A friend offered a carpet on social media. She was replacing it and wanted the perfectly good original one to be used. I responded quickly, which was the end of my efforts. John and our son headed over, spending the morning wrestling with a hundred pound log. They slammed it on our driveway, for the purpose of cutting it according to the back-of-a-napkin map they construed of Benjamin's bedroom. But it does not make sense to lay a new rug on top of the stained one, so the tetris game began.

The furniture came out, landing in the hall with all spaces filled between the four rooms on the second floor. The old pad gave up the ghost even as it was ripped up, and went to the trash in a body bag. Then came the pounding, as the men dealt with nails. I confess to ignorance about what was happening, as I did nothing to assist. But it went on for awhile.

By the time I was ready for bed, I realized that the soft place Benjamin lays his head was vertical and stripped bare. Hence the need for the rest of us to fetch the frame, mattress, and fresh sheets, calming him down as we worked. I climbed under my own quilts, bumping my feet on what resembled an alligator but was really a carpet roll,  crouched beneath. I recalled the children's book I read often enough to know by heart, the one where the child lays a track of food between her bed and the garage to lure the reptile away. I resisted the urge to reenact it. I have no idea how Zack got in and out of his room at all, with dressers and bookshelves crammed in against the door. There is a handy window that opens out on to the roof. 

The next day John and Zack dragged the younger carpet into its fresh home, and coaxed it into the corners. Each piece of furniture came back in, perhaps noticing the softer ground with fewer blotches. In the end, it is a more pleasant space to be and Benjamin approves. 

The thing about the phrase "pulling the rug out from under someone", is that it sounds quick. The reality of exchanging worn out carpet with a new one is tedious. 

The process of replacing my beliefs around racial inequality has been less like a magician yanking and more like the sweaty dragging I witnessed all weekend. As I have admitted, my men did the work. I watched. And cheered. This echoes the distribution of labor around replacing outdated ideas. The producers of movies such as Same Kind of Different as Me, 13th, Just Mercy, The Help, Green Book, Selma, Secret Life of Bees, and Self Made did the heavy lifting. All I did was open my eyes.