At the end of every funeral the seats are supposed to be empty but Ours did not turn out like that.
The chair was older than all the members of the household.
The arms of its dark mahogany were so polished that the afternoon sun was reflected in them, it was visible that One leg was shorter than the others, so that it wobbled when someone sat down too fast. My grandfather would always say that it was the chair telling people to take it easy.
There was no laughter when he passed away.
The chair was as it had been all the time at the head of the dining table.
No one touched it.
Not because anybody ever said we couldn't.
Because somehow...
It was not empty, it wasn't.
The family got together for my grandmother's 70th birthday 3 months after her death.
The house was raucous for weeks.
The children ran and raced around the hallway while It was smoky in the kitchen with a mix of jollof rice goat meat with pepper and fried plantain.
All the people made heroic efforts to smile.
Everyone except Grandma.
She continued to look the chair, no matter what she was doing.
The empty one.
Oh, 'tis a shame," my uncle Chinedu whispered, "somebody should move it.
My mother said, "Yes, yes, yes, I know."
"No."
“It's simply a chair.”
“No, no,” she insisted again.
"It isn't."
I rolled my eyes.
Adults were known to make things into legends.
I was curious, since all of us finished the meal and started cleaning the table.
I walked over.
Pulled the chair back around
And sat down.
Nothing happened.
I almost laughed.
The room then vanished out of sight.
I opened my eyes and it wasn't in the dining room anymore.
I was on my feet under the old mango tree, which had been lopped years ago.
The yard was different.
Smaller.
The walls were not completed.
Children ran around in the compound without shoes.
The one I was familiar with was my mom, Her age must have been about 10 years old.
She ran up to a football she made and tripped and cried.
Then came a younger my grandfatherly figure.
But he did not scold her; for he sat beside her in the dust.
People fall, "you know why?
She sniffled.
So that they can learn to stand!"
He smiled.
"No."
“Just in case they want to stand up, they will be able to.”
The scene faded away, just like a smoke.
Another appeared.
Now holding a suitcase, my uncle was standing outside the house.
He was what appeared to be eighteen years old, looking so Angry.
I don't want to be here anymore, grandfather nodded quietly.
If it's going to get you closer to the man you're meant to be, then leave.... go."
Uncle hesitated.
That's different."
Once again the world changed.
Again.
And again.
Every memory was a surprise to us all.
Moments of forgiveness.
Sacrifice.
Fear.
Love.
They never included any of these with money or success.
All his memories were of people.
It was the last memory that caught my eye.
Late one evening, grandfather was sitting in just that same chair.
He looked tired.
Older.
He had a family photo of us.
“Hopefully, he said in a hushed voice to the empty room,
'They don't really remember me when I'm gone, His voice cracked.
I wish that they will love each other while I'm still around, then the dining room came to life again.
There was somebody shaking my shoulder.
I blinked.
Grandma was hovering above me and Her eyes were filled with tears as they poured down her face.
"You saw him!!!.", It wasn't a question.
I slowly nodded.
"How..."
She smiled softly.
"the chair is not telling all of you the stories of the past.
What does it tell you?
She turned her face towards the window.
It reminds people of the things that they need to remember.
That night, everyone was seated in the chair – for the first time since the funeral.
Grandma sat there.
Not because she was doing this in his place.
She knew at last something.
Furniture and love don't go hand in hand.
It was supposed to be delivered by "the ones who were still seated at the table and When Grandma died many years later, my cousins squabbled over the old chair.
I surprised everyone.
There's no need to share it.... What do you mean? asked my sister.
I smiled.
Leave it just as it is.
No one had been the sole owner of the chair.
It was a part of each story told about it......... ... ...
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