The Little Wooden Chair -or- The Most Unlikely Hero
The Little Wooden Chair
-or-
Most Unlikely Hero
By
M.J.A. Ware
DIGITAL EDITION v1.1
PUBLISHED BY: CG Press LTD. at SmashWords
© 2011 by M.J.A. Ware
Cover © 2011 Rebecca Weaver, https://missninjaart.com
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of any product referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter10
Bonus Story: Blacktop Bully
Bonus Story: The Price of Friendship
About the Author
* * * * *
Chapter 1
Imagine for a moment what it would be like to be a chair. You cannot speak or move; you will never know the joy of sleeping or eating. In fact, all you are good for is supporting people’s rear-ends. The worst part of being a chair is never knowing feelings. Most importantly, a chair will never know love—well, except for one particular little wooden chair.
Like most little girls, Maggy loved everyone she knew: her mother, father, her aunt, and of course her dolly. But Maggy never thought about loving her little chair.
The chair was a present from Maggy’s grandfather. Maggy did not know him; he had died when she was just a baby. He smoked too much and as everyone knows smoking will kill you.
He had worked on the chair, late into the night, only stopping when he had one of his frequent coughing spells. It seemed to the chair that he knew building it was the last thing he'd ever do.
Being a chair is a dull business. All there is to do is wait around for someone to sit on you. Now this particular little chair had it good, at least as good as any chair could expect. The chair was too small for anyone besides Maggy to sit on and, not eating much, she was very light. He had a prime location, just inside the door of Maggy’s tiny bedroom. And Maggy didn’t close her door, which meant that the chair had a clear view of almost of the entire house, which consisted of four sparsely furnished rooms with gray walls textured in a myriad of patched holes.
Best of all, this little chair could do something most chairs cannot, it could move. Not across the room mind you, but back and forth—it was a rocking chair. The little wooden chair’s favorite pastime was to rock back and forth while Maggy sang to her dolly or combed its hair.
The chair had always felt a strong bond with Maggy; perhaps because they shared the same world. Maggy was too young to attend school, exactly how old she was, the chair didn't know. However, it did know that she rarely left the confines of the house. The only time she ventured out was when she'd go to her aunt’s.
During the day, and even at night, Maggy’s mother was often gone, leaving no one to watch her. Her mother had written Maggy’s aunt’s phone number on a notepad in case of an emergency.
Even when Maggy’s parents were home, they didn't pay her much attention. Her father, tall and wide with wild, waxy black hair that he never bothered to comb, sat in his recliner and watch TV every night. He would drink six or seven beers and then fall asleep. As long as Maggy didn't interrupt him, he didn’t pay her the slightest attention.
The chair felt very sorry for the recliner. It was in even worse shape than the rest of the furniture, with rips and stains all over. Maggy’s father usually slept all night in the recliner. Being so fat, he was entirely too big for it. In the middle of the night, the little wooden chair often heard it crying out with creaks and moans as it strained under the load.
Chapter 2
Each day started the same. The chair sat patiently and watched the sun climb across the scuffed kitchen floor, past the living room, and finally make its way into Maggy’s room. Experience taught him as soon as it reached her face she would awaken.
When this happened the chair got very excited. For he knew it was almost time for his first task of the day: to help Maggy get her socks on.
Maggy got up, wiped the sleep from her eyes, then looked around to confirm no one was home. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and sat on the little wooden chair to put her socks on. The chair tried to help Maggy by leaning forward as far as possible to make it easier for her to reach her feet.
The rest of the day, the chair watched her play with her dolly. In the evening, she sat on the chair and gently rocked while she sang her baby doll to sleep. This was the chair’s favorite time of all.
Even though Maggy’s mother was often gone during the day, she was usually home before it got dark and always before Maggy’s father got home. Until one day when her mother didn't come home at all.
As the house slowly grew gray, Maggy rocked on her little chair and combed her dolly’s hair. They all sat silently for what seemed like hours, waiting for someone to come home. The chair began to wonder what would happen if no one ever came home. Would Maggy’s aunt notice? Would someone come and take her away? The chair thought maybe he would have to take care of her himself. He felt certain he could do as good a job as her parents. Perhaps taking care of them is a way of showing someone you love them, thought the chair.
Finally, her father came home, six-pack in hand. Looking around the small apartment, he yelled at Maggy, “Where’s your mother?”
Maggy replied with the softest whisper, “I don’t know.”
“What! When did she leave?” The little chair always thought Maggy’s father’s voice sounded like rolling thunder.
“I don’t know.”
“That good for nothing...” He turned the television on and popped open a beer.
