The night was dark; our introductions, unceremonious. A lumbering man and an unsteady woman hefted me out of a rusted green Torino and carried me past a townhouse complex on Venezia. When they lurched left and started down towards a dilapidated bungalow, I realized my life was about to take a serious turn.
I say this as a rug that is highly adaptable. My very first job was for an accountant who loved antiques and had a fringe fetish. He never walked on me – just around me. I accepted this was the way we would generally interact unless he bared his feet. Of course, I never anticipated he’d meet a woman with long stringy hair who would orchestrate my dismissal but you can rest assured, my removal from that household had nothing to do with my work.
I am a consummate professional: my best side is always up. But the assets I had to work with inside that bungalow were appalling. The decor was arbitrary. There was a grey laminate kitchen table to the right of the front door. Single green chair, random yellow chair. A bamboo Tiki cabinet linked the dining room to the adjacent living room. To its left was a battered green love seat, a stereo system, and of course… the coffee table.
It’s no secret: that coffee table and I had our issues. From the moment I rolled in, it loomed dominantly over me. It was in the habit of trembling its long spindly legs threateningly every time someone walked past. I did my best to ignore it but that was difficult given that it was often covered in take-out containers, ashtrays and unfinished drinks – and always on the verge of spilling over. It made for a highly stressful environment.
So it was lonely work. Just me, my best intentions and a hostile coffee table. I had a big job to do and little to do it with. No runners or mats, not a single accent cushion but I did it. I pulled out the beiges and the powder blues from the front room, I hinted at the olive tones in the hallway. I even squeezed in an afterthought of the pink from the bathroom. I brought it all in. I gave it cohesion. Hundreds of square feet. On my own. I tied that room together.
The man hadn’t even seemed to notice until one night, after walking a vociferous friend to the door, I saw him studying me. He took a long pull on his White Russian, sucked the ends of his mustache pensively and set down his tumbler. The next thing I knew, he was laying down crosswise on top of me, star-fishing the corners.
I remember feeling oddly strange and giddy. I think the pall of pot smoke that covered the living room must have followed him down to my level because suddenly, it was as though we were connected. I was sure I could speak directly into his mind. I tried to communicate by vibrating certain fibers at certain frequencies. Which is when, of course, I realized I wasn’t just a patterned wool floor covering but a manifestation of a larger consciousness. I was part of a greater pattern, something cosmic, if you will.
And then a stranger walked in, unzipped and proceeded to micturate all over me.
I won’t describe the distress that followed, other than relate I was damaged in the incident. Inexplicably, the man left me alone for several hours during which time I agonized over whether there would be a permanent stain. I had hoped he’d gone looking for a steam cleaner. Instead, he came back with a hand-knotted Persian rug with palmettes and medallions.
So, YES. I did unravel a little in that alleyway. And when starlings started picking at my fringe, I thought I was done for. But a streaky orange hatchback pulled up and I saw an opportunity to become my best self in its lengthy gaze.
It’s great to be back at work. I still put in the long hours but I remind myself to enjoy the experience. I see stains not as issues, but proof of my resiliency. And while I’ll always recall the CCR marathons with fondness, I’m all about speed metal now. I’m stabilizing a drum kit. We have three original songs and we’re going to start gigging soon.
It’s exciting. I’ve always wanted to be in a band. I know there will be perturbations on the road ahead but a little voice inside me says I’ll get through them, because this rug abides.