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There comes a time in everyone’s life where they have to give up something that they dearly love. Sometimes it’s a person, sometimes it’s a beloved pet, and sometimes it’s an object that has become an extension of you. This is a story about saying goodbye to a piece of me that will never really be gone.
When I was a child, I’d say maybe six or seven years old, my grandma gave my sister and I each a feather down pillow. It was the first pillow I’d ever had like this. It was like sleeping on, well, a mound of feathers. Soft, luxurious, and ever so perfect.
I didn’t want to sleep on any other pillow. Ever. For years this pillow would vacation with me, move with me, it was basically never far from my side. It got to the point where I couldn’t sleep unless I had this pillow in my clutches. If I could have taken this thing to school with me, I probably would have. That pillow became my comfort pet.
If cuddling with Smelly Pillow had a picture, this is what it would look like.
As I grew older, my pillow grew older. More and more feathers were lost from it, it became smaller and smaller. I started to realize as the years went on that I couldn’t remove the pillowcase in fear of losing more feathers. To remedy this situation I would simply put a new pillowcase over the prior one. Which essentially meant that I was no longer washing the pillowcases.
It’s pretty disgusting if you think about it. But I didn’t care. He started to stink. I still didn’t care. My parents and my sister were disgusted that I dragged this pillow around with me everywhere, furthermore, they were more disgusted that I curled up with it every night. They begged me to wash it, or at least wash the pillowcases. I would have nothing of it.
One day in high school, I came home from school and noticed that Smelly Pillow had a glowing sheen to it. Someone had washed Smelly Pillow. I knew it immediately, and I was livid. I scooped up Smelly Pillow and he smelled of laundry detergent and fabric softener. My teensy ball of feathers had been defiled!
I barged into the living room and demanded to know who washed Smelly Pillow, and more importantly, why. It turns out it was my dad, and again came the conversation about how unhealthy it was for me to be sleeping on that pillow. My sister tried to explain to me that the reason why I had to keep putting new pillow cases around it was not because the fabric was just falling apart, but because it was being eaten.
Eaten by what? I certainly have not been gnawing on it! She told me about dust mites and other nasty creatures that fed on skin and the other garbage our bodies dispose of. Thus having this pillow, unwashed now for over a decade, naturally this is what was causing my pillow to decay.
THIS is a dust mite. This is basically what I was curling up with every night.
Most normal people would be repulsed by this. They’d light fire to this disease of a pillow and bathe in a vat of bleach. Not me. I refused to accept this fact and simply put another pillowcase around him.
Years continued to go by, and I continued to cart this raggedy sack of feathers around with me. I was now, I believe, 25 years old and getting ready to make a major move to the greater Seattle area. As I was packing, I was also trying to downsize. I was getting rid of stuff I no longer needed, wanted or even knew why I still had.
My sister suggested that I get rid of smelly pillow. Absolutely not. That was out of the question. I couldn’t just throw away something that had been by my side for the past almost 20 years. It had become a part of me.
After many days, and many debates, my sister finally convinced me that Smelly Pillow was bad for my health. I conceded and decided that it just may be the time to get rid of him. My sister told me to toss him in the dumpster and be done with it. But I had better plans for him.
I nestled his frumpy bunches in a box, then placed that box in another box and sealed him up. I wanted to make sure that even though he was going to a landfill that he wouldn’t have to touch the other trash. I slowly walked him back to the dumpster and gently placed the box inside the huge bin.
I had a small funeral for Smelly Pillow. I said a few words of thanks and bid him a final goodbye. Tearful and heartbroken, I made my back into the house, every once in a while pausing on my way to look back, considering going back and rescuing him from his fate.
May he rest in peace.
I never did. That day I sent Smelly Pillow on his way, and as disgusting and disease ridden as he may have been, he was one damn special pillow.
Unihorn of Steel 