Maggy didn't get up. She sat on the chair, still rocking her dolly. Her father always seemed to be drinking. The chair knew—as did everyone else in the house—that it was only safe to speak to him when right when he got home. Once he had settled in, it was best to leave him alone.
The sun had long since set and the little chair had heard Maggy's stomach growling several times. She was going to have to ask her father about dinner. The chair hoped she would have good timing and not ask at the wrong moment.
As her father opened his second beer, a commercial started and the chair stiffened up, hoping Maggy would sense it and get up.
Sure enough, a moment later she stood up. Dolly in hand, she slowly approached her father. Her timing couldn't have been better. “Daddy can I have some dinner?”
“Yeah, just have whatever you want.”
Maggy's bare feet made a quiet shuffling sound a
s they scurried along the dirty kitchen floor. She climbed up the side of an open drawer and stood on the old, warped countertop. She reached up as high as her small arms allowed and carefully got down a bag of chips. Slowly, quietly, she rummaged through the kitchen. She took two pieces of bread and using her finger as a knife, spread jam on them. Then she fished the last pickle out of the jar and put it on her sandwich. Carefully, she scooped up her chips so they did not make a sound. She stacked the pile of chips on top of her sandwich and took her dinner into her room.
Maggy sat on the floor, placed the food on the little wooden chair and—as she had been taught by her aunt—said grace over her meager vittles before beginning to eat.
“Dear Lord. Bless Mommy, Daddy and Aunt Shelby, and please help us to have food to eat tomorrow. Oh yeah, please bless Jesus, Amen.”
The chair was more than happy to double as a table for Maggy.
No one tucked Maggy in bed that night, not that this was different from any other night.
It was not until early in the morning when the sun had just started creeping across the floor that Maggy’s mother came home and tiptoed across the faded orange carpet of the living room and past the recliner where Dad slept. Only the little chair saw her.
Chapter 3
The little chair wondered how Maggy’s dad always managed to get up for work on time. He had no alarm clock, but always awoke shortly before the sun reached the window. He took a quick shower and left while it was still dark.
Over a period of a few weeks, Maggy’s mother stopped coming home at night. Maggy became used to eating anything she could find and her aunt, who lived in the same building, started having her over for dinner once a week or so.
Except for the general lack of food in the house, things were going well. Until late one night the chair heard a clatter. He peered through the doorway to see Maggy’s mother and father in a heated exchange. Their voices quickly raising and overlapping each other so that the little chair could not make out much of what they were saying. He wasn't too worried though, as long as he could remember they had always argued.
What the chair didn't realize was that they normally did not argue so late at night—after Maggy’s father had been drinking for so long. This night, so many empty beer cans littered the floor the chair could not count them all. Though he could only count to five, which happened to be the number of spindles across his back.
Soon the fight grew louder than any he could remember. Just as he was wondering if it was possible for the fighting to get any more intense, he heard a slap, no more like a sharp thud.
This wasn't the first time Maggy’s dad had hit her mother, but never had it made such a loud noise. The room was silent. Maggy’s mother leapt from the floor, punching, kicking and screaming at her father.
This went on for several minutes, but the little chair wasn't sure how many because at that moment something else caught his attention.
It was crying, and it was coming from Maggy’s bed. The chair had been so caught up in the spectacle in the living room, it had forgotten that Maggy was sleeping just a few feet away.
She huddled into a ball and wedged her tiny body into the space between her mattress and the wall. The little chair wished he could go and put his arms around her. He felt very bad that he had not seen sooner she was upset. Several doors slammed and the apartment soon became silent, except for the muffled crying of a little girl.
Chapter 4
The next day Maggy’s mother was nowhere to be seen. However, Maggy’s aunt came over to watch her for most of the day. She even brought Maggy a present.
“Maggy, I got you something down at Saint Luke's.”
It was a brown stuffed bear. Maggy was very excited. To say it was not often that she was given a present would be an understatement.
“Oh, thank you Aunt Shelby.”
The little brown bear looked old and tattered. He didn’t have a smile, but wore a serious expression. The chair thought he looked very wise. Maggy did not seem to mind the bear’s haggard appearance; in fact the chair could never remember seeing her happier.
She spent the entire day playing with her dolly and new bear. She introduced them to one another. They all went on a voyage to a deserted isle, which was really a pile of dirty clothes her mother had left on the floor. Then they had a great feast—empty beer cans and fast food containers.
When Maggy got ready for bed, she sat her old bear on the wooden rocking chair (she hardly ever put her dolly down and she needed at least one free hand). The chair felt the warmth of the bear and the worn seams in his stitching. He was very sure that this was a wise old bear.
