I had dragged two chairs out to the street. I was hoping someone would need both decent looking chairs for their home, but no . . . . someone just stopped some time a day or two later and drove off with one and never returned for the second. It was summer time, so I wasn’t too worried about rain and stain. I gave the chair one more day before I moved it back under the carport to leave it until the need or the urge to throw it away over-took me.
I woke up the next morning, picked up my Tacoma News Tribune and the Seattle PI and went back into the kitchen, cooked breakfast for me and my wife and then did the dishes. As I was wiping the final dish it struck me. The chair by the side of the road was gone. I peeked out the window to make sure and was pleased to see it gone. We like to share, but we wouldn’t ever want to share something that wasn’t working.
A couple of weeks later I had the strangest dream. Well, I thought it was a dream perhaps, but as you grow older you kind of get things mixed up a bit. My wife Lorna, had gone to a coffee klatch just before noon. I was reading a large book of poetry Lorna and left half-way open and I was trying to figure out the poem “Beauty is Everywhere Baudelaire.” Should the poem be “Beauty is Everywhere” by Baudelaire, or is it all combined? I shuffled the pages, rolled my eyes and then flipped the pages several times before flinging the book about a dozen feet across the yard. We had only paid a dollar for the book, so I wasn’t two worried about getting word whipped by my lovely wife. When the book landed something else appeared to my left that caught my eye . . . maybe . . . kinda, okay not for sure. I walked over and picked up the book, uncreased a few pages, and put it back on the table where Lorna had been reading.
I looked over to where I had possibly seen something. Well, actually the something was our old chair. “How can that be?” I thought. I walked over to where I thought I had seen the chair. I looked around to make sure no one was around . . . just in case someone saw me and thought me crazy . . . like my wife. In mid-shoulder shrug I noticed the foot print of the chair. “Oh, please God is my mind slipping?” On a closer look the foot print was just like our old chairs. Not wanting to look the fool, my eyes wandered and my feet kept edging away from the chair foot print. I thought perhaps a straight line would give me the solution, but there was no place to go. Our great old tree had limbs that had grown down to the ground. Once upon a time I would have mowed underneath, but this hadn’t happened for a good ten years. When the grandkids come over the low hanging limbs call to them and they play hide and seek or just like to wander in and out. I looked around the edges of the low-hanging limbs and noticed a trail of lines like something being drug. In a swimming type motion I entered the tree to stand facing a young man about fifteen years old. He looked at me and I looked at him.
“Hello,” I said. “Do I know you?” The boy looked at me and shook his head “no.” I tried again, and asked, “Should I know you?” I got another shrugged shoulder response. “Are your parents looking for you?” was my next question. I got another shrug. “Are you cold or hungry?” brought on a big nod meaning probably both. “Let’s go to the kitchen. I have some pancake mix with your name on it along with some fake orange juice . . . and by the way, what is your name?”
An hour later, Jerry was full, and he had told me all about running away and how he had no idea about going anywhere but had words with his dad, mostly. He sniffed a couple times. “How about I drive you home to your parents? If they are home, you could introduce me. If not we could leave a note and bring you back here for some more food.” Jerry was at ease even at the thought of meeting his parents and the possibility of punishment. As we got ready to go Jerry offered to carry the old chair back to the curb. I had to laugh.
I really enjoy your short stories. I wonder how many are based on true incidents. They se so real
It was a dark night, and the moon was yellow . . . okay forget that. My wife, Peggy, and I have been long time readers of books. On our first date I told her about a book I was reading concerning Hobbits. Peggy and I have had three books published about business. Short stories are fun. I usually come up with an idea. I was an art major at UPS, where Peg and I met (she was a German major). We have an artist friend, Dr Johnny Wow. When he needed to clear out his studio, Peggy and my cousin Lindy helped ourselves to about three hundred paintings or sketches of people. I usually come up with a basic idea and then look for an image that fits . . . or sometimes a painting image seems to tell me about itself. This particular story began with two orange chairs I set near our side walk. Someone came and took one. We have a tree in our back yard that has limbs and leaves that droop and nearly reach the ground. Quite often our stories tell themselves. Thanks for your kind words. Don and Peggy