21 Empty Chairs (The Complete serial)

ebitularmbert (50)in #writing • 7 years ago

This is a compilation of the twenty (21) Freewrites of several prompts on the theme of the Empty Chair.

Here i combine all of them by order of precedence, starting with the first to last.

It is for your easy reading, whether or not you followed them throughout the time i wrote and posted them individually.

Hardboiled Minds

Everyone else as chitchatting, all troupes around, were all in some kind of talk, others loud, others hushed, but at least talking.

Little Claire kept hopping, wondered away from mama and papa. Everyone seemed so busy that when she arrived at the far table by the window, she was surprised,

One table, six grey heads, and all sat in silence. Did any even notice the tea cups were steaming out, running cold as they sat there, the 7 year old wondered.

Such hardboiled minds! Or, well, they all seemed apparently taken up with one object, an empty chair on the other end of their table

She loitered nearer, tapped the bald head who kept tickling his long beard, albeit with the most intense gaze at the empty chair. The entire troupe of six was awakened.

What was on the empty chair that they were all looking at? Claire wondered, and as every grey head now regarded her, she pointed at the empty chair, saying nothing.

“And they all looked back at it. For a while, none moved, no word passed.
Then one spoke, his voice husky: "We were once seven, little one! He sat there!”
Paint

The pendulum clock ticked. Tick-tock-tick-tock….It needn’t have sounded that loud, if not for the dead silence…

As there she stood statuesque, her breath in and held, and here he sat, his water-brush stroking, blending, shading…

“A minute more,” he said, unwilling to interrupt the swipe and stroke of the bristles when she bulged her eyes, impatient to see his latest painting of her…

Daily they took five-minute turns, her to write for him a pome; him to paint her a picture.

Today he was taking unusually long. “Time up dad” she gloated. And he smiled, “it’s your birth day, sweety” “I have to develop your curves!”

“Time up!”

“I have to deepen your dimples, pumpkin!”

“Daddyyyy!”

“I have to grow your hair bald head!”

“Da..” she started, when another voice intruded, “Claire".

And she was jerked from her reverie, the smile quickly giving way. She started blinking.

Her mother quickly reached out, “Come here pumpkin.”

And her tears gave way, poured. “He used to paint from this chair.” “I know sweet heart, I know,” her mother said, catching her into her arms, her own eyes misting, as stores of similar memories of poems and painting broke loose!
Cracker

Jack swaggered towards the far corner to join his buddies. But his corner eye caught the group of ladies on the nearby table. Beautiful, He thought.

What was better than a meal in such company? His mind stalled, but his feet didn’t. They redirected him round to the only empty chair.

“Someone’s’ there!” the pulpy face said, pointing at the food plate before the chair. But with all eyes on him, Jack the celebrity had to have his way.

He ignored her, beckoned the waiter to serve him. Quickly his order arrived. Now he started to pull the behind the chair so he could slot in.

A voice came from behind him, “It’s my seat Jack!” “Find another!” He answered, without looking. He took the food plate from the waiter, ready to sit down.

But this time a hand tapped him on the shoulder from behind. He turned around.

And Oh my! Oh my! He froze. Hypnotized as a rabbit: What a cracker! If it wasn’t for the quangnck-klengklen clatter of the glass plate as it crash-landed on the tiles, spilling soup on his trousers, jack might have never resuscitated.
Cigarettes

There she stood at the threshold; he knew it was his last chance to save his marriage. He let go of the pride.

“Sit down, Sweetheart”, He said, pointing at the only other chair opposite the table, as he side-curved his lips to direct the cigarette smoke away from her.

She assented.

“I am changed!” He pleaded, promising to end the drinking, and telling his wishes for a fresh start.

Blah blah…rambled the old timer, his voice slurring until it was a swiiiooooosh of whitish smoke ribbons escaping from his darkened lips as he dozed away, unaware of teary-eyed Claire watching all the while.

Now Claire sighed, relieved from the tormenting episode of papa talking to an empty chair.

For years, Papa’s heavy drinking had been the undoing of his otherwise happy marriage to her mum. The gambling and smoking; these only started after mama’s demise a year ago.

Grief? Regret? She didn’t understand. But how much longer, before his buffet of addictions would finally drive, and keep him locked away in such deliria?

Wiping her tears, she bent low to gently cover with a blanket, his repugnant snoring figure. He was still her papa.
Elephant

It didn’t help that food was served early, now the rest of Ann’s family, her three brothers and their wives and kids, was taking their place at the dining table. Jeff tried one last time.

“If you want to talk about it,” he started, but she cut him off, almost angrily, “No, Jeff, she said, “I am well.”

