I actually started writing about this sad chair yesterday but after I did a search of this blog to see if I’d written about it before, and finding it (along with my dog) featured in a post, circa 2007, about how much I loved my new house, I didn’t really feel like it anymore. I would say that I’m better off now in every way, and reading that post didn’t make me sad. But running headlong into it was pretty weird. It definitely made me question the decision I made to let that old life exist here. I can’t really rewrite history though – that all really happened – so I guess I will continue to let it stand.
Part of that old life was this sad chair. It wasn’t always a sad chair. When my aunt showed up with it at the house on Morton Road, it was a happy chair. The chair was for the nursery.
Unfortunately, that baby was not in the master plan for me. Sometimes I try to figure out why, what else am I supposed to be doing with my life, if not raising that kid. It really isn’t the kind of thing you can figure out though. You kind of just have to go on.
Often people say, “Thank God, you couldn’t have that baby,” referring, presumably, to the fact that I’d now be a single mother. Sometimes I think they’re right, and yes it’s a blessing. If I had a kid in senior kindergarten right now, I certainly wouldn’t be taking any writing classes, or trying to start a freelance career, or planning a trip to the Middle East. On the other hand, sometimes I think, “Fuck you.” How dare anybody suggest that I should be relieved or happy that my baby didn’t grow.
I didn’t get rid of the chair though. The nursery turned into a junk room and that’s where the chair stayed until we cleaned it out and put the house on the market. Then the chair moved with us to Hamilton, and finally I moved it here, to my apartment. The chair was a thorn in my side. Every time I looked at it, I couldn’t help thinking about what it was supposed to be for.
Something nice about my building, is that people leave stuff in the lobby, and other people take it. It’s an unwritten rule that nobody leaves crap. So not long after I moved in here, I put the chair down in the lobby and within a few hours someone absconded with it. Problem solved.
Periodically the chair resurfaces. I once saw it in the laundry room and I thought, “What a pretty chair!” I folded two loads of laundry before I realized it was my chair. The next time I went down there, it was gone.
It turned up again about three weeks ago. This time, in the stairwell on the third floor. I am mad at whoever left it there because the only people who are going to see it are people on the third floor (the third floor being the top floor). You have to leave stuff in the lobby so everyone can see it, people! Location! Location! Location!
Every day I had to see the bloody, abandoned chair when I left for work.
I’d think: “Fine. If that chair is still there when I get home, I’ll take it in.”
I did not, however, move the sad chair into my apartment. I felt sorry for the chair, but I don’t have room in here for it or the ghosts attached to it.
This morning I marched down to the end of the hallway and I looked at the sad chair. I intended to take it down to the lobby. Instead, I brought it in.