Short Stories and Essays

Grandfather's Chair

Papa’s chair sat on the front porch of the house. It stood still and unmoving as the children watched from a distance. The children had been instructed by their mother not to sit on grandfather’s chair.

Most afternoons, Papa would sit in the chair, eyes fixed on something in the distance and holding his black square radio to his ear. Every now and then, the radio became silent, and he had to shake it or tap the top to get it to work again.

Today, Papa was not seated on the chair. He wasn’t wiping the hands of the chair clean with the back of his arm. He wasn’t cocking his head from side to side as he listened intently to the voices floating from the radio. Today, Papa’s brown wooden chair stood in the middle of the porch, still and unmoving.

The children walked with small, light steps toward the chair. Kweku led them, Maame followed, and Aseda crawled swiftly after them attempting to catch up. Kweku hesitated as they approached the chair, looked over his shoulder, cast a quick glance to the left and right, took a deep breath, and reached out to touch it. The chair was a brown, glossy object with poorly shaped arms and legs and rough edges.

Papa would spend most evenings sitting in his chair with the kids at his feet, telling stories in a clear, steady tone. He told the children about the great wars of their ancestors, and they listened to him with rapt attention. They paid close attention to the cracked old voice as he talked about the forest creatures that come out only at night. Today, there will be no nighttime stories.

Nobody was allowed to touch the chair or sit on it. Aseda had crawled close to the chair several times but never touched it. Her little infant brain understood her mother's directions. Kweku was surprised that nothing happened when he touched the chair. Maame touched Kweku as he touched the chair to be sure he was still alive. The warnings from Grandfather and Mother made it appear as if something terrible would happen if they touched the chair. They had imagined that touching it would paralyze their limbs and block their throats.

Infused with courage, Kweku sat down and smiled. He took a deep breath and gently exhaled. Maame rose on tiptoes. Aseda stopped crawling in the distance and looked up at her brother, her eyes filled with confusion. A car blasted in the distance, and the horn could be heard from the gate. They turned to see Mother approaching them, her steps measured. Kweku knew one thing for certain: Mother was biting her anger. Something terrible was going to happen. He tightened his grasp on the chair's arm and closed his eyes.