The Old Purple Couch [vanessa]

It's 5:36 AM. I am lying on an over-sized purple couch that has been faded by years of overnight guests, afternoon teas, hours of “four on a couch”, tear stained conversations, random parties, and countless Blockbuster nights. The city lights of an unfamiliar neighborhood stream in through the cracks in the mini blinds. I can already hear the tread of tires gripping the pavement. As my mind begins to wake up, I remember where I am. Yet, I want the familiarity that this purple couch has to offer, so I snuggle deeply under the covers and allow the cushions to engulf me in the memories of a not-so-distant past that has already begun to feel like a dream.

This purple couch was not always in this unfamiliar place. It once belonged to Leah, a dear friend and roommate. She acquired the couch as payment for a baby-sitting job. It traveled with her through at least two apartment moves and served as the inspiration for our small diving (dinner+living) room. As I lay here, I remember watching Leah sit on the couch eating a large chocolate cupcake with white icing from the Hershey bakery that I bought her for her birthday. Leah loves cupcakes.

After graduation, Leah moved to Germany. Maureen, my best friend and next roommate, decided to purchase the couch with me. Even now, there are few symbols that so clearly describe the nature of our friendship than this couch (which she still considers me half owner of). I was always the first one to wake up in the morning. While Maureen and Abby would slumber in the bedroom we shared, I looked forward to my morning ritual of coffee, reading and pondering.

As I pour the black nectar into a colorful mug, the aroma fills my nostrils, inviting me to begin my day. I can hear the clacking of the horse hooves on the street below pulling carriages to be ridden by urban sightseers. I look out our large picture window and once again ponder the paradox of my neighborhood. I look to the right and I see high-rise condos with rooftop pools and in-house gyms where the urban elite give a spare key to the dog walker who comes twice a day. A single young urban professional comes home from work carrying reusable Whole Foods bags to be greeted by a doorman whose entire existence is to keep unwanted guests out and push the elevator buttons.

As he rides the elevator up, he wonders if any of the residents of this building have first names. I look to the left and I see the high-rise housing projects that display more boards than window panes. There are dangling chains where swings used to exist on the graffiti covered playground that has become the headquarters for the neighborhood gang. As I watch a women carrying a baby, there is a two-year old walking next to her clinging to his coveted bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos and a Coke from the corner store. I picture her walking up the eleven flights of stairs saturated with the smell of urine. The elevator is broken. There is no doorman...no one wants to visit her and even if they do, who is left to keep out? My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a blaring alarm clock. Time to prepare for the day...

I reluctantly rise from the purple couch, carrying all of the memories of what once was and what is. I leave the purple couch to shower and prepare for the morning commute with Maureen. It always takes at least half an hour to get anywhere. We drive through the city streets and the closer we get to downtown, the more familiar everything feels. I get out of the car and enjoy a meandering walk to my favorite coffee shop. As I walk down the streets lined with towering buildings, hidden gardens, and the nations my mind is flooded with thoughts of how little things have changed. A Garmin store has been built next door to Nike Town.

I walk past a new cafe that looks like it's worth trying. Giordano's is still on the corner of Rush, a Starbucks is open on every block, a group of men living at the YMCA solicit me for some change, yellow cabs honk loudly at jay walkers. The people have different faces, but they are all part of the same system. Everyone has their place...defined by gait, dress, paper-lined coffee cups, chiseled biceps, designer laptop bags, and pedicured toes. It makes me wonder how much I've bought into this system. Isn't this the goal? I attempt to look into the eyes of the multitudes who I pass on the sidewalk, hoping to get a small glimpse into their souls. What aching and pain are covered by images of neat and tidy purchased perfection? If I invited one of these passers by to have an extra small non-fat decaf latte with a side of organic celery and brown rice crackers on the purple couch, what would their story reveal? Would they even accept the invitation? Perhaps it would inconveniently cut into their perfectly timed and organized schedule that keeps them safe...from life.

But, this isn't the only system that exists. I think back to the pavement jungle that the city builders have attempted to destroy, hide, and relocate. Though this system has a different face and a different set of rules, it's not so different at it's core. Once we live at an extreme, regardless of which end, we end up living very similar lives, even though we'd like to think they are light years apart. Instead of shopping sprees, drugs are substituted. Instead of therapists, gangs extend invitations. Instead of fathers absent due to work, fathers are simply absent. There is a silent resignation of hope present that communicates that this is it, that life will never be anything more than what it is right now. This live for the moment mentality kills dreams. But, why dream anyway...dreams are only painful fantasies. I know that if I invited the lonely women with the two kids to have take-out with me on the purple couch, she would come. I wonder if her life would reveal a story so dramatically different from my last guest? Probably not.

There is a deeply rooted poverty that cuts across all outward expressions – or lack thereof – of what has been defined by the systems we fall into. As I sit on the purple couch once again I realize that I am both of these people. I perpetuate both of these systems. Their lives are my life and in the end, we really aren't so different. All this I've only learned after getting up and leaving the purple couch and going to unfamiliar places that reveal tantamount measures of fear and insecurity. I often ache for what is comfortable and familiar, like the faithful purple couch. But...if I never leave the comfort of the purple couch, I will be left experience the poverty that grips my life and leads me to believe that the purple couch is the only one that exists and if I get up and leave it I will lose everything.

I'm beginning to think it's worth it...