wouldn’t recycle a plastic container. He threw it away.”
“Oh dear.” Kelly knows how I feel about recycling. “Did you ask him nicely?”
“Yes, yes I did. In fact, I said, honey, if you’ll take that container out of the trash and hand it to me I’ll wash it out and recycle it for you.”
“That is nice. What did he say?” I imagined her to be biting her lip. She always bites her lip when the confrontation in a conversation rears its ugly head. Kelly is very, very polite; she hates confrontation.
“He said no; he wanted to throw it away. What kind of person wants to throw away a plastic container?” It’s all so stupid, I realize, but it’s all I’ve got.
“Maybe he was just tired.”
“Too tired to recycle but not too tired to throw away? It doesn’t make any sense.” Kelly yawns on the other end signaling I better bring it on home. “This was all about seven thirty, so I walked the dog, calmed down and then approached him about it after I’d had my shower, somewhere around nine o’clock. I told him I realized the controversy surrounding the decision of whether or not to recycle that particular plastic container was not worth getting a divorce over, but in the future when I was polite, made a polite offer to do something for him and the earth all at the same time, that it would probably be in his best interest to just hand me the container and let me recycle it.”
“And what did he say?”
“He told me he’d had a really tough day at the office and that throwing away that plastic container made him feel better. Of course that’s when his credibility flailed because there is no possible way that throwing away a plastic container instead of recycling it would make anyone forget their office woes or be therapeutic in any other way. That’s just ridiculous. I told him so.”
“So now you’re sleeping on the couch?”
“Yep, and now I’m all fired up again! I may never sleep with him again!” I was too! That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, throw away therapy. Ridiculous.
All was quite for a moment. I could hear Kelly’s television come on in the background, then go off. She was checking the time on the display area at the bottom of the screen. She’d recently upgraded her cable package to digital and the time is always displayed on the screen right after you turn the unit on until you press another button on the remote to make the display go away.
“Courtney, I’ve got to go to bed. I’m sorry. I’m also sorry you ‘re in a fight. This will all be better in the morning.”
“I know it will.”
We both sat in silence. I heard her yawn.
“Don’t you even want to know what kind of container it was?” I asked. I knew she did; like me, she’s a detail person.
“What kind?”
“French onion dip.”
“I love that stuff.” She said.
“I do too,” I conceded, “but it’s trashy.”
“I know. Sleep on the couch in the living room; it’s longer and more comfortable. You always get cramped up on the family room couch; it’s just too short for you. Goodnight Courtney.”
“Good night Kelly, thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Goodnight.” I heard the dial tone comment in final agreement; I returned the receiver to its place on the wall.
All was humming. The dishwasher set on timer was so engaged, the first crickets of the new Spring rubbed and fiddled their legs until the sound of courtship sprang from their musical bodies and out into the virgin air, filling the world with its loveliness and simple hope.
I sat in the darkness contemplating both the vainness and the simplicity of it all, how really when broken down, they meant the same amount of trouble. Kelly was my only single friend, but when it came down to it, she was the one who helped me see my marriage as sacred, for the lack of her own in comparison.
My hand stumbled across the couch and then into the gutter where the two cushions meet. I touched something cylindrical in shape, metallic feeling and cold. My hand knew it to be a penny. I brought it from the dark of its upholstered prison and into the lamplight beside me. Turning it over between the tips of my fingers and the palm of my hand, I examined its wares and the words contained to its form. I closed my fingers across the presidents’ face and manifest words and gently laid him atop the table beside me. I got up from the short couch and walked down the hall to the kitchen where I retrieved the naughty container from the trash, rinsed it under luke water, then placed it atop the collected recycling as in a victorious declaration.
The bed was warm when I arrived. “I’m glad you’re here,” was all he said when I slid in beside him. I told him goodnight, that I loved him but it was too late; he was already back to sleep.