I am a black desk. Sturdy. In an office with an unfortunate shade of yellow walls.
I knew the plan. The office was going to be turned into a nursery. There was talk that the walls were going to be repainted, maybe with a coral and teal theme. A baby dresser moved into the room, and I knew it would not be long before I was relocated.
But instead, the baby dresser moved out. The walls were frantically repainted, a dark brown color instead of the cheerful promise of coral and teal. The paint job was messy, sweaty, and tear-filled. Now I am a black desk in a dark brown office.
The brown color did not last long. A mere ten months later, it is being repainted again. This time the color is a dusty lavender. It does not have the same somber effect as the brown. It is more cheerful, hopeful. The bedding on the day bed is changed from orange and brown to bright teals, eggplant, and florals. The artwork is changed from a large black and white painting to a canvas of trees and an abstract seascape.
I am unsure of the intent. Will it be a nursery again? Will I, the desk, be moving out? Or is this simply an attempt to brighten a room that was previously a bitter reminder? That the hurried brown choice is now being replaced with more thoughtfulness and permanence?