The Chair

By Virginia Amis

Cigarette smoke rose, adding to the cloud that had yet to dissipate, lingering just above your head. The stripes on the sitting room curtains appeared distorted through that filter. Your thin frame, draped in a simple cotton dress, barely filled the chair. Your face was set in a Madonna sadness.

I wanted to comfort you, but I needed comfort, too. We were all afraid.

When the phone rang, you knew he was drunk again. Payday gave him that freedom. He forgot the bills, mouths to feed. Or, they were too much for him. He had to find his solace.

He came home, eventually, and created the hell we all knew so well. Breaking what was precious to you, slapping you, blackening your eye while he told you how everything was your fault. You had all these children. You couldn’t do anything right.

I wanted to find buried treasure, buy you a house with a sun porch and bright happy rooms. It made me smile to think of you happy.

The chair used to be lovely, the color of soft taupe. You were so proud to have it when it was new. It had a matching ottoman, before we kids destroyed it with our play. It had turned the colors of sorrow. Pain stained

its arms. Fear frayed the cushions. It used to be comfortable, a place for rest and your crochet projects. There

were no Afghans near it now. If I could have found one, I’d have brought it to you, wrapped it across your bare arms.

You’ve since left the chair, flown away to a house with a sun porch and bright happy rooms. I like to think of you there, smiling. He’s gone, too. If you have seen him, I hope he has said he is sorry.

Ms. Amis is an attorney and judicial officer who has always enjoyed creative writing.  She has published stories in the 2018 and 2019 issues of Perspectives Magazine, the January 2020 and October/November 2020 issues of Reminisce Extra, 2019, 2020 and 2021 Scribes Valley Publishing Anthologies, Beyond the Norm, Where Tales Grip, and Story Harvest, Linden Avenue Literary Journal, and in 101words.com. 

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