The couch sits downstairs.
The one that Dylan and Alayna helped move yesterday. The one that Amber and her husband weren't able to deliver earlier because of the weather. The one that a section of it flew off the back of Alayna's truck after we turned off 54 to 63 and were headed home, that one. We all saw the section(al) and a pillow laying in the road, the few cars which passed by, swerved. Dylan, bless him, took off his Berks and ran the seat cushion down (my boy), retrieving it, valiantly. And while Alayna backed up, Dyl and I carried the section and put it back on the truck, tying it down with a horse rope she had found. It was sunny, the road was dry. After the retrieval they were uncommonly silent. The remainder of the drive home they talked about their teenage lives while I held cushions, listened periodically, experienced the middle-age-mind-wander and watched the couch stay put, watched the road pass by.