A couch. That is all it is to those who don’t know me; a withered blue velvet cover on creaky wooden framework. On this couch I experience both the highest and lowest points in my life. I am sitting on this bountiful cushion, this cool fabric, this rough texture, on the day I lose my innocence.
It is amazing the details one can remember during an intense moment. Life slows down, and appeals to the senses. I am on the far left side of my old, velvet, blue couch on that beautiful summer afternoon. It has always been my favorite seat, and I sit there day after day. I will soon begin to learn that today is no ordinary day.
My brother Ryan is sitting just adjacent to me on my right, my other brother Kevin across him. A cool breeze enters through the window, brushing the heat off my forehead and breaking the sweat brought upon by the unforgiving summer heat.
After sitting on that couch, on that left cushion, on that roughly smooth fabric running through my fingers, I slowly feel the mood shift. My brothers and I catch a glimpse of the grim look plastered onto my father’s face, a rare sighting to be seen from this usually elated man. Thoughts begin racing through my mind. Who died this time? An aunt? Cousin? Neighbor?
These next words to be spoken by my father have had the largest impact on my life thus far. This dialogue is what brings an end to my childish and hazy view on life and lets me see its harsh reality. These words are powerful enough to make a grown man cry and a newborn baby silent:
“Your mother and I are getting divorced.”
Instantly, sounds of wailing fill the air. The smell of fresh tears fill the summer air. Oddly, none of these emotions come from me. Instead, I just sit there, shocked. My mind is a blur, as I slowly begin to realize what my life has been up to now. I begin recognizing events from my past that I now acknowledge to be nonparallel to actions of a “married family.” My dad had been sleeping on our couch, that old, withered, unbroken couch for months and I had thought nothing of it; until now.
To this day, I try to remember my parents kissing, hugging, having an intimate moment. Only memories of their fighting, bitterness, and that withered old couch on that nice summer evening remain. I cannot tell whether I was just too young to remember happy times, or if my mind blocked them out.
I don’t want this to be seen as a sob story. I never cry over my parents’ divorce. I never wish for them to be married once again. What I have done is I have used this experience to become stronger and wiser as an individual. I have become more cynical of life and require more to trust people ever since the divorce. This scarring experience has shaped me to become the inquisitive youth I am today. Like the couch I endure my experiences with, I am withered on the outside, and those who don’t know me may think I am weak. They do not see the sturdy, wooden framework built within me that has withstood all of the hardships I have been through.