The Tale of the Rescued Nightstands

There are no things without stories, but not every object is ready to tell its story.

Once, in a small room, five nightstands found themselves living together.

All of them were very different, and they looked at one another with curiosity. At last, the oldest among them began to speak.

That evening she said:

“Look, we have a new guest. She has two drawers, and though she is covered with laminate, she looks like real wood. And look — she was given new handles too. See? She has four beautiful crystal handles now. They suit her so well.”

The new nightstand, with her sparkling crystal handles, smiled shyly and said:

“It feels so strange to be here. Just yesterday…”

“I lived with a family, and all sorts of things were placed inside me. My drawers held toys, souvenirs, and all kinds of random clutter. I liked living with that family. There were people of all ages, and all of them came to me, dropping something inside — things that probably didn’t belong anywhere else.

I stood in the hallway, so my drawers became a home for all sorts of little nonsense — everything that couldn’t find a proper place elsewhere.

And next to me stood two armchairs.

That family had many cats. More than anything, the cats loved scratching those armchairs and sleeping on them. They were very happy there.

But one day the family decided the armchairs were too old and too torn, and that I no longer matched the interior.

Suddenly, my drawers were pulled out. All the little treasures I had been keeping for so long were shaken out. My drawers were set aside, and then I too was carried outside and left beside the armchairs, which had also been thrown away.

The cushions were still on the chairs.

I looked at them, and at myself, and thought:

What now?

Here I am, standing here, and I can’t even see where my drawers are. Soon a big garbage truck will come and take me away with everything else.

But I’m still such a good nightstand.

I can still be useful.

I can still hold things — toys, letters, treasures, precious little objects.

I am ready to live with the young and with the old.

And it hurt.

So I stood there all day under the sun.

Then suddenly, I felt someone looking at me.

Someone came closer.

Then I was lifted.

Someone wiped me with a cloth and praised me.

They said I was a good nightstand, and that I would have a new life.

I was loaded into a car together with my drawers.

And brought to a new home.

But I was still sad.

My drawers had old handles, and one of them had broken off completely.

I thought:

How can I stay like this? It will be hard to open my drawers. How can I be useful like this?

But then something extraordinary happened.

My old handles were unscrewed.

They came off easily.

Then it took a great deal of time and patience to give me new ones.

The woman who brought me home tried so hard.

She spent the whole evening on me.

But in the end, she gave me beautiful crystal handles — just like all of yours.

And now I look at myself and feel happy.

For now, I still stand here empty.

But I’m waiting.

I’m waiting for the day when someone places something inside me again.

---

Then the old nightstand smiled.

She was a sturdy, rather old nightstand with three drawers and a beautiful lacquered finish. She was slightly embarrassed because the varnish on her top surface had worn away in places.

And on top of her sat a small drawer box — also lacquered, though a little darker.

Once, it too had ended up outside, though in a completely different place. Later, they found each other.

The nightstand was given pink crystal handles.

And the little drawer box, a bit later, received one as well — similar, but with a soft lilac tint.

The little drawer settled on top of the nightstand, and they grew fond of one another, because together they became whole.

The glossy old nightstand said:

“I was the first to come into this home. And I was so afraid I wouldn’t fit in here, because the walls and wardrobes are white.”

She fell silent for a moment, then continued.

“I used to live in a house with an old woman. We lived together peacefully. And I know this for certain: she would never have thrown me away.

But one day, she died.

They took her away.

And I stayed behind.

Then a very rough man came.

He yanked out my drawers and dragged me to the garbage pile.

There was so much of my old lady’s life there.

Her documents.

Her photographs.

Her clothes, carrying that sweet old-person smell.

Everything was lying in one big heap.”

The nightstand lowered her handles and quietly said:

“It frightened me to see an entire life thrown away in a single day.

A person is gone — and suddenly no one needs their life anymore.

Not the old photographs.

Not the notes.

Not the warm cardigans that kept her warm in winter.

Everything lay mixed together in dust.”

She was silent for a long while.

Then softly she added:

“But people came who rescued things.

They looked through the photographs.

They chose clothes.

They carried things away.

And that made me feel a little better.

Because I understood that not everything disappears without a trace.

One day, a woman came.

She saw me.

She took me with her.

She cleaned me.

She gave me new handles.

And then she introduced me to the little drawer that now sits on top of me.”

The nightstand looked at it with tenderness.

“Now we tell each other stories.

You see?

It used to live with the old woman too.”

---

Then the white nightstand joined the conversation.

She smiled softly with her crystal handles and said:

“I used to live in a little girl’s room.

For a very long time, I served her faithfully.

Inside me were pencils and markers, scraps of paper, wonderful children’s drawings, funny little objects, and tiny treasures.

Sometimes the pencils were sharpened and simply tossed into my drawers together with the sharpener. Colored shavings and pencil dust would spill out and slowly stain my drawers from the inside.

Then paints were put inside me.

Sometimes the jars leaked.

Drops of paint dried on my surfaces.

