“Are you awake?” the chest of drawers groaned in the middle of the night.
“I am now,” I replied.
While I have become accustomed to the creaking sounds of my 90-plus-year-old house, lately the furniture has been chiming in. The mahogany bedroom set, older than both the house and me, belonged to my Aunt Rose and was gifted to me by her son after she died in recognition of my love for his mother and antiques.
When the furniture was delivered to my house, after serving Aunt Rose and Uncle Sam for the 50 years of their marriage, it looked like it had never been used. My aunt took care of her furnishings like she did her children, with loving care and respect for their place in her life.
Every time I polished one of her pieces, it was like a visit with her. Now that Aunt Rose’s furniture, as I have always called it, has lived with me for 50 years we have a very tight connection, so I was very forgiving when it started to make noises in the night. I figured if houses can settle so can furniture.
While the moans still startle me awake, I am beginning to understand them with a fresh perspective. The furniture, like the house and its owner, is responding to the weight of the stories it carries. Sometimes, even in the dark I can see a shadowy smile in the carved mirror over the dresser, and I find myself longing to know the story behind the smile.
What secrets are tucked in these drawers under my sweaters and between the little boxes that house my jewelry? So I have introduced a new dimension to our relationship: I ask questions.
“Why does it seem like you are bending forward?” I queried the chest when it groaned me awake last night. Was it reaching out to me? Perhaps hurting from a painful memory. Maybe the drawers are on overload and one old story has to be deleted to make room for a new one.
I am secretly hoping that’s the case and he will find a way to communicate it to me. I am no longer disturbed at being awakened. I am watching the room for clues and thinking about the possibilities that may be revealed. Stories, after all, are the stuff of life.
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