Our family’s decision to get a futon marked a turning point in our adolescent youth. Instead of a couch, we bough a big futon for the downstairs and bought a couple of beautiful futon covers. The one we normally dressed it in was burgundy with patterned green diamonds. It was soft and comfortable and we watched many movies on it. Within a year, I was having friends over and inviting them to spend the night — on our futon covers. We’d lay it down and it would sleep three or four adolescent boys straight across. When we woke the next morning to the smell of sausage and eggs in the kitchen, we were pleased to find our necks and backs entirely bendable.
Sometimes,we switched the futon covers when my friends were too rowdy and brought food downstairs, which they weren’t supposed to do. The other futon cover was velvety and black. I had chosen that one. We used that futon until it started to get lumpy and misshapen. Finally, my parents decided to throw it away. Since we didn’t live there any more, they were going to move. It was no longer useful, it just took up room. But those futon covers remain in my memory.