Little by little, I became dirtier and dirtier.

One day, the adults looked at me and said:

‘Ugh, what an ugly, dirty nightstand in a child’s room. We need to buy a new one.’

And so I left that home.

I ended up outside — dirty, stained, my drawers covered in scribbles and dried paint.

People walked past me without even looking.

And I was afraid.

Because I had lived beside a little child — such a beautiful, lively child. She loved me so much.

And I had given her so much.

Then suddenly, everyone decided I had become ugly.

So they threw me away.

But the child would never have given me up.

Because she didn’t know I was ugly.

To her, I was simply beloved.

I held all her favorite things.

But sometimes that happens.

Because the world of adults is different.

People passed by me outside.

It was already autumn.

The rains could begin any day.

And I understood that if I got soaked, no one would ever want me again.

No one would be able to restore me.

But one day, a woman saw me.

She stopped and said:

‘Oh… this is a child’s nightstand. It stood in a child’s room. Look — pencils here, paints here… But this can be cleaned.’

She took me home.

And then began a real trial.

I was washed.

I was scrubbed.

I was scraped with a putty knife.

For a very, very long time.

At last, the pencil marks, dried paint, and everything stuck to me came off.

Of course, scratches remained.

I thought:

Well… they unscrewed my handles, scraped my whole body… What now?

And then the paint came.

White.

Cool.

It covered me layer by layer.

Layer by layer.

And it felt wonderful.

As if all the old heaviness, all the dirt, all the sadness were slowly leaving me.

Then the crystal handles began to sparkle.

I looked at myself in the mirror and said:

‘Oh… I’m a bride again.’

I never thought something like that could happen to me.

The white nightstand smiled.

‘And ever since then, I’ve lived in a new home.

I even became friends with a white desk.

The desk was new, modern, from IKEA.

But it accepted me.

It felt as if it embraced me.

And now we live together.

It looks down at me from above — tall, new, modern.

And I look up at it from below, sparkling with my crystal handles and smiling.

And I tell it:

Everything is still ahead of us.’”

---

Then the fourth nightstand burst into laughter.

She was very small and narrow, standing on top of another nightstand — the very first one, the newest arrival to the room.

This nightstand was extraordinary.

She was light as a feather, because she was made of cork.

No one knew exactly why she had ended up outside.

Perhaps because cork is such a delicate material.

Every dent, every scratch, every tiny crack shows on it immediately.

Over the years, the little cork nightstand had collected countless scars and bruises.

But she still remained herself — a tiny, lighthearted, cheerful nightstand.

She loved to say:

“No, no, I have style! I have two unusual drawers. And they have unusual handles. And even though I’m all scratched up, I’m still special — small, light, and corky.”

When a woman passed by on the street, she noticed the nightstand immediately.

She simply could not ignore her.

The woman picked her up and said:

“What a lovely cork nightstand! Look how light she is. So what if she has dents? So what if the paint is scratched? That can be restored. And those old rusty handles — we’ll replace them.”

And the nightstand began dreaming of a new life.

Restoring her took more than one day.

It was not easy work.

But little by little, she became smooth again.

After being carefully rubbed and polished for a long time with a sponge, her surface took on a soft milky-white shade.

And then, of course, came the crystal handles.

When the nightstand moved into the room where the other nightstands lived, she quickly became the cats’ favorite.

The cats slept on her with enormous pleasure.

Because she was so warm.

And sometimes they sharpened their claws on her too.

But the little nightstand only laughed.

“Oh, that’s alright,” she would say. “They’ll restore me again later.”

Three cats loved this nightstand.

And she loved all three cats.

They became friends and kept each other warm on cold evenings.

---

Then the fifth nightstand spoke.

She too was unexpected.

A modern beige nightstand with three drawers.

But her drawers were special — each one a different shade of yellow.

And every shade was beautiful.

Each one was like a little sun.

One shone like a morning sunbeam.

The second gave warmth like midday sunlight.

And the third gently caressed like evening light.

All the colors were wonderfully rich, joyful, and perfectly matched one another.

This nightstand loved herself.

She gathered joy and gave light to others.

She brought a bright and unusual happiness into the room.

On top of her, the woman kept perfume bottles, little vases, and small but important things.

The nightstand always seemed to be quietly laughing.

And she especially loved standing in the corner near the wardrobe.

Because there was a mirror there.

When she looked upward, she could see the beautiful perfume bottles reflected in the mirror.

And then it felt as though beauty had multiplied many times over.

She loved that very much.

And so all five nightstands looked at one another.

And they were happy.

Because life goes on.

Not always the way we wanted.

And not always with the people we wanted.

But it goes on nonetheless.

Everyone has their own story.

And one day, each of us will be ready to tell it.

And someone, reading that story and truly feeling it, may suddenly think of their own.

Because there are no things without stories.

And there are no stories that disappear completely.

Sometimes they simply need someone to stop, look carefully, and say:

“Wait…

You are still needed.”

And that is when a new life begins.

Because tomorrow is only just beginning.