Standing solid and still just like the red oak it once was. I trust it will hold me. It’s sturdy and reliable. Like the man who once sat in it. The man who once held me.
It’s a coffee and cream color with highlights of gold and low lights of auburn and each crack and stain tells a story
The Maleficent purple stain on the back right leg. a toddler that would grow to be me running with a PB&J in hand unaware of my brother's Hot Wheels Derby taking place beside the table. All it took was one untied shoelace and all I remember is a symphony of tiny cars clinging and clanging and four year old me falling face first into the tile As the PB&J propelled forward smearing brownish, purple goop.
The crack where your left shoulder might touch if you leaned back. I honestly don't even know what it's from. Maybe an argument that got too heated? Or simple ware and tear over the years? I never asked. I’ll never know.
This chair brings me both comfort and pain. Comfort when I sit after a long day on my feet. Pain when I walk by and stub my toe unexpectedly. Comfort when I remember all the times he held me in it. And pain when I remember he will never hold me again.