Extra Credit Story: The Man Who Became A Bed (An unorthodox mystery)

This is a story I wrote a long time ago, like 8th grade. It qualifies as a mystery in the sense that while reading things remain to be understood. Anyways, it's interesting, I hope.

The Man Who Became a Bed

After many years, months, weeks, days, and hours of solemn contemplation, I have come to the startling conclusion that in this reality, I am a Bed. Made to be slept upon. Before jumping to conclusions, allow me to elucidate. I have spent many years on beds of all shape and form, believing myself to be one who should sleep upon rather than be slept upon. Unbeknownst to me the Beds had been helping me even as a child, one might even say they raised me (sure my parents fed me, clothed me, etc., but at the end of the day it was the Bed that always received me with arms of warmth and love.) However, I never truly understood what it meant to be a Bed until the day my girlfriend broke up with me. We were looking up at the sky from the top of a tree we had climbed together and I was attempting to point out to her how the whiteness of the clouds matched Jenny’s pillows (Before I continue I wish to point out that my queen bed’s name at the time was Jenny). Suddenly, a squirrel’s bottom found its resting place on my arm. My girlfriend, who had an acute phobia of squirrels, shrieked and fell backwards. As I reached for her arm, I fell also, but while in the air I was able to manipulate myself and her in such a way that when we landed I was beneath her, like a cushion to her fall! Just like a Bed is a cushion for me! In this moment I completely understood the purpose of beds. To support, to save, and to bring safety and peace. “This is just how Jenny works!” I yelled to my girlfriend who paused, in her thanks, to pose the question of Jenny's identity. I responded with the truth: “She's the one I've been sleeping with.” That was the moment we broke up. To this day I still have not been able to answer the question of why she broke up with me. I cried on my Bed for a while, for I had really believed I liked the girl. And then it hit me: I was crying on a Bed (which was what my girlfriend was doing after I saved her life, crying on me. I was the Bed in that circumstance) the item that had supported me for as long as I could remember. I realized at that moment that I belonged with Jenny. Everything began to make sense. My pillow observations, my intuitive understanding of sheets and the inner workings of mattresses, my ability to switch bed types in a single fluid motion, from queens to twins, and even kings: I was a bed. Made to be a helper, and occasionally slept upon. As I went to the furniture store man to tell him that I was a bed, he first looked at me with a look of uncertainty. But immediately afterwards he praised me highly as did all of the faculty, stating that my choice was glorious and noble. “It's very brave of you to step out among the world of furniture in this way, and so we wish to award you with the nobility prize for furniture, you'll be our most popular seller,” said the store manager. He asked me what type of bed I wished to be sold as, to which I responded that the bed I was to be represented a bed type so profound, that it could not fit into the modern conception of sleeping accessories. The manager gave me a wary look. His mind seemed to ponder on a question that brought him troubling thoughts. But these thoughts rushed to the back of his mind, where they remain even now. I was the first item sold off the lot that day, and as I stood all fours on the wooden floor with a large woman on top of me and Jenny in the next room, I couldn't have been happier with my identification. And then my elbow snapped.