I used to sit there. That was my spot, in the old rocker that belonged to my grandmother. Everyone used to say it was such a grandma chair, but I liked it. It made me feel closer to the woman who loved to knit, who raised children while working two jobs, who loved to watch ice skating on TV.
I used to sit there. Next to the large rectangular window; I would curl up in a blanket with a book and read, but occasionally looking up and watch the world go by on the other side of the glass. The neighborhood kids would play, but I would just sit inside and watch, pretending I was a prisoner in the white cookie cutter house.
I used to sit there. When it would rain I would watch the drops slide down the slick surface of the window pane. I could never understand why the sun couldn’t shine during the rain storms and why the sky had to be so dark. Sitting there I would feel like Sally in the beginning of The Cat and The Hat; sitting with nothing to do, waiting for my cat in the hat to show up.
I used to sit there. That was my chair. No one else could sit there. That was my spot. When I went away there it sat in my room next to the window. It remained empty until I would return. I would sit on the old, worn cushion and look outside the dirty window and watch a new set of neighborhood children run and play.
I used to sit there. You can see the spot on the floor where this chair sat for decades; for lifetimes it sat here. It never left that spot as if it was nailed to the floorboards. I couldn't take it with me when I left and no one else would take it. There it sat alone.
I used to sit there. Hour after hour. I would fall asleep in that chair. I would save it if the house was on fire and I could only take one thing. I would save that chair. I wanted it to join me when I left. I wanted to sit and be comforted by its rhythmic rocking and smooth arms. I always thought I would come back and take it with me.
I used to sit there. I had no children to give the chair once I had left for good. My remaining family members were few and inbetweens. All were obsessed with the latest trends and the “modern look”. No one would take in an old grandma chair. No one would take an hour to sit and read or to watch the newest generation of neighborhood children run and play and long to be able to go and run with them.
I used to sit there. That was my one prized possession. I didn’t have much use for many other things. That chair. That chair was my one friend, my favorite thing in the world; the only place where I felt safe was in that chair. Now it lays without a girl to sit in it, without a person to treasure and care for it. My once beautiful chair, now regarded as a rickety, dirty, piece of trash.I wish I could sit there. Just for one more afternoon. I wish I could’ve taken it with me. I wish someone else could love it as I had loved it. I wish someone could see its potential and fix it up. I used to wish I could be set free of my prison; that I could play with the children I watched so many of those lonely days, but now I would trade all that longing for my wonderful chair