Ever since Maggy’s parents had gotten into their last fight, Maggy’s father had stopped drinking beer. The first night the chair thought this would be a good thing. After all, it looked like he had just started drinking lots of water. It turned out it was not water. Every night he would stagger though the door, bottle in hand. Worst of all, he did not always keep to himself. Whereas before he only yelled at the TV, now he yelled at everyone and everything.
Fortunately, he was often so drunk that if he called out for Maggy, she could ignore him and he'd soon forget that he had asked for her at all.
After being gone for several nights, Maggy’s mother finally returned. But things didn't settle down.
Maggy’s mother was almost always gone and her father kept drinking more and more. Fistfights often broke out. When they did, Maggy’s mother always lost and Maggy would spend most of the night sobbing in the corner of her bed.
One night when Maggy’s mother was gone and it was getting quite late, Maggy’s father yelled out in a drunken stupor. This was so normal neither the chair nor Maggy really noticed. But a moment later, he sat up, “Maggy, where are those damn chips!”
Maggy was just tucking her teddy bear into bed with an old gray t-shirt when she heard him yelling. Quickly, she ran into the kitchen and started climbing up the cabinet drawers towards a bag of stale potato chips on the counter. He yelled again, this time it was unintelligible, but it was clear that it was directed at her.
She grabbed the chips and as fast as her spindly legs could carry her, and ran to him with the bag in hand. She dropped the chips at his feet and quickly rounded his chair, but she was not quick enough.
“These are chips, I wanted pretzels!” he hollered and as she sped away, he gave her a great kick with his boot.
The little chair looked in horror as he saw Maggy’s feet fly out from under her and she flew into the air. She landed with a thump, face-first on the orange shag carpet. The little chair tried to lurch forward, but found, possibly due to shock, he couldn't move.
As quickly as she had fallen, she got up and ran into her room. Then she did something she had never done. She closed the door. There was no light; the small windowless room was completely dark except for a faint blue line from the TV that shown under the crack of the door. The wooden chair listened carefully. He expected to hear her crying, but what he heard scared him much more.
Silence.
Chapter 5
The next few days, Maggy’s mother actually stayed home at night and, even more remarkable, her parents didn’t fight.
It was too good to last. On the forth night, her parents really got into it. Soon they were hitting each other. The chair wasn't surprised, but was a little worried when Maggy’s mother left. That meant there was only one person left for her father to fight with.
Maggy, who had been playing on her bed with her teddy bear and dolly, immediately got up. Quietly, she walked over to the door and closed it as gently as possible, then went back to her bed. She didn't continue playing with her toys. She tucked them in and then got into bed herself.
They could hear her father in the next room. There was no one else there with him, yet he didn't stop arguing. The wooden chair found little comfort in the fact her father could argue with himself. The chair wouldn’t stop worrying until he passed out.
What seemed l
ike many hours went by, but he could still be heard outside the door, walking around, occasionally making incoherent outbursts.
The chair thought it must be much later than her father normally stayed up. He expected her father would pass out at any time. He was wrong.
It was quite for a moment. The chair listened intently. Suddenly, there was a sound at Maggy’s door. It flew open and light burst into the room like a strike of lighting. The door slammed into the little wooden chair, which spun around so it faced the bed. Before the chair could react, her father descended on Maggy. “When I tell you to come here, you...”
Maggy hesitated just long enough to reach down to save her dolly before she jumped up, desperate to get away. But even though he was drunk and staggering, a little girl was no match for his speed. Before she could take two steps he grabbed her by the arm and lifted her high into the air, then just as quickly threw her down again.
Maggy and her dolly both hit the wall and fell like rag dolls. Maggy was silent and the little chair wondered in horror if she had been killed. She didn't make a sound. The only sound was her father as he walked out the door.
“You shouldn’t have made me do that. Why did you do that?” As he left the room, his mumbling voice sounded like a storm as it rolls out of range.
The chair listened. Finally, after several minutes he heard her move.
Chapter 6
The next morning Maggy didn't rise when the sun touched her face. When she finally did get up, she had a light burse on the side of her head and darker, finger-shaped bruises on her arm. She spent longer than normal in the bathroom and when she came out, the chair saw why.
Maggy had fashioned bandages for her dolly out of toilet paper. She had one wrapped around her doll’s head and one around its arm. It looked like gauze pads wrapped around her dolly’s wounds. The chair had been so worried about Maggy, it had not stopped to think about her dolly. He hoped she would be okay, too.
When Maggy went to put her socks on, she had to move the chair back to its normal spot. But she had trouble; the ends of the chair’s curved rockers were stuck under the door. It had happened last night when Maggy’s father had thrown the door open.