The Chair

               There was a chair you always sat in. It was a beautiful chair; very old, but filled with character. It was square and looked simple at first, but had many intricate details if you took a closer look. It had four dark, slender wooden legs with lines carved in them and they had that swirl pattern at the end that turned into a little ball when it came into contact with the floor. The top was covered in black leather. It had wooden arm rests with a small padding of firm leather where your elbows rested. The back had the same, rather firm leather padding and was surrounded in small golden balls. The seat of the chair was very comfortable, though. It was leather too, but it had a lot of padding and was worn down by all the years of use. You could see little cracks in the old leather, but that could never stop us from sitting in it.

               There were actually two of the exact same chairs, but you always chose the one by the window. Every time I went to your small house, I would see you sitting in that chair in the same spot. You would be sitting quite comfortably with your elbows resting on the rests with your fingers laced together and placed on your lap. Most of the more recent times you were sitting there, you had your foot up on the stool. You never really liked having to sit and put your foot up, but she told you and you had to obey. I never quite knew why you had to do that, but I assumed it was just another small thing for your health and didn’t think about it much. You would always be looking out that huge window onto the street. Nothing much ever happened in your small town. Sometimes there would be construction being done on a house, but nothing major. You would always sit and watch cars go by and people out for walks. You always knew when the mail arrived because you would see the mail man come and drop it off every day. If something was happening in that quiet neighborhood, you knew. I would always wonder what you were thinking when you looked out onto that empty street. Sometimes I assumed you were watching something happening because you looked very content. Other times, you looked deep in thought and I just looked at you and tried to read the expression on your face to tell what you were thinking.

               I always liked sitting in that chair. When I was younger and my feet didn’t touch the floor, I would always slide on the leather. No matter what I did, I could never stay on that darn chair. I never really understood how you could sit there for an entire hour and not move a single bit. It constantly was hard work for me to sit in that chair, but you always looked calm and relaxed. Once I got a bit older, I figured out how to sit in it, finally. Having your feet flat on the floor helped a lot. Also, you needed to not move around a lot, which I had trouble with when I was so young. You just picked a position, relaxed, and could sit there for days. After you left, I would sit there just to remember you. I would make sure that I had a time to just quiet myself, sit there, look out the window, and feel your presence. I still think about you every day and look at your picture hanging in my room. I don’t need a picture to remember you, though, because I will have the image of you sitting in that chair and looking out the window, vividly in my mind, forever.

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