The Second Chair

Roscoe put the chair on the kitchen floor and stepped back as though it might announce its own intentions.

Veda looked at it, then at him.

“Your left rear appears improved.”

“I knew I should have removed the label sooner.”

The tape was gone. The ordinary beech dining chair stood beside the table, its finish quiet, its repaired joint unobtrusive. It looked like something that had been allowed to remain itself and also become safe to sit on, which was the limit of the meaning Roscoe would permit her to assign it.

“Don’t make it an allegory,” he said when she smiled.

“I was thinking you finally have somewhere else to put laundry.”

“That too.”

He had spent the last few evenings finishing the repair after his paid work. The fitted wood, adhesive and curing time had each received more patience than he gave his own lunch. Veda remembered him…