Jack's brother

As I was looking around in my room, thinking I’ll write about how everyone’s room tells something about each of us, I took an isolated concern about an old arm chair in the corner of my room.

Year: early 2000’s. I was riding my yellow bike, my Rocky Road, down a street one day, when a comfy arm chair took my attention briefly off the road. I slowed down, rubber on rubber. A complete stop and the grandfather chair overcame me. I rode over to it and looked around. There was no one else out on the road – just me, my bike and old stuffy here, on the curb. The arm chair smelled like pure furniture, vacuumed up and ready for takers. I was becoming one of them.

I rode home, excited with the chair in my mind. Where would I put it? In the sala or the area right before the den? It would feel as comfy as itself, in our house. Why were they parting with you? . . .

Later that day, my Dad got home and I told him about the arm chair – aggrandizing recognition without even knowing it! It never knew it’s life was about to change. We got home and you sat in the space between kitchen and den. You are home now

You sat there only for a transient space in time. Who knew that’d happen? Who knew that I’d call you the brother of Jack? Jack. He’s the other arm chair we saved off the curb. We like our arm chairs! But now you sit still, in the corner of my room. Once used for sitting pleasures (and still used that way in parties), you are now used for a different purpose – that of being the heart of my sportswear drying system. I overlook you everyday, without realizing what it would be like if you never entered my eyesight the first time I saw you. You are ol’ reliable in my eyes and you sit there like a routine walk through old pages.