Didn’t See That Coming

“We need to let go”

“I know we do. But...but it’s just so hard.” 

“I understand, Anna. This is a big step for you, for me, for all of us. But we need to do this.” Dad states as he walks towards Mom, taking her hands in his and giving them a slight squeeze. 

“He’s been with us for so long,” Mom continues with melancholy in her voice, “You remember the time I was having cold feet before our wedding, Snoopy was the one who comforted me. He has been with us ever since we first moved in together.” 

Listening to Mom, a weird emotion engulfs me. But when I look at Dad, I can see how a wave of nostalgia has washed over him, leaving him with a mixed feeling of delight and unease. Perhaps like Mom, he too is now reliving all those good old days, and his next words confirm that just right. 

“Oh, I remember! Every time you kicked me out of bed when I snored too loud, he was the one who gave me refuge. He has indeed been my partner in grief and joy.”   

“Exactly, Bob. Don’t you remember how Mia took her first steps holding onto Snoopy for support? She made her way around him with small shuffling movements, then fell back onto the blankets and cried in pain while we rejoiced.” She takes a deep breath, pauses briefly, before continuing to talk in a low and brittle voice, “We’ve made so many beautiful memories with him”   

A tiny smile creeps up my face and I go back to those pages in my photograph album where I made my transition from crawling to walking. He definitely was a part of one of my very first milestones.  

Hold on. Why am I getting all mushy over this? That’s crazy! Are Mom’s feelings rubbing off on me? That can’t be happening. At least one person in this family needs to be sane.

Why are they even reminiscing about all those days right now? He’s going, big deal. He’s been a part of our family for so long, we have made memories with him and now it’s time for him to leave. That’s life! So why can’t they just get this done and over with so that I can run a nice hot bath and call it a day? Except no. My parents here have other plans. So it’s time for me to take matters into my own hands.

But before I can cut in on their memory lane my ten-year-old brother, Dylan, decides to make his presence known. “Mom-Dad, what about me?” 

Mom and Dad break out of their bubble and turn towards Dylan, “Aww sweetie, we have memories with you too. Don’t we, Bob?”

“Of course we do, come on here.”  

Great! One more story! 

Unable to take the millionth walk down the memory lane, I tune out the rest of their conversation and sink back against the wall, thinking about why this conversation started in the first place.   

Currently, we are standing in our empty study room with a gray couch, sitting in solitude, right in the middle. The pale white walls and cream carpeting only add to the sense of space, as do the floor-to-ceiling windows on the left. We’ve been in this room for the past two hours debating over an absurdity. 

My train of thought is disrupted when Mom and Dad start making their way to sit on the couch but Dylan is nowhere in sight. My eyes flicker around the room until they land on him sitting near the window, on a foldable chair, with a big bowl of popcorn in his hands. When did he even get that? Wasn’t he talking with Mom and Dad just a few minutes ago? And now he is hogging on popcorn while enjoying this definitely-not-normal drama. 

Ignoring his indifferent actions, I force myself to tune back in on my parent’s conversation to find out its status.

“...Sunday hangovers, late-night chats, emotional endings, and beginnings.” Mom completes with a sigh. 

I don’t even want to know what that conversation was about. But I do know one thing; enough is enough. This is getting annoying. I need to pipe in before it gets any weirder than it already is.

“What is wrong with the two of you?” Getting up from the carpeted floor, I finally scream out, all restraint flying out of the window, “Why are you guys making such a big deal? This is absolutely ridiculous. It’s just a couch we are talking about. An old one at that. You guys are acting like we are giving up Dylan” 

“Hey! Keet me oup of this.” Dylan tries to speak up in a muffled voice.

“How many times have I told you not to talk with food stuffed in your mouth? That’s disgusting!” I yell back exasperated by the entire situation. 

On one hand, my parents are getting all dramatic over an old couch. Yes, Snoopy’s a couch (how my parents ended up naming him Snoopy is a story for another time). On the other hand, my ten-year-old brother is being his usual self. How much can a sixteen-year-old possibly handle at the same time?

“Hold on kiddo. Your mom’s trying her best. Letting go can be hard so cut her some slack.” Dad calls me out like he’s been doing for the past two hours. 

