That rockin’ chair been by the window since forever. Paint chipped, armrests smooth from hands that aged right along with it. Chair don’t never sit still, but it ain’t never in a hurry neither.
Aunt Viv in it when I walk in, rockin’ slow, mug balanced easy on the arm like muscle memory. Tea smell like mint and somethin’ deeper—roots.
“Door was unlocked,” I say.
“It always is,” she reply, eyes still on the yard. “Grab you a cup.”
I fetch one from the stove, careful not to spill. Sit on the couch across from her—the quiet couch. The one folks nap on when they don’t wanna talk. Today, it feel like listenin’.
Rockin’ chair creak forward, back. Floor answer it like they in conversation.
“You keep thinkin’ decisions gotta be loud,” she say.
I shrug. “Feel like if it ain’t big, it don’t count.”
She smile without lookin’ at me. “Chair rock small, but it still move.”
I sip. Tea hot, calm slidin’ down my chest. Window breeze push the curtain a little. Chair keep time.
“Furniture teach patience,” Aunt Viv say. “They ain’t never chasin’ tomorrow.”
I watch the chair, the couch, the little side table holdin’ books it ain’t read in years. All of it steady. Alive in its own way.
Rock. Back. Rock.
I breathe with it.
For once, I don’t rush either.
No comments:
Post a Comment