But that was obviously not true. Neither was it for everyone else. The somber silence, only occasionally broken by the rattling of forks and plates was proof.

And it continued until 7-year old Claire, Ann’s nephew inadvertently pointed out the elephant in the room. “Isn’t Aunt Elsie coming?”

Every head for the first time looked up from their plate.

“Don’t worry dear,” Ann snapped, “It is her choice to come or not to come!”

Jeff knew his wife didn’t mean that. He saw her glance at the two empty chairs beside them, and he knew Ann wished Elsie her estranged twin sister was in one of them.

The two had not spoken following, and since the events of the family’s last gathering, just as the family had never really talked about that day.
The smell from within

Little Claire complained, but her mother rebuked her for wanting to ruin appetites.

“Bad manners!” she said, tasking her to say Grace

Everyone closed their eyes, but Claire deliberately delayed. Suddenly a sweet but vilely smell, filled the resulting silence, it could not be the Christmas buffet.

Now restrained hisses could be heard.

“Can everybody smell it?” the little girl challenged, but now she could not be ignored.

Everyone moved to rummage the house for the smell.

“It smells like rat poop” the excited and vindicated Claire declared. Rat poop? Not when the old cottage had been fumigated days earlier.

We searched anyway, the drawers, beneath the carpet, but to naught. Until little Claire pointed at the brand new couch, grandma’s Christmas gift from her mother, next to the food dish. “There!”

Now everybody rebuked her, albeit reluctantly checking out the couch. Claire was right. Beneath the couch’s new cushions was rat poop and urine. Being brand new, the fumigators had overlooked it.

Once cleaned, the air cleared. Little Claire had not ruined but saved our appetites!

“Time for grace!” she now declared, saying Grace as everyone, refuted, obeyed.
Airplane

The news came in thick and fast, on national TV, in Radios.…

The Alaska Air had crushed. There were no survivors.

Claire next found herself in a hospital, grandma on her bedside. “Tell me it is not true, Granny”.

“Rest dear.”

But Claire only sobbed. First her Parents, and now Scott. They had even talked, prayed before he boarded.

“Don’t lose faith, my daughter”.
“When He keeps taking away everyone I love…”

At her age, the little girl had surely suffered, losing her parents to the last airplane crash, a year ago. And now Scott, on a return trip for their wedding.

How farther could her faith be stretched? Grandma feared the girl would break this time.

Shortly Claire’s phone vibrated. Grandma answered.

After listening without speaking, Grandma’s eyes watered. Claire’s worst fear was now confirmed. She sobbed even more.

“Wipe your tears, dear,” Grandma however said, a smile breaking through her tears,
Claire didn’t understand.

“That was from the airport,” Grandma explained, “Scott’s chair was empty before takeoff,”

He had missed his flight.

Before those words sunk in, Claire’s phone rang again: Scott.

Claire picked her bible, swore: “I will never doubt you again Father”
Palimpsest

“Creepy old museum”, Jeff hissed, ignoring the smell from within, as he rummaged the gallery.

Dawn threatened. He had to be in time for the airplane, and before town awoke to the curator’s demise.

The faded paint of six bald heads didn’t interest him. “Just Hardboiled minds!” But another, of an African elephant did: a birthday gift for his cracker of a girlfriend!

“Hmmmmm”, he sighed, lighting a cigarette, “The things we do for love!”

Now the curator’s dying words echoed: The palimpsest!

It had the final clue to the treasure hide.

He found it, inside a broken drawer. Muttering the principle of decrypting ancient palimpsests: read behind the lines, he ignored the pronounced gibberish, sought faintly lines beneath.

Everything fell in place: The empty chair! The curators’. Oh My! His adrenaline raced, his feet responded….

He quickly knelt, swept his hand beneath, grabbing an object: “The treasure bag”, he grinned, quickly tearing open the sack cloth: a book! No! A bible. Now he frowned, squinting his eyes on the cover sticker: Mathew 6:33.

He cursed, smashed it on the wall. That was about the only verse his crazy father, the curator, used to recite to him!
Yard sale

This was the first time since Jeff’s demise 5 years ago that Claire had set foot inside the Study. But it seemed it was only yesterday.

And now even as the sales helps carried out the furniture, the tables, the thought of stopping the yard sale lingered. She felt guilty. Was she giving up on Jeff, ridding every reminder of his memory?

Memories now competed for precedence. Nights of Jeff on his denim Jeans leaning on the table, her on her pinks sited cross-legged.

