To Anticipation

The new sofa sectional arrives this afternoon. This is the sofa set I’ve been thinking about my whole life. The kind that other people have and when I walk into their house and see it, I think, “What do you have to do to have a sofa like this?”

By Dan Pancamo [CC BY-SA 2.0
 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)],
via Wikimedia Commons

In the three days since we bought it, I have planned where it will go. Facing the door to welcome guests as they arrive, beckon them to sit or even lie down. Relax. Or facing the picture window? In the spring, watching goldfinches and hummingbirds; in fall, the leaves brighten and fade. Or facing the fireplace? Burning log after log as we read.

I imagine sitting on it. The feel of the leather, cool at first and then warming. The way the cushions actually hold me instead of giving in. On nights when I can’t sleep, I will come down and lay here, and though the worry won’t fade, I can stretch out in all directions.

No doubt I think about my friends coming: pre-dinner drinks, post-dinner conversations when we are past the catching up and well into solving the problems of the world. Six adults fitting easily on the couch. And neighborhood meetings, planning summer music concerts at the park; we are the village and we take it seriously. Have a seat.

One day, my son will come home from college. He’ll walk in the back door with a new friend from out-of-state. It’s Thanksgiving break and they will stay here for the weekend. My son will throw his stuff on the dining room table and they will flop themselves down on the sofa to watch Netflix. They’ll pop open Cokes and snack on chips. They are eager to graduate, talk about traveling, laughing at jokes I don't understand. As if the sofa has always been here. As if this is normal.