Warming up on the bunk bed

I begged my parents to let me have one, and once of their best decisions raising me was giving in to my wish. It made having friends over so much cooler. I remember when we first got our dog Jazz (who lasted a mont with us - he had ather eat our furniture instead of his food), I tried to get him on the top bunk to sleep because he was too big to actually stay in my bed with me. He didn't like being up there too much and he bit me. Broke the skin and I cried. I also remember Ashley, the dad's best friend's daughter, staying on the top bunk. She's four years older than me, but we, at that time, were probably even closer than her dad and I. The night she stayed over we hung out in the hot-tub my parents had just bought and checked how long we could hold our breath. Either I actually kissed her on the cheek, or our parents just teased us about it when we got out. This was before David and Teresa separated. Even if I did, on the cheek doesn't count as a first!
I remember praying, elbows on the bottom bunk mattress, hands clasped and wet-eyed, whispering please God I don't want to ever die.

When we moved, the bunk-bed didn't come along. With it's absence, part of my childhood was left behind too. Anyways I think we didn't bring it because my legs were too long to fit on it anymore, not because I didn't want it. I was lucky enough to get the queen-sized bed I was probably made on. That one stayed behind too, when I moved to this apartment. I wonder what else I left behind?