The teal chair cost me five dollars. A couple of college girls in a small, third floor apartment were selling it on craigslist, and when I saw it, I knew I had to have it. It was huge: about as long as it was deep, and about as deep as it was tall. Its wide arms were flat, perfect for a stack of books, like a table-chair hybrid. The fabric was horrible and torn, but that could be fixed eventually. The chair had good bones, and I wanted it.
As I handed over my five dollar bill, I realized--I didn't know how to get it home. Eli and I had brought his parents' hatchback to help in the move, but it hardly seemed sufficient to hold the beast in front of us. It took three of us to maneuver the blessed thing down the stairs, a great, hulking cube of upholstery and wood. If possible, it looked even bigger when we got it on the sidewalk. Ever the optimist, Eli wedged the chair halfway into the back of his car and we set off. I clung onto it from the back seat, as if my small hands were going to stop it from tumbling from the trunk and into the street behind us. Thankfully, my strength wasn't tested, and with only two more flights of stairs and minimal cursing, it found a home in my own tiny apartment.
I hadn't remembered any of that--the buying, the moving--until a few weeks ago, when I asked Eli to help me move the chair out of the basement and into my art room on the second floor. We've been in our house for a little over a year now, and all that time, the teal chair has been waiting for me to find the right spot for it. This time there was a lot more cursing, and I'm sure I said "This was a terrible mistake" about ten times per stairwell.
But now here it sits in my art room, the perfect perch for a shy, sleepy kitty in front of a sunny, open window. It's still teal, and torn, and will probably take a little more time to air out its musty basement smell, but it's perfect. Perfect for reading and daydreaming and sketching. I have dreams of reupholstering it someday, when ambitions and endorphins and delusions of grandeur are high. Until then, it's a happy reminder of where I've been, and where I'm going.
Because corner by corner, our things are finding their place in our house. The books are settling onto the bookshelves, and a newly adopted cat (who won't sit on the couch) has found a favorite spot in a teal chair. We are remembering a few dreams we put on hold, and believing we can work toward them again.