Someone in a Chair

That autumn was unusually cold. The weather was disgusting, slushy, in a word, disgusting.

I drew patterns, understandable only to me, on the fogged windshield of our brand-new car as it sped along the wet road, bouncing constantly over the bumps. The mood of those present matched the weather, and the occasion for the trip was a most sad one: my grandfather had died. Because of my age, I was still unfamiliar with the concept of death; I didn't understand its full tragedy, just as I didn't understand why dogs were unleashed on me from time to time for no reason.

On the day of the funeral, the sky was also overcast. The children (me, my older sister, and a couple of relatives) were left at home, so we burned fallen leaves in the yard. I was playing in a puddle and was already quite cold when my sister sent me inside. Kicking off my shoes at the threshold, I wandered through the rooms, sniffling, checking out Grandpa's favorite spots. His place at the table, where he often held me on his lap and fed me soup with a spoon, because I refused to eat soup any other way. His bed next to Grandma's, his chair in front of the television. It was the chair that had alarmed me.

An old television, which only received one channel, stood on a stand in the corner. Grandpa would sit in his chair in the middle of the room to watch it; that was his place. After his death, the chair had been moved to a place where it wouldn't interfere with free movement, but now it was back in the middle.

I felt uneasy and hurried to the door, though I tried to pretend (to someone unknown) that I hadn't noticed anything, much less been frightened. I bumped into the boys at the door, and that brought me back to consciousness. While my sister fussed around the kitchen, warming up tea, I didn't leave her side. And in the evening, when everyone had gathered at home, the chair was already in its new place.

I woke up in the night with a shiver. I woke my mother and probably everyone else in the house. They gave me some tea and a pill, which wasn't easy to find (my grandmother had everything except a fever reducer).

In the morning, I would have slept until lunch if my mother hadn't woken me. My relatives had left early, and my parents, sister, and grandmother were getting ready to go to the market. Of course, no one was planning on taking me with them, so everyone was already standing in their jackets, and my father was starting the car in the yard. No amount of persuasion on my part had any effect on my mother, and I was left home alone.

I was lost in my thoughts, but the distinctive sound of my empty stomach brought me back to reality. Wrapping myself in a blanket, I got out of bed and went to the kitchen. Breakfast was waiting for me on the table, the tea still warm. Grabbing a glass, I headed for the TV as usual, since eating at the table wasn't my habit, like all modern children. But I froze in the doorway.

The chair was back in the center of the room. Now I was sure no one would have deliberately moved it there. I don't remember how I got back to the table, but by then I was glued to it. No amount of money, no excuse would have gotten me up and gone into that room. The newscaster's voice rang out from the living room, and tears sprang to my eyes. Now I would attribute this anomaly to the age of the television. As we know, old things take on a life of their own. But then I sat there, numb, smearing snot and tears across my face with the long sleeve of the shirt my mother had dressed me in the night before, trying not to make a sound. I fixed my gaze on the sideboard.

 An ordinary old sideboard with a mirrored back. It reflected a good portion of the living room, including the television and the armchair. I saw it clearly.

An old armchair, with a yellow, worn back and... a gray head. My grandfather's head. It was half visible over the back, motionless. The television was actually on. It seemed I stopped breathing at that moment. I couldn't take my eyes off the reflection, even though I was ready to give up my soul. And he still sat motionless in his armchair.

My father was closing the gate when my mother startled me. I got a scolding for my bare feet and was sent to bed. Gathering my courage as I passed by my mother, I glanced into the living room. The television was off, the armchair was out of my sight, meaning it was back in its new corner.

I never told anyone about this incident. My grandfather was the kindest man in the world, who loved me beyond measure. He passed away suddenly, without even waking up. And maybe that was my last chance to see him, and I missed it…