The Red Chair

Remembered Prompt: Imagine you are meeting someone for the first time. You want to tell them about yourself.

Instead of reciting a laundry list of what you do or where you're from, please give us a scene from your life that best illustrates your true self.

A red chair that sits in the middle of a landscape deep in hibernation. Harsh, drab and brittle, with blades as jagged as knives the grass surrounding me threatens the bottom of tender feet. The trees offer no shelter from their desolate branches. Its prismatic face covered, the sky is a glacial blanket of gray. The wind cuts with no promise of relief. The very air around me feels as though its been inhaled sharply with no sound within its vast vaccuum.  


I am affected by none of this because it is not what I choose to see. 


From the chair I see a supple field rich in tones of green dotted with the regal presence of brilliant sunflowers and graceful daisies. The  trees are dripping with rich foliage. Their branches eagerly offer a welcome home to the birds whose singing fills the indigo sky with my favorite song. The wind caresses me gently and whispers across my skin a promise filled with laughter and warmth.


The chair is my heart. It saturates the bleak horizon with its brilliant color. It pierces the ground with purpose even though it’s very existence defies the harsh nature around it. Its presence overflows with bubbling laughter over the irony of where it has been placed. The strong frame that holds it steadfast in the strongest winds frame the soft, easily damaged cushions. These cushions have supported heavy weight at times and although some of the natural spring has wilted; they have endured.


In the middle of the bleak landscape the chair has stood open for others to sit for a moment. It has offered its comfort in the hopes that others would see the fertile field for a moment and hear a song brought to them on the wings of the wind. It has asked for others to listen for the laughter that was buried under the cover of repose. Its cushions have absorbed spilled tears and mummers of trusted confidence. The red fabric has been torn by carelessness and ripped with impetuous purpose. It will continue to stand open because that’s the very nature of its intent.


A red chair that sits in the middle of a landscape deep in hibernation; this is who I am.