A Little Red Chair

When I was a little girl, I spent a lot of time with my grandma. She was the coolest. One of the things we regularly did with grandma was visit her sister. I loved going to the sister’s house—she always gave me candy (she had a big bowl on her dining room table) and she let me sit in the little red chair. The chair fit me perfectly and was short enough that my legs touched the ground. The back was curved and the chair was covered in red, crushed velvet with a skirt around the bottom. It was a really big deal to me to sit in this chair.

The red chair was in the living room and this is where the adults sat and visited. I always felt included and welcomed in the living room. I preferred being in the living room to playing outside in the grape vines or the barbershop. My brothers usually chose to be outside. I remember watching lots of ice skating sitting in the red chair.

When I was 15, my grandmother passed away. After her death, I didn’t spend nearly as much time at the sister’s house. It wasn’t long after that the sister suffered a stroke. Since the stroke, she hasn’t been the same—dementia and other physical problems—and now lives in a care center. It’s very sad to watch as her mind and body deteriorate, but I know that one day she will be whole and well again.

Last summer, her daughter decided it was time to clean out her mother’s house. My mom asked me one day if there was anything I wanted from the house and the first thing I could think of was the red chair. My mom’s cousin graciously gave me the red chair and it now sits in my music room. I’m much too big for this chair now, but every time I see the chair a flood of memories come rushing back.

I’m trying to decide what to do with the red chair. It does not match the rest of my décor, but the chair is staying in my house. I think I’ll make a little sitting area, with a cute little table, a lamp, and my chair. I can’t think of a better homage to the chair then to keep it in the room where the violin lives. My violin was her father’s. I like to think of my great-grandfather watching over me when I play the violin. And one day, I can picture a glorious reunion with my grandmother, her sister, and their father. Maybe they'll all join me as I play a song and sit in the chair.

Yes, the chair will stay and so will the memories.