I always knew there was…buildup underneath that sofa. I did not realize that a message in the family Whatsapp group chat would have me staring at wadded up paper towels and orange ping pong balls for such a long time.
There must have been at least thirty napkins. Beneath my family’s sofa in Oregon lived a litter of forgotten paper towels, tied into knots.
I stared blankly at the photo. My eyes fixated on the hodge-podge. Nerf bullets and plastic easter egg shells. Washable Crayola markers and ping-pong balls. Remnants of childhood playtime sentenced to a narrow gap below IKEA cushions.
I had almost dismissed the incoming picture from “Pops” in the Whatsapp family group chat. He had found the stash. Our stash.
All at once, I could see my family’s two cats racing after the crinkled Quicker-Picker-Uppers again. Kiki scrambling at full speed, Benny practically running into the walls.
Coming back to the photo, I was sad.
I wondered when the last time I played with my brother was. I wondered when the last time I played at all was.
I felt a slight emptiness.
When I see the photo of the junk underneath the sofa, I remember what made up so much of who I was. And I am disappointed that most of those things seldom cross my mind.
I would like to think I have a greater appreciation for the cats’ napkins. For the time spent tying the knots. And for Pops doing the necessary task of cleaning out the belly of the sofa. My parents would call this type of cleaning a purge—the biyearly duty entailing too-small clothes and unused toys to be cleared out into a bag that would end up at our local Goodwill.
The colony beneath the sofa is long purged now. Dust likely settles where a myriad of battle ammunition from COVID Nerf wars once was. I can hear my brother chasing me up the stairs on all fours as I make an attempt to escape him (I never could).
I want to bring back those childhood toys and love them all over again. But I cannot. I should not. Because I do not play with sidewalk chalk as often. I do not chase my brother so much, either. It is far too easy to worry about the future.
Less so whether I will succeed, but whether I will miss the person I am right now.
I wonder if my cats think about the napkins regularly. If cats are anything like me, they have forgotten, busy doing something else.
I realize that it is necessary to just be in the current moment. I should not rush to think about the next day when the present one is right in front of me. Nor should I be sad that today is not yesterday.
I believe the majority of purges in my life so far have happened without my knowing. I have come to be okay with that, or at least I am getting closer…
After all, how am I to pack my yesterday's and tomorrow’s self into today? How am I to reverse the purge?
Perhaps there is not enough space for all the past and future, but just enough to fit right now.
