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So You Think You Can Disassemble a Bed

Good news: I moved into my new house

Bad news: I moved into the wrong room.

 

A week ago, I moved into my new house in Virginia. My family and I packed up the Ford truck, and we set out to the city. We arrived, and we began unloading the truck. Then my brother asked, "Which room are you moving into?"

I took a lucky guess, and I pointed, "That one." Boy, was I wrong.

Move-in day was a complete breeze for me as I watched my dad and brother tote my belongings in the house and assemble my bed. Fun fact: my dad is a handyman. I never had to worry about building or fixing anything. Soon they were packing up the toolbox and driving away. There I stood on my porch, waving goodbye. This was the beginning of my journey. In my mind, I said, "Look out world, I'm adulting."

Now back to the bed. It didn't take me long to realize that I moved into the wrong room. I had three options.

  1. Ask my friends for help

  2. Ask my dad to drive 4 hours to help me

  3. Do it myself

Now you could probably imagine my first instinct was to call up my girlfriends and beg for help, which is precisely what I did. But unfortunately, no one was available. 

I had a sudden urge to call my dad. I knew he would be able to take apart this bed with ease. I knew he would show up because he always showed up. But maybe this was something that I needed to do on my own. Within the next 30 minutes, I weighed out all of my options, and I decided to disassemble my bed. 

I grabbed my doc martens, crochet navy blue purse, sky blue mask, and headed for the door. I hopped on the ART bus and headed to Home Depot to buy some tools.

The sweat dripped from my face before I walked through the automatic doors at Home Depot. The AC unit was impeccable. As I scanned the foreign aisles looking for the tool section, I couldn't remember the last time I had been in one of these stores. With the guidance of the orange hue decorated signs, I set out on my mission. 

Lumber, drywall, fencing, tools.

I walked up to a stout man and asked, "What kind of tools do you think I would need to take apart a bed?"

He looked up at me with confusion in his forehead. 

He replied, "Do you have any pictures of the bed?"

Of course, I didn't.

He then pointed me into the direction of a small toolset. I was officially in business.

It was me against the bed. I took the mattress off the bed, and the bed frame followed. I grabbed my screwdriver, and I got to work. I got frustrated several times because I was making the bolts tighter and not looser. When I realized I took a break because I was baffled by my ignorance. I refused to give up. 

Then I started to get the hang of it. The bolts started to loosen, and the bed slowly started coming apart.

Turn by Turn.

Screw by screw.

Repeat.

I had a record-breaking time of an hour and thirty minutes. I could hear the crowd roaring in my ears and cheering me on- up until I unscrewed the last screw.

When I finished, I had the goofiest smile on my face because I couldn't believe it. I did something that I never thought I could do on my own. I didn't need my daddy for small trivial tasks anymore. I imagined how a child feels when they ride a bike without their parents' support.  

 

I told my dad about my latest chronicles.

"I disassembled my bed."

He responded, "I'm proud of you."

 

Alexis McCowan is a rising junior, journalism major from Rocky Mount, North Carolina. She enjoys creating fun outfits and creating new makeup looks during her freetime. She is passionate about telling the stories of marginalized communities. Her previous work can be found on https://alexismccowan.wixsite.com/mysite-1
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