"The Chair"
A short story.
”I don’t wanna sit in that chair. That chair tired,” Micha said, folding her little arms in front of her before urgently charging off.
My Russian grandmother silently studied my boisterous three-year-old, watching as she pranced around the old cottage house like a ballerina reindeer. I eyed my husband, who had a “this was a bad idea” expression on his face.
”Would you like some more tea, Grandmum?” I asked, motioning for my husband to collect our toddler.
My grandmother said nothing, her gaze still fixed on Micha. “This chair,” she finally spoke, “is tired.”
”Yes,” I said, smiling. “Micha is learning her emotions. She hasn’t learned that emotions only apply to people.”
My grandmother paused before saying, “Call the child.”
I called for Tim instead, who was clearly exasperated by our daughter. “Can you bring Micha?”
Tim sighed, but obliged.
”Micha, come say hi to Grandmum,” I said, praying to the toddler gods she would cooperate. They showed favor. Micha’s curls bounced as she pitter-pattered to my grandmother’s side.
”You like chair?” my grandmother asked, pointing to the old chair in the corner.
”No!” my daughter screamed. “Chair tired!”
My grandmother sat back quietly. She didn’t say another word for the rest of the visit.
”How did it go?” my mother asked later that evening after we got home.
”It was strange,” I said. “I don’t know if Grandmum was happy to see us. She barely said a word.”
“Well,” my mother said, sighing, “she has never been a woman of many words. And she’s older now.”
”She did talk to Micha, which really surprised me,” I said. “I thought she was driving her crazy.”
”What did she say?” my mother inquired.
”Silly Micha kept saying she didn’t want to sit in some chair. That it was tired. Grandmum called her over and asked her about it. I was so shocked.”
My mother was quiet for a few moments.
”Mom?”
”What chair was it?” my mother asked softly.
”That old brown one in the corner. The one with the patches. Why?”
My mother cleared her throat. “That was the chair my father died in. My mother told me once that the last thing he said before he died was, ‘Oksana, I’m tired. I’m tired.’”
so touching 🥹❤️