Chair Among Chairs

Ted knew he had a long wait ahead of him, so he might as well get comfortable. He moved his neck in a slow circle, then shifted his shoulders. He smoothed the creases on his blue jeans, then let his hands rest idly on the arm-pads of his wheelchair and took a look around.

The outside door was printed with the words, Marie Hawkins, LPC in big letters, while the waiting room was a nondescript shade somewhere between gray and blue. There was a slight texture in the walls. That was a nice touch, thought Ted. He ran his hand along the wall. He thought about how blind people could read entire novels by feeling the tiny raised dots on the page. Do I still remember any Braille? Idly he moved his hand along the bumps on the wall and spelled out, J-O-H-N-5-7. He chuckled. Guess not. I’d never make it through a book at this rate.

That thought reminded him of his own book, which was in a bag hanging from one of his arm-pads. The bus only stopped on this side of town a couple times each day, so he had two hours before his session. He was engrossed in the book when the door opened and a young man walked in. He took a few steps into the room, pulled out his phone and glanced at it, then turned and looked at Ted intently.

Ted could feel the man’s gaze on him. He darted his eyes up from his book. The man had a big beard and a stocking cap pulled low, almost covering his eyes. Around his neck he was wearing a sign that said, “I fell and hurt my nose.” Ted couldn’t see anything wrong with the man’s nose from where he was. He turned back to his book. Then, he heard the man say, “Hey, you.”

Ted looked up again. The man was standing in front of him. Does everyone walk that quietly? thought Ted. “Hey, you” the man said again. He had a harsh voice. “In the chair. It’s rude to stare, didn’t your mother teach you that?”

Ted’s eyes widened. He glanced towards the receptionist’s desk. The man seemed to have guessed his thoughts. “She’s not here,” he said. “Hard at work on a three-martini lunch, I imagine. She can’t help you.” He lowered himself easily into a crouch so his face was nearly level with Ted’s. “If you wanted a better view of my nose, you could have just asked. I know it’s ghastly.” He pushed his face closer to Tom’s and grinned savagely. “Do you see the damage?”

“Um,” Tom said. His heart was flapping like a hummingbird, tiny and urgent. He tried to move his head away, but the man matched his movements. He moved his face even closer so his nose was only a couple inches away from Ted’s. “Do you see it?” he asked. His voice had become quicksand, soft and menacing. Ted gulped. He could feel a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. “Uh, yes, yes, I do,” he choked out. “It’s horrifying.” He shut his eye and tried not to think of what the man might say next.

When he opened his eyes the man was seated in a chair across from him. The man scowled and said, “I’m going to have my eye on you, bucko. I can tell that you’re trouble.” Just then a woman poked her head out of an office and said, “Is that you, Mr. Pohland?” The man groaned and got up. He cast a dark look back at Ted and disappeared into the office.

Ted’s heart was still racing. He turned his wheelchair and looked at the wall behind him, where there was a framed photo of a smiling woman shaking heads with a man in a baseball uniform. The uniform said ‘Astros’ across the front and had a blue star. On the bottom right of the photo was written the words, ‘Marie, you taught me to WALK, and now I can run. All the best, Craig.’ On the wall next to the photos, there was a question painted in bright green lettering: Do You Want To WALK? Under the question was a cartoony picture of a small child and a floppy-eared dog running through a field and these words:

W - Want Better For Yourself

A - Admit Responsibility For Your Past

L - Learn From Your Mistakes

K - Keep Moving Forward

Ted’s eyes left the wall and traveled across the room, landing at the chair the man had sat in before he’d been called back. He noticed that the chair was a brick-red color. All the other chairs were a dull silver. Maybe that’s why he chose it. He was sure seeing red. Ted’s breathing was feeling a bit steadier now. He turned his wheelchair so he was facing the room again and returned to his book.

