We were sitting there, waiting for him to come home. We’ve been here a while. Well, I’ve been in the closet for awhile now. I think it’s been a couple of months, if not years.
You see, I’m a chair, specifically a folding chair. I come from a long line of chairs. My grandfather was an oak rocking chair. Me, I’m just a simple metal chair.
I’ve started taking classes online at Chair University. I wasn’t sure the next time I was going to get used, so I wanted to make myself useful and get a degree. I was thinking of majoring in chaircanomics. Then again, I am doing really well in Chaircounting 101, maybe that’s the road to go.
It seemed that every since Bill had started using, we just never got used. We’ve been collecting spiderwebs and dust. When one day, a woman opened the closet. I knew I knew her from somewhere. A family event? Oh, this was going to bother me for awhile. But then I found out it was his sister. She, along with a couple of Bill’s friends, was having an intervention for him. Yes, finally an excuse to be used! I know it's not a happy occasion that we are being used for but being used is better than not.
She set up a circle and left me for Bill to sit on when he get home. I never got that about humans: why they left chairs for people who ain't here? It’s so strange. Just make them get their own chairs. It's not that hard. Just go in the closet and grab one. But that's just me I guess.
Anyways, we were waiting there for him to come home. I tried to tell them that he doesn’t come home on weekends but I guess I don’t know how to communicate that with humans. They just sat there, like a bunch of idiots, waiting for a guy to come who never will.
“When do you think he’s coming home?” One of them asked around.
“I don’t know,” said his sister, “I don’t know where else he would be.”
I wanted to answer the question but to tell you the truth, I didn’t even know. He just never came home on weekends. He would come home, shoot up and then I wouldn’t hear anything until the next morning when he left. Being in a closet for a long time, you learn the routine of things. The door opening and closing. The spark of a lighter and the sign of drugs hitting veins. But the one thing you don’t get used to...is the silence. And believe me...there is a lot of that.
I don't know much, as I am just a simple chair, but I can tell this. Don't be a chair to a junkie. You will never get used. And if you only reason for existing is to get sat on and you are not fulfilling your purpose, then what's the point?
I am a simple folding chair. I come from a long line of chairs.
