In another life it was a massage table. It was over seven feet long, made to fold in half so it could fit into a cloth case and be carried by the suitcase handle attached to one end of the frame.
Granny found it at a thrift store and thought it the perfect bed for Joey. She called me and asked if I would pick it up and deliver it to him.
I was glad my brother and I switched cars because his is some kind of Mercury SUV and, even with my drummer’s entire kit in the vehicle, the suitcase table along with the four bags of blankets, sheets, socks, underwear, pants and shirts Granny decided, at the last moment, to also send along for Joey fit comfortably in that car.
Joey loved the idea of a massage table being a bed. He said, “This is great. I can sleep on it at night and then, during the day, I can put it out under that tree over there with a sign sayin, ‘Massages 5 bucks,’ and I can make enough money to get that computer I want.”
He grabbed the sleeper suitcase and took it to his room. I hauled the other stuff for him from car to living room.
Just as I dropped the last bag onto the floor, I heard a thud then Joey shout, “Uh, oh, I broke it.”
I walked into his room and the table was flat on the floor. I picked it up and its wooden legs were under it. Joey said, “I guess I sat on it too hard.”
I put the table back on the floor. I said, “Maybe I can fix it tomorrow.”
“It’s okay,” Joey said as he stretched on the cushioned frame. “I can sleep on it like this. It will be fine. Besides, tomorrow we have to get school books and supplies. Remember?”