MY LIFE - A bedtime repair story
MY LIFE - A bedtime repair story
This column, written more than 20 years ago, is being retold at the request of my daughters who suddenly remembered the story last week as we stood near the bed in question in the old house in Blackstone.
The story begins in my current home in Cumberland in 1992.
My bed broke.¬?
I had just minutes before climbed in and snuggled down under the covers.¬? Then, half asleep, I rolled over to get more comfortable and thunk, next thing I knew I was hanging head down and feeling like I was sliding off the edge of the earth.
One of the pieces of wood that holds the slats that support the box spring on my graceful old depression-era bed had torn loose and one whole corner of the bed ... the corner that supported all my curled-up-in-a-ball weight, had collapsed, taking me with it.
Now I am not, under the best of circumstances, much of a home handyman, and late at night when I am half asleep is not when I am at my cleverest best.¬?All I wanted was a night's sleep, as quickly as possible.¬?Sleeping on the opposite side of the bed wasn't an option.¬?For one thing, I kept sliding back downhill, and for another, I have a fear of falling out of bed.¬?It had happened to me once before on a hot summer night many years earlier.¬?It was an experience I won't soon forget.
My spot in bed had become too warm.¬?I was restless and miserable, so I sat up and flopped over onto the foot of the bed in search of a cooler spot.¬?The problem occurred when I lost sight of the fact that my position had been reversed and I rolled over in the wrong direction.¬?I woke up in mid-air just a millisecond or two before I came crashing down on the floor, waking the entire household and calling a great deal more attention to myself than I would otherwise have cared to under the circumstances.
"What in the heck was that?" they all yelled as they came rushing in.
"Just Mom falling out of bed," announced the first on the scene.
I have been leery of sleeping on the other side of the bed ever since.
Getting back to the problem at hand, namely the broken bed, I find that having an extensive library is a great asset.¬?Not that I started looking up "furniture repair."¬?What I did here was to assemble a stack of books of just the right size and height with which to bring that corner of the bed back up to level before climbing back in and falling back asleep.
I have to chuckle every time I think about it because it brings to mind a similar repair made under similar late night circumstances back when I was still married.
I was awakened then from a sound sleep by a loud bang, a cry of pain, and the bed going "thump" as it dropped down at one end.¬?
Not knowing what in the world was happening, I quickly sprang to the other side of the bed, where the lamp was located, only to hear an even louder cry of pain followed by a string of bad words.¬?Once the light was turned on I saw my husband standing there at the foot of the bed, grimacing in pain, but laughing in spite of himself.
"What's going on?" I asked, and he began his tale of woe.
"I was on my way back to bed in the dark when I walked into the leg of the bed.¬?I kicked it hard enough with my bare foot to break it off, and when I did, the foot of the bed fell down across the top of my foot.¬?I just got my hand under the footboard and lifted it off my foot when you came bouncing across the bed and crushed my fingers between the footboard and the floor."
In spite of his injuries, which weren't serious, we had a good laugh over it all before facing the problem of the broken bed.¬?What to do, what to do?
It was then that we went to the books.¬?Three novels, a slim book of poetry, and a tome by Winston Churchill did the trick very nicely and we were able to climb back into bed and salvage what sleep we could.
We laughed about it often over the years and even now, it still strikes me funny.¬?A broken bed, a stack of books, and I can still see myself bouncing across the bed once again.
Rhea Bouchard Powers is a writer from Cumberland.