Maybe it was a best friend that passed on movie night. Maybe your hiking partner went for a weekender with someone else. There’s been a moment in everyone’s life where we’ve seen a close friend take a different path
In this edition of Therm-a-Rest Explore, contributor Jenny Abegg shares a letter between her bedroom mattress and her Therm-a-Rest Dreamtime.
Dear Therm-a-Rest Dreamtime Mattress,
Hi, it’s me, the mattress. The big one in the bedroom, the one covered in sheets and raised off the floor. The one that doesn’t uninflate. That’s me, hi. I know we don’t know each other, but there’s a few things I need to get off my chest.
This winter you arrived. I saw you curled up on the floor in the bedroom and, honestly, I didn’t think much of you. You seemed small, thin. You looked really uncomfortable, and I thought you’d probably stay where you were until they put you in the closet, right beside the sleeping bags and tent that they never use. To be completely transparent, mattress to mattress: I felt sorry for you.
Then she unrolled you one day and opened your valve. Admittedly, looking at you, wrinkled and thin, I almost laughed. Hope you like nightmares in the closet, Dreamtime.
How wrong I was.
You started to inflate on your own, and a few minutes later she came back, gave a few more breaths, and sealed you up. Full of air, you looked, dare I say, comfortable.
I’ve always tried to be both firm and soft, a balance for which I know we all strive. At this point, I feel like I’ve got it; I’m kind of a catch. But when I saw her relaxing on you – the way she looked, the way you looked – I saw it. I suppose you’re a catch too. I was jealous.
She let out a sigh – it sounded like contentment. And then she called him upstairs, said, “You have got to try this babe.” They lay together on that single mattress for the longest minutes of my life. Right in front of me too, I couldn’t believe the nerve. The thoughtlessness. Then they started to talk about trails, mountains, road trips, oceans; different “national parks” they wanted to visit. I wasn’t sure what that had to do with a new mattress, but I was about to find out.
A few days later, a second mattress appeared. It was a bit bigger; it was his.
And the next weekend, they just left. They took both of you with them, and I spent two nights alone. It was cold, and lonely. No evening reading lights, no movie to watch, no morning snuggles. When they came home a few evenings later, they looked really dirty (ew, gross) but tanner, and happier. Glowing, even. That night they lay in bed looking at photos, and I even saw you in some of them. My heart’s crack got larger.
Lately, they’ve been lying with me, looking up information about this place called “Canyonlands.” Sounds rocky, and hard; dark, and eerie. I have a feeling that doesn’t matter anymore though, now that you’re around. You.
You. I don’t know if I want to hate you, or if I want to be you. I feel sad, betrayed, and listen to Beyonce’s Lemonade album on repeat now. I spend far too much time in the dark, thinking about the good ol’ days. I strain to distract myself with fantasies of mattress showrooms and 1800 thread count sheets, but that doesn’t help much. I wonder if I’ll ever be their one beloved mattress again.
Everything has changed since you’ve come around. Life isn’t fair, love isn’t fair; I know you probably mean well. Just…take care of them for me, will ya?
King Mattress with a memory foam topper
P.S. Make sure they bring back lots of photos from their next trip, okay? They’re just so happy and excited these days, and I want to know why.