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  • Ryan Rowe

My Blue Chair

I sit down in a lively room.

Everyone is joyously talking in their individual groups while I bask in the comfort that is my blue chair. My favorite color. I know this chair well. Whenever others stand and talk, I’ll likely be in my chair because I fear losing it.

I take a deep breath, acknowledging where I am, and that I’m content here, but as people discuss I see no issue with listening in.

One voice shares, “I’d rather create my own robot than have a kid.”

That’s pretty interesting, I wonder why.

Another voice bitterly comments “Well how can you like Mr. I? Didn’t you hear about what he did?”

Mr. I is great…What did he do?

A third voice angrily says, “Why would anyone like Pandas? They are terrible animals.”

Who is slandering Pandas? Pandas are my favorite animal. I have to say something, I have to hear more.

I try to get up, to interject, and protect the Pandas. Being split between two of my favorite things until I feel pulled back down into my blue chair. I realize I almost left my chair, and I can’t do that. Even if I want to stand and talk about Pandas, it isn’t worth giving up my chair. Anyway, they probably don’t want to talk to me, they probably would be happier without me opening my mouth. So I resolve to enjoy my chair because that way everything stays the same. All of those voices are from acquaintances and all I know about them I’ve heard from their conversations. Like all other times, I have something to add, but a single statement won’t get me standing like them. They don’t have chairs as warm as mine.

I take a deep breath, calming myself, and repeating one phrase in my mind.

I shouldn't stand and I shouldn’t open my mouth.

I shouldn't stand and I shouldn’t open my mouth.

I begin listening to the discord in the room. It seems their conversations have turned into shouting.

One voice yells, “A robot would follow my every command and not ever have to be a toddler. What’s not to love?”

Okay, huh. Fair enough but I’d think…no

I shouldn't stand and I shouldn’t open my mouth.

The second voice cries, “Do you not believe me? There is a genuine reason to believe Mr.I is a terrible person!”

No, no there is more to a person than one action—I shouldn't stand and I shouldn’t open my mouth.

The third voice bellows, “Pandas literally wouldn’t survive without humans! What sort of creature can’t successfully have children!?”

That’s wrong, humans made Pandas endangered—no I shouldn't stand and I shouldn’t...

Keep my mouth shut.

I go to open my mouth. To loudly retort at these voices. But I can’t. I try again, with more force, but I can’t. My dry lips stick to each other like magnets to metal. I then realize what is keeping my mouth closed. Somehow, my mouth was glued shut. I begin to tremble, I begin to panic. I call for help but of course, in a room of screaming, my muffled misery is undetectable. I try to wave my hands. I try to stand up. I can’t. I can’t move at all. I pull and pull but I’m glued down. Glued to my blue chair. How? Who glued me here? As I struggle, trying to gain the attention of anyone in the room, I think, Who trapped me in my favorite place!? I rack my brain for anyone who would do this. Not my family. Not my friends. Not my acquaintances. Then who?

Then it dawns on me.

I realize who did this.

Who made my blue chair a prison.

I did.

I writhe in my blue chair. I can’t stand and I can’t speak. And no one knows I’m in pain. No one will notice anything is wrong, as I am in the same place I always am. My blue chair.



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