Anita’s bed

Today is Anita’s birthday. She would have been 38 years old. For this special day, I wanted to share with you an essay from high school of some observations of herself.

This was a English class essay that Anita wrote when she was 16 (spring of her junior year or fall of her senior year). It was formatted as personal statement that one would write for a college application. The instructions read:

“Your personal statement should not be less than 200 words long and should be a short autobiography that provides information that you feel will give a more complete and accurate picture of yourself, e.g. unusual background, extraordinary experiences, etc.”

Anita chose to write about herself from the perspective of her bed.

I am the soft pillar on which she rests every night. Every morning she straightens my covers and replaces my pillow which seems to end up on the floor, even after a particularly peaceful sleep. Being a bed in Anita’s room is quite an interesting experience.

As I have been in this position since Anita was about five, I have been able to witness her growth from child to young adult. I remember the early years when I wasn’t very useful because she kept creeping into her parents’ bed in the middle of the night. I’ve seen her during the good times as she laughed and joked with friends or danced to her favorite tune on the radio. I’ve heard the gossip shes passed along to her friends, assuring them the news was genuine. I’ve listened to the secret wishes and dreams she whispered to herself when she thought no one else was listening. I’ve also been around for the not-so-good times. I’ve seen her get so angry at her parents that she threw shoes at the wall, making huge indentations. I jokingly called them “battlescars”. A friend of hers was recently killed in a car accident. Thank goodness I was there with a shoulder for her to cry on. I’ve seen her examine herself with close scrutiny. Every morning before she leaves school, she surveys her hair, clothes, figure, complexion, everything. Sometimes she approves, but usually she doesn’t. She’s used me as a springboard from which she leaps, landing on her backpack as she anxiously extracts her books and dives gleefully into an hour’s worth of homework. Of course, that scene is not always the same. Sometimes she just rolls over, glances at her backpack, contemplates her chances of getting the work done in her other classes the next day, and rolls over to finish her dream about a date with Tom Selleck. I’ve seen her practice for hours on a dance routine for cheerleading, then stay awake until 4:00 AM finishing a book project for her English class. When she does things, she likes to do them right, but sometimes her priorities get a little mixed-up. Basically, she’s a good kid. Lately, all she ever talks about is college, summer, and her latest boyfriend. I think she’s really ready to move on. Still, she can’t fool me. I know she’s scared of what’s out there lurking in the murky corners of reality. But she’s a survivor. I know she’ll make it.

As she moves on to different rooms with different beds, I know the bed she grew up in will always remain in her memory. Occasionally, she might even miss me as she remembers all the things we’ve been through together.

I love you, Anita. Good luck.