FOR SALE: Lovely Upholstered Chair, Well-Loved
By Jaelin Jones
They met in the Roberts' Department Store parking lot, at 11:30 AM on a Tuesday. The fact that no one else was around did not strike him as odd, considering it was not exactly peak hours. That morning, the air was cool and slightly damp, and the sun had not yet decided to creep out from behind the panel of clouds that had carried over from the week past.
He informed no one of this rendezvous, which also did not strike him as a strange thing to do at the time. Perhaps it was not the best idea to hand over half a hundred dollars for a used armchair sight unseen, but the newspaper ad was so straightforward, and the crisp color photograph felt convincing. What kind of a scam artist springs for a color photograph? After all, he thoroughly inspected the piece for defects and needed an office chair now, not later. One could not afford to be so persnickety when buying other people's stuff. Besides, he had been generally successful in secondhand trades previously. All there was to do was check the springs and joints, test the legs and arms, and smell for himself whether the seat reeked of any malodor. When all this was done, he felt satisfied with the legitimacy of the transaction.
Tying the chair down onto the roof of the car proved to be less difficult than expected, and somehow, yesterday's memory of Boy Scouts' knots managed to hold securely. Throughout the ride home, the faint creaking and groaning noises were a concern, but there seemed no sign of compromise. Pulling over and getting out to check the piece proved to be a useless endeavor after the third examination, when it was confirmed that the chair was, in fact, in the same exact spot, and the tie-down had absolutely no slack: secure as ever. Driving home carefully, he held his breath.
The landlady helped him to get the chair into the door and up the creaky old steps of the boarding house, up to his room on the top floor. She was a ruddy-faced woman, kind with watery eyes, big and droopy like a hound. She was of a sturdy build, with broad shoulders and strong arms, and middle in both age and height. So, the challenge of the task was not that of physical might, but rather the geometry of the four-story Victorian, and the sturdy armchair her lessee had brought her to navigate up its many stairs. She was a widow who had carried four children, only three of whom made it to gasp their first howling breaths on Earth. Two of which made it to adulthood. One drank himself to death, leaving only one child. That child had recently been wedded and honeymooned by a young professor who bought her a cottage down near his coastal campus. The widow was all alone in the big house her late husband had left her. Her only company was that of her tenants.
After having another cigarette, and putting on another cup of coffee, he set up at his machine. Usually, it was quite easy to put something on paper after his regular morning routine: a breakfast of black coffee, wheat toast with butter and jam, two easy eggs, and a cigarette, followed by a scan through the morning paper, then another cigarette. But today, everything was a hassle: his paper would snag in the roller, his machine demanded two whole new ribbons, as the old one kept buckling, and the second one seemed to be completely dry out of the package. The carriage kept jamming, the 'x' key kept sticking, and several keys misfired. Every one of his pens seemed to be out of ink, and after tearing through his paper with his pen in frustration, he decided it was time to give up.
Finally, he decided to break and walk down to Pete’s for lunch. Perhaps today was not a creative day, and perhaps, this one time, he would break for a bite to eat before writing his usual 9,000 words.
—
He returned to his work that afternoon. His machine was far more amenable this time going, and after switching to a new pen purchased from the corner convenience store, the morning's seemingly impossible endeavor seemed to now be an assured mechanical prospect. The paper loaded smoothly, the ribbon inked nice and black, and the cartridge ran just fine. But almost as soon as he began to labor out his thoughts, he felt a terrible prickling chill course through his body, and a diarrheal nausea overtake his abdomen. His head pounded as he felt what seemed to be all of the blood in his body rush to his head, and his legs grew weak. His throat felt dry, and it seemed as though his lungs had been vacuumed tight, preventing him from gasping or shrieking out in pain. As a result, he dug his short fingernails into the wood arms so hard they bled. His jaw snapped open and closed, clamping down with rattling teeth onto that spongy muscle in his mouth. The warm metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, and he felt the bile crawl slowly up the back of his throat. His eyes rolled back violently, showing the stalks and nerves bright red like a slot machine. Now unable to control any of his lower functions, he voided himself as he silently wept. Urine and liquefied excrement ran down his pantlegs, pooling in small, spreading, steaming heaps on the floor planks. This was it. Most curious of all, he felt his spine drawn backward, almost as if it were being pulled into the chair. He realized he could feel his ribcage, and pelvic, arm, and leg bones being pried from his body down into the upholstery as well, and he let out a final, agonized groan. All that was left was a pile of steaming viscera and the smell of fetid waste.
—
It had been a week since the landlady had last come to call on him for the rent check. He was usually punctual enough, and caused no problems for the other tenants, so she figured that it would be perfectly fine to collect from him when she returned from her trip to visit her daughter and her daughter's new husband. After several unsuccessful attempts to politely knock, then subsequently bang, at the door, she invited herself in. To her surprise, she found all of his items left behind, including his wallet and car keys. The room seemed undisturbed, and there in front of the desk was the old chair she had helped to move weeks ago.
—
Months later, he had yet to be seen and it seemed clear that the man was never to return.
Disappointed, yet ever prudent in matters financial, the landlady proceeded to pack up the upstairs room, and prepare for a new tenant. As she cleared off the desk with its scattered papers and coffee-stained napkins, she turned to that old chair again. What a lovely chair it was, and in such fine condition. She thought it would make a perfect gift for her new son-in-law, who was a writer and needed something for his office. I will take it to him, she thought. I will take it to him, and he will know in his bones how good of a mother-in-law I am.