The desk

Sunday’s sermon contained a provocative question. “What will you say on judgment day when God’s expecting an accounting of your life, looks at you and says, ‘Well?’”

After pondering the question for myself, I came home and shared the idea with my handicapped sister Caroll. “What would you say to God when he looks at you and says, Well?’”

She didn’t hesitate. “I have to tell him nobody gave me a desk.”

For many months she had been telling me and everybody who came to visit that she wanted a desk. I tried and tried to convince her that, A. We have a desk, and; B. We have no room for another piece of furniture. No luck. Finally after telling her I didn’t even want to hear that word again she complied and started spelling the word. I heard her telling a friend, “I really want a d-e-s-k.”

On Christmas morning she looked around the room and then sighed in exasperation. “I desk see Santa didn’t bring me a d-e-s-k.”

Hoping to placate her I came up with an idea. “How about if I clear out one drawer of my desk and you can have that for your desk? It would be private. Just for you.”

I wheeled her over to my Ethan Allen desk. Together we emptied the top drawer, then dusted and polished it with Pledge. She filled it with her puzzle books, games, desk supplies and then put in her sunglasses – the special souvenir ones from Rome. She shut the drawer and said, “This is going to be private. If you want something you say ‘please may I open your desk.’”’

About a week later I had errands to do. Since I couldn’t find my sunglasses I opened her desk and borrowed hers. By the time I got home she was up. She took one look at me and said, “You didn’t say ‘please may I open your desk.’”

“But Honey, I couldn’t because you were sleeping. Sorry. May I please open your desk so I can put these away?”

I thought all was well until I found this note: I AM MAD BECAUSE I CAN’T HAVE MY OWN DESK. A DRAWER IS NOT A DESK.

Guess where I found this note? Right. In her “private” desk.

In February she had medical problems and had to be admitted to the ICU at the hospital. The following Sunday I spied a local furniture store ad that pictured an armoire which I immediately recognized as a possible desk for Caroll. The price was right and more to the point I could visualize how it would fit in our house. I took the ad to the hospital. I had to be sure that this would be what she had in mind. “You got it. That’s what I want.”

I made the deal and we both waited anxiously. She kept the ad in the pouch on her wheelchair and wore it out showing it to everybody.

I enlisted the help of our grandnephew Michael. Willing and able he came to the house to move my desk and the matching knick-knack shelf from the dining room to the living room. He also insisted he would do the delivery. “You’re not paying the store thirty-nine dollars. Just let me know when it comes.”

He knew before I did. He called the store, found out it was in, and brought it to the house. When I got home from a short trip I was shocked to see the desk in its place.

What shocked me was not that he had surprised me but that it was so ugly. A dark black monstrosity that wasn’t at all like the one pictured in the ad.

The next morning I couldn’t wait to find out what had happened. The sales lady checked numbers on the computer. She tried to convince me that I got what I had ordered. “Because you wanted the darker color that meant that you get a different style.”

“Excuse me. What are you talking about?” I waved the ad at her. “It says different finishes nothing about a different desk. I think this is a case of false advertising. I need you to take it back and order me the right one.”

After a short hassle about delivery charges which she wanted me to pay, I said No way it since it was their mistake. Reluctantly she agreed.

Another wait, but finally the right desk was delivered.

When Caroll came home on March 3 and saw the desk she cried tears of joy.

This called for a celebration. Caroll being home and a new d-e-s-k. Our sister Pat helped. We both called a lot of friends and invited them to a party. Stipulation: Please bring one item for the desk.

The day of the party Caroll sat in her wheelchair as close to the desk as she could go so she could show off each drawer. By the end of the afternoon all the drawers will filled with every kind of desk supplies. Enough to last forever.

But never say forever. Three months later the desk is gone and all of the donations have been given to the Salvation Army.

After fifty-two years of living with me, Caroll had to move to 1201 8th St. So. Michael and his dad Gary moved the desk to her new address. Most people call it St. Michael’s Health and Rehabilitation Center but we call it Caroll’s house. You will find her there and yes, she has her desk. Now it still is called Caroll’s desk but is being used as advertised. An armoire.

LIFE GOES ON.

Lora Lee Curtiss is an author and native of Virginia, MN.