“Hey … can you check to see if the artwork in my room is covered?”
I’m not sure why the thought crossed her mind at that moment – ten minutes to noon on a Wednesday, three days before the first of three commencement ceremonies she would walk in to culminate her bachelor’s degree – but as I was on my way to the home office to make a sandwich anyway, I concluded popping my head into her room for a condition check wasn’t an imposition.
Of course, I knew that the “artwork” in question was a gift her father and I had given to her for her birthday, a favorite print that we’d had framed. It was just waiting, leaning against a bookcase in her childhood bedroom, temporary storage for when she has a house of her own … not just a dorm that only allows featherweight posters to be hung with the non-marring properties of a sticky putty.
What I didn’t know was what she was really after through the seemingly random ask.
“What do you mean covered?”
I could have assumed that she wanted to ensure the piece was enclosed in some protective packaging, something to keep it off the dust and the unwanted attention of a cat intent on sharpening her claws. But she could also have meant some kind of indemnification, where the work would have been protected should there be a cataclysm in these increasingly uncertain times.
It was the former, although my confusion gave her pause to consider the latter, if only momentarily.
I smiled as I imagined her thought process.
A tree could give up, or a storm could make it give in; either way, the roof could be next in line for destruction. That she worried about the things in her room that she coveted most was the framed art poster – not even a print – that wouldn’t break the bank to replace.
Was she really worried about the sun bleaching the paperboard through the tiny, eyebrow windows, or was it a safe-enough worry to distract her from all the other worries that fire at us randomly whenever we mark a transition?
Not that she’ll be going anywhere just yet. She’ll stay on the same campus - maybe in another suite with different roommates and similar pristine walls - for one more year while she adds another degree.
When I get to the top of the stairs and open the door to her room, I see what I expected. The frame is leaning against the bookcase. It is exposed, and the print is facing the windows. It was fine. The colors were still intense. There were no imperfections. In the room, the light seemed to naturally filter elsewhere. It occurred to me that the glass is likely the kind that protects from UV damage. I just hope the protection is the product of manufacturing science and not a combination of marketing and wishful thinking.
I’m not worried. But i don’t want her to worry either.
I turn the frame’s face toward the windowless wall and wrap it in a clean sheet from the linen closet. I take a photo of its protected state and send it off with my condition report.
She sends me a smiley face emoji wearing sunglasses.
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