I thought about my old plaid couch the other day.
The one I bought from Rooms to Go, with matching love seat, coffee table and two matching end tables.
All for under $1,000.
Signifying a new phase in life.
Moving in to a new house with husband, toddler and another on the way.

The couch where my son held his baby sister for the first time.
Where we watched Sesame Street and the Teletubbies together.
And read Is Your Mama a Llama? and, later on, the whole Harry Potter series.
Where we sat the kids down and told them that Mommy and Daddy would no longer be living in the same house.
And we loved them both dearly.

But the tear-stained plaid couch stayed in its place.
And so did I.

Fast forward to four years later.
I am divorced, but happily on the cusp of remarrying.
And the couch is leaving me.
Being taken away from me while I am at work.
I didn’t get to say goodbye.
Maybe it is better this way.
Arriving in its place is a masculine leather couch from my fiance’s house.
He’s moving in.
The wedding is soon.

But in my mind, I can still see:
That the plaid couch is stained on the arm where my son, no longer a toddler at the age of nine, has repeatedly laid down his head every day for the last seven years.
That the cushions have been flipped over. And then flipped over again to hide more stains.
The stains from two kids spilling their morning hot chocolate on it.
And the grease marks from many bags of microwave popcorn.
And even, sometimes, the stains from the juice of fresh, organic fruit.

And I remember more than one post divorce, torrid sex session on that couch, including a few with my soon-to-be second husband.
But none from my first marriage.
The bedroom was the only place for that.
But my sexuality blossomed on that couch.
And it was a good thing we Scotchgarded it when it was new.

Its been over four years since the couch was taken away.
But I sometimes wonder where it is.
Did it go to another family whose children are leaving their own marks on it?
Is another repressed woman discovering her sexuality on it?
Or has it been abandoned, given up because it had seen too much?

Plaid couch, wherever you are, just know that I still miss you.
And I am forever grateful to you for spending those seven years with me.
Seeing me through happy and sad times.
And don’t worry.
The old green damask couch is leaving me soon.
No tears will be shed over it.
It holds no place in my heart.
It was purely functional.