The chair, physical manifestation of her chaired professorship, was
made of black lacquered wood with gold lettering on its decorative back. It
stood unceremoniously to one side of my colleague’s office, piled chaotically
with books and papers, post-it notes exploding from both.
I sat in a simpler chair, one with a soft green vinyl seat
and unadorned wooden arms. I pulled it closer to her desk, and we broke the ice
with a story of the beach-themed party her departmentmates threw her for her 60th
birthday. “Complete with sand, inflatable palm trees, and a playlist of Beach
Boys songs looping endlessly on the computer.”
What’s the comfort in a rocking chair?
Does the back-and-forth swing remind us more of life in the
womb or life on the porch?
I vote porch! :)
ReplyDelete