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We moved the futon out of Man Town last night. First it needed to come apart in order to maneuver it up the stairs and around tight corners. Was it with a heavy heart that Kisa twisted the allen wrench or did I just imagine that? No matter how carefully I watched his face I couldn’t read it. Piece by piece we carried the dismantled futon to the now “spare” room. No longer a work out room, we weren’t sure how to refer to it. In the end it was deemed Red. The Red Room Kisa called it. I agreed, but was that bitterness in his voice? No matter how carefully I listened I couldn’t hear it. My mind was (still!) playing tricks on me.
Later we moved a big green armchair. You know, the one I can never sit in properly. Usually I lounge sidewise, held in a strange big-armed embrace. I love this chair. I almost hated to move it. As I hoisted it up Kisa asked, “now where is this going again?” Suddenly it was clear to me – the big picture was never clear to him. He agreed to something he couldn’t quite see.
Later we were talking about the phone. He had assumed I wanted to take that, too. For work, he explained. Again I got the feeling he had been moving things and agreeing to things without understanding the final destination. Where, exactly, did he put his map? Right at that moment I knew I needed to retrace my steps, catch him up to where I thought we were going. Are we chickens or are we nuts? Maybe a little of both.
By the end of the discussion the paranoia had lifted. The Red Sox weren’t leaving town. Neither were the Bruins, Patriots, Celtics, or Broncos. Sakic is safe. Light sabres and drum kits. Terrible towels and phishing gear. Skeletons and roses. That was never in the plan. Everything that makes this room “dude” is staying. No need for anymore heavy lifting.

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