Hours of painting her curves, while she wrote 5 minute freewrites of their days together, for steemit; the hide and seek games. His favorite hide was behind the shelves; hers was behind the wooden chair…

Traveled into deep reminiscence, it was another voice that jerked back Claire,

“This one mum!?” the sales help inquired, pointing at the empty chair.

Claire remained silent, unsure of what to say. But Jeff’s dying assurances returned: “This is the end of my life, not yours!”

“Whooosh”, Claire sighed. ”Until we meet again”, she now said, allowing the tears to flow as she nodded at the sales help.
California

Jeff blinked, wiped his brow. Irritated at the dust entering his truck. Or was it not? Because try as he did not to look, his eyes lingered to the right, at the gaping space.

He sighed, angry at the stupid thought, something about running into what you run from. Was he now running with it - the emptiness?

She always sat there, tuning the squeaky cassette, shuffling her country favorites, singing along, in sync. She used to feed him crisps, as he wheeled the two-seater truck. She was his co-driver, seeing the rear mirrors, alerting him…

And she left him for that ***hole!

“Live in your damn city!” He cursed. Now he pressed the accelerator harder, indifferent to the speedometer.

He might have reached, God knows where, in a jiffy… “Dammit!” he cursed, branching to the roadside petrol station…

Sooner he was back inside, “vroom”, he tweaked the key, when his windscreen knocked.

“Hi”

“Hello”

“A long way from or to home?” The blonde asked.
“Um, aarg..!”

“I am going to California. You?”

God damn it! Why California of all places!?
Dream

A blinding light, not blinding if you had the courage to look, or was it the faith? Welcoming to some, but deterring to others who now retreated, seeking for paths leading away, only to be led back...

Now all sat inside Halls of gold walls and silver floors, and flowery pavements..

The priest was right. There really were many rooms in the father’s house. Jeff saw drunkards, his mates, they occupied the largest room.

No, womanizers did, they occupied the hall, and they were so many, a white-robbed somebody started leading them out one by one.

To where? He wondered. To another room? Okay. So many rooms around here. Now he was sited on the front row surrounded, but wait, the chair to his immediate right was empty. Whose? He wondered, when he saw a woman being led to it.

Hello, he said, eager to make acquaintance. She turned, and he almost chocked: Claire was the last woman with whom he had cheated on his wedded wife…

Now he looked closely at the other women surrounding him, this one, that one, and the other one… all of them he had…,

Oh my! Now he heard a trumpet, he realized he wasn’t sitting on a golden chair, but on a blazing pile of …now he was screaming… the white robbed man was locking the door to the furnace…

“Jesus, Jeff”, a startled voice intruded, jerked him.

He was breathless, “Huh”, his body all damp with sweat.

“What is the matter hunny?” his concerned wife asked, “You were screaming your lungs out!”

Now Jeff sighed, Relieved. “Just a dream, dear”

“About what?”
Incomplete book

Once Tommy climbed down into the basement, he wiped his brow, rubbed his eyes for a while as they adjusted to the torch light.

The details started to register. What was this? Wait – the empty chair shackled to the iron post, it had fresh blood. He spat on the floor, tweaking his nose to lock out the vile smell.

Now he noticed the crimson spill he was standing on, walking on. He didn’t know whether he was walking further away from it, or further toward it.

He hesitated for a moment, but ignored the caution of second thought, torched further, at the rusted rails, and tank pipes running up.

He couldn’t miss the fingermarks of crimson, like nail scratches…on the greyish walls, the spidery networks now tagging on his blue shirt.

A little further into the darker, colder end, and all he could hear was water drops, some sort of leaking from the drum a foot further, and higher than him. He stopped, unsure if he wanted to know what was inside….

He threw caution to the wind. And was about to take another step, when a voice spoke from in front of him, as though from inside the drum.

“Beyond there, there is no turning back!” Tommy’s heart pounded, his feet froze, he started to scream…

That was when another voice, familiar, and stern intruded, jerking him back, into the comfy colors of a fine lamp lit room.

Tommy quickly put the Blue book on the table, breathless, as he read the writing on the cover: “24 Empty Chairs”

“I told you not to read that book!” Jack said, “It is still incomplete!”
Ski

The sight of my neighbor killed my excitement. I was expecting a strong, muscular partner.

This was my first time going to ski, and I had goose bumps, picturing myself dangling up there…. A strong, experienced partner was surely preferable, not that I feared, but I mean, just….just.

Now this grey head! The seat was surely as good as empty! Good thing he had nothing to say, I thought. Then he disappointed further, spoke, to himself, no doubt.

“The first time can be nervous!”

This was not just some old creaky risker; it was also his first time. “Don’t worry”, I said, with as much courage as only an accomplished skier can boast of, “you will get used to it.”