He looked up to the sound of a throat being cleared. The bearded man was standing in front of him again. Ted’s whole upper body lurched. His hand jumped instinctively to the wheelchair control, but the man said, “Hey, man, I need to say something.” Ted froze, eyes wide. He peered up at the man. The man had taken off his stocking cap and was twisting it between his hands. His voice was softer.

“Er, what is it?” Ted asked. “I’m trying to read here.” Inwardly, he cursed. Why did you say that? Don’t make him mad again. The man nodded. “I know I’m intruding,” he said. “I just wanted to say I’m really sorry for how I lashed out earlier. That was inconsiderate and unfair, and I had no right. I apologize.”

Ted’s mouth dropped open slightly. “Um, OK, don’t mention it,” he said uneasily. He noticed the man wasn’t wearing his sign anymore. “You did give me quite a turn,” Ted continued. “I’m not used to being spoken to that way.”

“Nobody should be,” the man said heavily. “But I am. Or was, I should say. My old man had a temper, God knows. He worked for a church, played guitar and sang on stage. Repressed it all on Sundays, smiled every service. Then took it out on Mama and me on Monday.” He shuddered. “I used to pray as a kid that Sunday would last forever. Like that Bible story about the sun and moon standing still. I used to pray that Monday would never come.” He chuckled bitterly. “God didn’t answer that one. I can remember the worst time like it was yesterday. The church was getting hipper, wanted to reach more young people. I could have told them, maybe have your leaders stop hitting their kids, yeah, maybe that would help. Anyway, the church leaders told him, Rod, you’re starting to go gray, man. My pop says, yeah, I’m 45, what do you expect? They said, Rod, the youth, they don’t want to see gray on stage. They want cool. We need you to start dying your hair. For the young people, Rod, don’t you want to see them saved?” He gave a short barking laugh. “Can you believe that shit? 15 years my pop worked there, they have the nerve to do him like that. I’d never seen him madder. I couldn’t sit down for a week after he was done with me. What makes people hurt their kids, man? But that’s one thing I’ll never do, put a hand on my kids. I swear to God. Not that I want kids anytime soon.”

The man jammed his stocking cap back on his head. “I’m only 21, you know,” he said. “The beard makes me look older, but I’m still a kid myself. Got a lot of shit to learn, and unlearn too. I’m getting better at owning when I mess up, but I’m still a work in progress. I’m sorry again about earlier. Anyway, I gotta run. Got three more service calls to make before my day is done.” He held out his hand to Ted. “It was great talking to you,” he said.

Ted extended his hand as well. “Nice to meet you as well,” he said. “But wait. You weren’t here for a session? Didn’t Dr. Hawkins call you back?”

The man looked confused. “A session? Like therapy? Oh, no, I was just here to look at the printer. Didn’t even realize this was a therapist’s building, to tell you the truth. I’m in and out of offices all day, they all look the same after a while. Anyway, hope I see you again.” He nodded at Ted and walked towards the door.

Ted stared at the man’s back as he walked away. As the man opened the door, he called out, “So what did you do with the sign?” The man extended his arm, gave a thumbs-up, and shouted something over his shoulder. All Ted heard was, “gave the glad hand”. Then the door closed and the man was gone.

Ted stared after him for a few minutes. He scratched his head, then turned and surveyed the room again. His gaze fell on the red chair the man had sat in. Or was it red? For some reason, he couldn’t place the color of the chair anymore. Every time he looked at it now, it seemed different somehow. He thought he could hear a faint whirring coming from its direction. He stretched out his hands towards the chair. The air seemed warmer near it. The other chairs had all moved away from it now. It stood alone, a chair among chairs. Ted moved his wheelchair next to the chair, reached down and, with an effort, removed his feet from their supports. Then, he pushed down hard on his arm-pads and, with a ragged grunt, half-fell, half-scooted his flapjack of a backside into the chair. Ted felt himself falling into the chair’s embrace. He welcomed it. As the lights went dim, he could just make out the photo of the baseball player and therapist shaking hands. He slowly reached out his arms and murmured, “You helped me to walk too.”