Memoir of a 19th Century Victorian

It was in the early spring, nearly two years ago, that I met this grisly looking little man.  He spotted me sitting there as he began to walk by.  He paused and decided to look me over.  At first, I wasn’t sure what to think of him.  He looked as if he hadn’t shaven in weeks and smelled of Old Spice.  His hazel brown eyes showed a level of interest and concern.  I have not been looked at like this in many, many years.

I was created more than a century and a half ago.  I cannot recall the exact year or the location for that matter.  I have had more than a few owners over the course of my life.  I was first purchased by a couple, as a gift for the wife.  She took great care of me.  I was handed down through the family, a few times.  Each generation cared for me less than the previous.

Over time, I have lost two of my locks, two keyhole covers have been broken and so has my mirror.  All of my handles went missing too.  Everything has been such a blur that I cannot even recall the details.  Before meeting this man, my previous owner had me stored in a garage with many other forgotten items.  My complexion had faded, tarnished and, in some places, had worn off completely.  My top on one side had come off.  How does one’s top just come off?  Never the less, this man smiled at me gently and said “I’m going to take you home and fix you up.  I will find you a good home.”

As I was rolled out of the metal barn, my wheels were grinding harshly, leaving behind small patches of rust.  I was gently loaded into the back of a minivan.  When we arrived at the man’s house, I was unloaded and moved into another garage.  I began to think that I had been duped.  Later that afternoon, he came out of the house and began to look me over more thoroughly.  He proceeded to pull out some paper sheets, some shiny metal pieces and what looked like metal cloth.  Next, he grabbed a long, metal tube with a plastic handle.  He removed my two top drawers with such care, and then their casings.  My three big drawers followed suit.

From this point, I was gently scraped, sanded and buffed with various instruments.  My exterior appeared to be almost brand new.  I was surprised to find out that this was just the beginning of my transformation.  This kind, yet odd, man wiped down my entire carcass, from top to bottom, with linseed oil.  I was so dry that it just soaked into my pores.  After letting me absorb as much oil as I could, he wiped off the excess and let me relax for a couple of days.

As time passed, I was given a light reddish coating.  I think I heard the man say it was called merlot.  It did not feel like wine, to me, nor did it smell like it.  Next came a couple of layers of something he called semi-gloss.  I’m not sure what it was, but it brought out my inner beauty.  I felt reborn.

Apparently, the man’s wife became enamored with me.  I have found my new home caring for some of her items.  She is taking great care of me now.