JOURNAL, Sunday, Jan. 13th

“SURPRISE!”

I’m not a big fan of surprises. Yesterday, I had just gotten back from shopping and was putting away the few groceries that I’d bought, when the buzzer rang from downstairs. A man said that he had a delivery from the Furniture Showroom. I told him that there must be a mistake. I went downstairs and looked at the beautiful sofa bed in the back of his truck and the bill of sale with Danny’s signature: Delivery date, Jan 12th.

It’s a nice couch. The two men wrestled it up the three flights of stairs, around the narrow corners of the stairwell, and into the apartment. They said that they were instructed to remove the old couch if that was what I wanted.

My “old” couch is almost prehistoric and of no value to anyone, but it’s mine. We picked it up the spring of my second year at university when someone had discarded it in the recycling frenzy that surrounds spring clear out, when all the students are vacating their apartments. I knew that Jen and I would be moving out of residence and that we would need some furniture. It was filthy and had no legs but its cushions were still solid and it looked like it could be fixed up. It’s been with me ever since then: through four apartments and a diminishing number of housemates, until I could afford this place on my own.

And now, these strangers are offering to take it away, my white elephant of a couch, and replace it with a new one that smells of plastic, formaldehyde and fabric sizing.

I know that Danny was trying to do something special, to mark our sharing of the apartment. I can imagine the consideration and excitement that went into this surprise: what would I need more than anything? What would make me happiest? What would make it seem more like our place?

I told them that they could take the old couch away; it was, without a doubt, the only sensible thing to do. But I had such a feeling of longing as they made their way awkwardly back down the stairs, carrying it away, like an invalid or a corpse from a cherished home.

Like I say - I don’t like surprises, even pleasant ones. They always leave me feeling startled. I’m embarrassed because I don’t understand how I should respond.

I removed the plastic covering from the couch. I set the pillows aside and pulled out the mattress bed that was folded inside to see if it would fit in my small living room. It was perfect. The size, the style, the colour, all went so well with the room. It felt right.

I should have been thrilled; I felt betrayed. I knew that this was a stupid reaction in the face of such a thoughtful gesture and statement of where we’re headed, as a couple.

The biggest problem that I have about surprises is that they’re always so unexpected. In the same way that I don’t respond well to a crisis situation, I don’t know how to react to unexpected and overwhelming kindness. I don’t react instinctively; I need to think ahead to recognize my feelings. I want to be able to prepare myself to appreciate what someone is doing for me. I want to be able to anticipate a pleasure. I want to look forward to happy things and joyous events.

So, here I am, a day later, sitting on the new couch and trying to come to terms with what I feel. I don’t want to be ungracious just because part of my personality makes me cautious when it comes to accepting such kindness. On the other hand, part of being a couple is the joy of defining ourselves, and our tastes, together. I’m organizing my thoughts to call Danny and thank him for the thoughtfulness that he has shown, but to warn him that maybe next time we should forgo the surprise element of our home decorating.


Copyright 2003