Yes, two hours. That’s how long we’ve been debating over this, which is totally insane.

Dylan and I are having a second sibling. Thus, the study room–where this couch used to live–now needs to be converted into a kids’ bedroom. And the last I checked, our house isn’t getting any bigger. Hence, here we are with this twenty-one-year-old sofa, shedding tears of sorrow and frustration.

“But this is silly!” I whine, clasping and squeezing my hands together, telling myself how everything’s going to be alright.

“Are you calling Mom and Dad silly? I think this is where I can ground you because I am defending our parents,” Rubbing his hands together Dylan questions me with a smug look on his face, “This is so much fun.”

“Dylan, that’s not how you talk to your sister.” Dad reprimands him before turning towards me, “And you, young lady. Calm down. I’ve already called the furniture pickup, they’ll be here any minute now. So can we all just have a moment with Snoopy, before he leaves?”

“Yes, Dad.” Both Dylan and I respond in a singsong manner.

“Bob, can’t we keep Snoopy in the garage?” Mom requests, her voice thick with emotion.

Dad takes a deep breath and places both his hands on top of hers with a slight smile on his face, “I understand how you are feeling Anna. If we had space, we’d never let him go. But we don’t and we have no choice but to give him away.”

“I know. It’s just that it feels like we are abandoning him” Mom retorts her eyes welling up.

“No. No, sweetie,” Dad says, trying his best to calm her down, “Don’t think of it that way. Think of it like....you know like we are giving it up for adoption. Someone who needs it can have it. We will be doing good for ourselves as well as another family. We are spreading love, Anna” 

“Do you realize this is the same sofa, where I have lost my mobile phone countless times? And that is painful,” I interject with a shocked look on my face.

“And this is also the same couch where you and Dylan used to cuddle with me when you couldn’t fall asleep. You have played with your dolls and cars sitting on him. And don’t you forget those countless tickle fights we’ve had right here on this couch.” Mom argues a bit defensively.

“Oh yes! I’ve had plenty of wrestling fights with Dad here. Snoopy is my favorite jumping castle too,” Dylan grumbles as he walks to Snoopy and flops down on him, joining Mom and Dad. He runs his hands on the somewhat worn-out but impeccably clean couch with a faraway, lost look in his innocent eyes. “I’m going to miss him.”

“I can’t even think of a time when he wasn’t with us.” Mom softly chimes in.

All this while I stand in one corner, leaning against the wall with my hands crossed against my chest, staring at them. There is a weird feeling coursing within me but I can’t quite put a name to it. All I know is I want to rip this band-aid off once and for all.

“Mia, come here.” Dad pats the empty spot next to him and before I can realize what’s happening I find myself sandwiched between him and Snoopy’s armrest. 

I pull out the throw pillow from behind me, place it on my lap, and make myself comfortable on Snoopy one last time. 

A heart-stopping silence envelopes us, and I feel like we’re all plunging into the vast bag of memories. The study meets with my friends, post-midnight story sessions with Dad, movie nights with Dylan, and gossip hour with Mom. Snoopy has been a part of our life for a long time. As we plunged deeper and deeper into our thoughts, the doorbell rings signaling the arrival of Snoopy’s end.

“Well, that must be the furniture pickup.” With a deep sigh, Dad pulls himself out of Snoopy’s warm embrace and shuffles to the front door. 

Mom, Dylan, and I too get up from the couch and make our way towards one corner of the room. Seconds later, two uniformed men walk in and give us a curt nod before they start removing the seat cushions from Snoopy. Soon I find them turning him on his back and taking his legs apart. Within minutes his upholstery is out too and they continue disassembling his wooden frame. Throughout my eyes stay fixated on him, watching him transform from a grey bundle of comfort to individual pieces of nothingness. 

Suddenly I feel a hand slip through my fingers and look down to find Dylan holding onto me. One look into his innocent brown eyes told me that he knows something that I don’t. And whatever that something may be, it’s terrifying me. Unable to hold onto his stare any longer I look away, with my heart pounding nervously.

“You know what I think,” Dylan pauses briefly, as if inwardly debating his next words, “I think you are just as disturbed as Mom about losing the couch. But both of you are dealing with it differently. Mom is being open about her feelings while you are masking them with your anger.” 