“Sure, just sit tight,” he said as we approached the top station.

Soon we reached the flat area, then the sloped area…time to leave the chair lift….

How events unfolded, the last I remember was sliding off before I went tumbling.

Was it above or with the grey head? How bad must the accident have been for his old bones?

I was even in my pain, more worried about him than myself, when I heard a voice speaking, was it over, or next to me...

“Don’t worry son,” he said, “Just sit tight. Old skiers never die!” That was when I realized, it was time to leave the chairlifts…
It was Saturday morning

It was Saturday morning, and Jack was all sorts. He wasn’t looking forward to the class quiz. He rushed to the back bench. It was by default empty. Nobody would risk antagonizing the LLB, Lord of the Last Bench.

Now he sat, ignoring the annoying wiseacres at the front, the bunch of nut heads always asking questions…

But they also sometimes came handy. To every question, they scrambled like bees to be chosen; this ensured that
Master Stuart never had to pick him.

Today he felt dozy, and did not know when sleep took him…until somebody startled him. It was Master Stuart.

“Yes LLB,” the Bald head, wielding a cane, started, “Save yourself the guarantee of a dozen canes for dozing in class..” he said, grinning like a cat that had finally landed on an evasive mouse,

“What is the unit of power equivalent to Joule per Second?”

Now he really needed some front bench wiseacre to save him, he prevaricated:
“What?

At first he didn’t believe that master Stuart hadn’t yet struck his back, but when next the bespectacled bald head spoke, Jack was bewildered.

“Very good,” he declared to the class, “Clap for him. It is called Watt” before tasking him to lead the class in a chorus session,

“What?” he said, and the class kept repeating, “What!” as Master Stuart nodded approval!
Mason jar

Claire raised, then turned the Mason jar upside down, still unbelieving it was empty.

The first day, she had found the jar half empty, the second day, quarter empty, the third day three quarters down empty…and today, well…completely empty…

Who was emptying the jar of milk? A search of the whole kitchen was to naught.

Was it Jack her husband? He loved milk. But last night, she had made sure to sleep with one eye open, in wait to pounce once he tiptoed to the kitchen, he didn’t….

Claire was defeated.

“Hwoosh….” She sighed, when she noticed little Ann standing at the door.

Now how would she convince the little girl that she had actually reserved milk for her tea? She wondered, when the little girl spoke.

“You will be late for work mum."

“I can’t quite remember where I kept the milk yesterday” she managed to say, preparing to drop the bombshell!

“Don’t worry,” the little girl said, “Today no tea, I am satisfied.”

This morning was becoming full of wonders! Ann comfortable with not taking tea in the morning! Was she bluffing? Okay, fine.

She quickly came and hugged the little girl, kissed goodbye, and left.

She had just closed the door when she remembered she had forgotten her watch and turned back....to a surprise.

Little Ann who still hadn’t noticed her, was kneeling cuddling something on the chair just next to the cupboard. She looked closely, saw: a kitten.

She had overlooked the stuffed chair by the window, missed her culprit.

And little Ann knew, loved it all this while!
Canal

And little Ann knew, loved it all this while!

For about a minute, the little girl did not notice her staring from the door side...For about a minute, the little girl did not notice her staring from the door side, and when she did, both were speechless. None apparently wanted to speak first.

Claire for her part was still coming to terms with the sight of the kitten purring from her daughter’s arms…

And….what was her bandana doing wrapped around the kitten?

She was still contemplating her course, when the little girl, rising up and coming, presented her a fait accompli:

“Here,” Ann carefully thrust toward her, the kitten, “Kitty is hurt!”

Claire’s feet stood planted on the floor.

She had never held a kitten before. Now would she hold this one, under these circumstances?

She suppressed her anxiety with a deep sigh, taking the white and brown spotted little thing into her hands…

“Her leg…” Ann pointed out the kitten’s front leg wrapped with the bandana.

Apparently she had discovered it outside, four days ago, abandoned in the bulrush growing off the canal.

She had nursed it, housed it nested in the stuffed chair, fed it since on the milk….until now it could at least limp.

Claire hearts melted. And for all its worth, she now tickled the kitten’s leg….it was time she made acquaintance with the latest member of the family!
Church

Claire was singing along, in sync to the Choir, when upon looking to the back row, she saw an empty space, where until only a moment ago, her teenage daughter Ann was sited.

It took effort to hold back the tears of frustration, or was it guilt, self-blame…that welled in her eyes. She had failed to tame her teenage daughter as any Christian mother would hope.

