In December, it will be 10 years since I’ve owned my wee little condo. Ten years since I turned my house into a home. Ten years since I purchased furniture and accessories, appliances and textiles. Ten years since I’ve felt like a grownup.

Before slowly moving in during that holiday season ten years ago, I can remember prioritizing the things I needed. A bed and a couch were on top of that list and so off I went to shop.

Standing in a showroom of mattresses, my parents walked off to look at pillow tops (they were in the market, too), while I scanned the stiff as a board selection.

The salesman left me to work with someone else.

I stood amongst a sea of big beds…alone.

It wasn’t long before I glanced up and saw a new store patron; I heard her saying she’d purchased her previous bed there and didn’t consider going anywhere else.

She was fifty or sixty years older than me. And she was alone, too.

I was buying my first bed. She was buying her last bed.

And we were both alone.

I’ve tossed and turned for ten years on this mattress. It’s still stiff as a board (just as I like it) and it’s heavy as hell to flip (as I often forget to do).

I’ve cried tears of loneliness on that mattress. I’ve cried tears of pain when my grandmother passed on into Heaven. I’ve dreamt happy dreams. I’ve slept dreamless sleeps. I’ve developed ten years worth of memories. I’ve forgotten ten years worth of drivel.

But I haven’t forgotten that day in the showroom or that little old lady.

I was sad that we were both there alone, but also full of hope.

Following Amber’s prompt at The RunAMuck. She’s giving out writing prompts on Mondays…and though I’m a day late, I hope I’m not a dollar short.