“Huh?”Jerking my head in his direction, I stared at him trying to process what he was saying. 

He glances around and leans in closer. “Give it some thought. I’m sure you’ll figure...”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I interject, dismissing him altogether. That couldn’t be possible. We are talking about a couch here, an inanimate materialistic object.

“Hey, Sis, take it easy,” Dylan says, taking a step back. He raises his hands as a gesture of submission before continuing, “No need to go all crazy on me.” 

Rolling my eyes at him I look away.

When I glance at Dad I can see his eyes welling up. Or maybe it was the evening rays that reflected in his hazel orbs giving them a glassy look. I’m not sure but something had shifted in the air. Resting his chin on top of Mom’s head, Dad strokes his hand down her back, murmuring reassuring words. And it looked like that in comforting her he too somehow found the strength to let go of our couch, our friend, our Snoopy. 

We take one long, last look at Snoopy before the uniformed men take his dismantled pieces out of the study room, our home, our life, and into their truck. 

We can see the truck driving off into the distance but there we are, still standing on the front door motionless and wistful. 

“I am hungry. Can I have pancakes?” With a hopeful look in his eyes, Dylan breaks the piercing silence. Mom wordlessly nods and smiles back at him.

“Yay!” Dylan jumps up with his hands in the air as he rushes into the kitchen and my parents follow suit, while I retreat into the study room. 

As my eyes drift to the now empty space I realize that the room doesn’t just look empty somehow it feels empty too. 

I lay down on the floor, in the space that the couch had left for a little while, thinking about everything that had happened on or around the sofa over the years. A sinking feeling encompasses my heart and realization dawns upon me: the couch meant something to me too. Dylan wasn’t wrong after all. I was using my anger to project my fear; the fear of letting go. I realized what a central role the couch had played in our lives and subconsciously I didn’t want it to leave us. 

I spread my hands out on the carpet feeling the furniture indentations when a lone tear ran down my left eye. I recall the countless times I had snuggled up on that very couch with my blue blanket, reading a Nicholas Sparks or a Jane Austen. Warmth spreads throughout my chest despite the nip in the cool breeze blowing through the open windows. I close my eyes trying to shake off the memories but the bittersweet feeling has already wedged its way into my heart. 

I am abruptly brought out of my reverie as Mom’s words echo through the now empty room, “Mia, I am making pancakes would you like to help...Oh my God! Are you ok, love?”

With quick steps, Mom makes her way towards me as I get off my back and sit on the floor. She sits down Indian style right next to me and embraces me in a tight hug. As if on cue hot tears roll down my cheeks, soaking her navy blue shirt. 

After what felt like hours, I finally let go of her and wiped my face. 

“You feeling better now?” Mom asks me. 

It’s surprising how the roles have reversed. A while back everyone was worried about how Mom would handle this but I am the one who is a crying mess now.

I finally gather the courage and mumble the next few words, “I am sorry for how I reacted earlier. I thought giving up that couch wasn’t a big deal and I kept mocking you and Dad. But after actually seeing Snoopy leave, it feels like a definite and deliberate full stop. Like he’s gone forever. Like we lost him. And all this crying makes me feel like I’m crazy.”  

 “It’s ok, love. It happens. And what makes you think that getting rid of Snoopy is a definite and deliberate full stop? Because it isn’t. Rather it’s the beginning of a fresh start with a new member that will be arriving in the family in the next few months. Snoopy may not physically be there with us, but he’s always gonna be there in our memories. It’s not wrong to feel like there is a void within you. It’s ok. It’s normal. Crying doesn’t mean you’re crazy. It means that you feel too. And that is human. I know goodbyes are hard but they aren’t bad. They are a part of life.”

“I get it now, Mom. Thank you.”

“I’m always here, love. So I’ll start preparing the pancakes and you can join all of us whenever you’re ready. Ok?” 

“Yes, Mom. I’ll be there in a minute.”

As Mom leaves, I let her words sink in and stare out of the window into the night sky. The silence feels comforting, just the way Snoopy made us all feel over the years. He will always be a part of us, a part of our family history. 

Suddenly, the wind chime hanging in the open window turns gently in the cool spring breeze and soft tones ring out as if heralding the end of one chapter and the start of a beautiful new one.