But God I have tried, she inwardly quarreled… I have been an example, always praying, always here, always sharing the bible…

Once a church devotee, and member of the local Parish choir, her teenage daughter had lost her way, and drifted away from Church, from God.

Claire had to talk her up the previous six days, to convince her to attend today’s service. Now she had left…

And what’s more, she had abandoned the new bible she had bought for her only yesterday, there on the bench.

“Whoosh,” Claire sighed, gathering the strength to reach the bible. She noticed a chit protruding from its pages. She read it.

“My dearest and nearest. I know I have been far from you lately. I am sorry. I’m back, to your arms, to your comfortable embrace. To your wet love, where I truly belong.”

Ann had abandoned service to go and see her boyfriend…

Now Claire’s eyes welled, they were about to let go when a hand tapped her shoulder.
“Mum!”

It was Ann, she had apparently returned from the washrooms. Claire remained speechless, anger brewing inside…
Ann noticed her holding the chit.

“That is my letter to Him, Mum.”

Claire had had enough, she would not tolerate Ann’s insolence, she started to open her mouth to rebuke her,

“Ann..”

“Thanks mum for your counsel”, Ann cut in, “I have returned home, to Jesus,” she said.

That letter sandwiched in the bible pages, was her letter to him!

Now Claire’s eyes flooded, she let go of the tears as she hugged her daughter to the applause of the whole church.

Claire had been too sucked up in the confrontation; she had been unable to realize they had drawn the attention of the whole church.
Lace

However his feet branched by Claire’s, the recently moved-in neighbor he had just acquainted, Jack knew he should have been on his way home to deliver his wife the valentine gift.

Just to say Hi, he told himself but now here was, sat on the only other chair in the room, and there she was sat across…

Some words passed between them for a while, but they only got fewer, and fewer.

From the neighbors’, the lyrics of a popular melody filtered in…

He knew it was time to leave, why was he still stuck here? He quarreled within himself.

Wind was blowing in through the window, Claire stood up for the first time, to go and shut it…

Now he knew why, or was it, had confirmed why he was still stuck here instead of delivering the groceries to his wife…

Claire’s curves, the shape of her silhouetted against the walls, like an art painting….the transparent lace tight against her chest, revealing her fullness, her curves…

His heart pumped, volumes surged…he heard the dab-dup, almost physically against his chest, as the cogs of his heart peddled on each in anticipation.

Jacks breathing intensified as Claire returned…

She was edging back toward her seat, when the just lit candle died out…was it the wind? The breathing?
Accidental? Was an invitation?

“You look perfect” he whispered, unaware he was syncing Ed Sherans’s hit.

She laughed, whispered in her breath: “can you even see me?”

That was when he noticed how close she was standing…
Fried chicken

I was a little disappointed as i entered the restaurant and took my seat at the corner, a yard from the counter where sat a well-shaven baldhead.

He quickly reached out, “Your order sir!”

But where was everyone? Or was this a very unpopular restaurant? But the online tour guide had specifically recommended it.

“Is this All seasons foods’ restaurant!? I asked.

“Oh yes, it!” the bald head answered, and as though reading my thoughts, as I regarded all the empty chairs, added.
“Folks here are late arrivals!”

Just an excuse, I thought, I mean, there is always hardly an empty chair in a reputable restaurants. People eat all the time!

I needed to leave. This had to be the wrong place! But the bald head was really being nice, standing there like some smiling post…

So I needed a courteous excuse. An idea occurred: I would ask for a rare delicacy certain to be absent from such a deserted restaurant.

“Get me chicken”, I said, “You have?” I asked. His guaranteed no was my escape route.

“Yes, yes!” he excitedly said,

“Fried, chicken, i mean!” I corrected him.

And again his smile beamed, as he immediately rounded to the back of the counter.

This was a waste of time, I thought, started to leave.

I had reached the door, when a crisp aroma made me look back.

There the baldhead stood carrying it in a dish…

“The wash sink is just there” he said, pointing to my left.

Now peoples started to fill in as I ate away the finest of chicken I had tasted since……

“You were right,” I said to the baldhead as I paid my bill, “Folks here are late arrivals!”
Vitamins

How was Jack to overnight turn into a vegetarian?

The doctor said he needed to, that his vitamin count was low, and every useful part of his life was in danger, his eyes, his metabolism, his digestion, his immunity, his…okay, Jack lost count as the bespectacled doctor listed for him…

His mind was already in full-flight contemplation of the implications that came with….Double costs of buying meet and veges….

And now he had just lost his job. How would he afford all these?

Now he wished he had listened to his wife’s advice….something about cure is more expensive than prevention…she had always told him, encouraging him to eat vegetables more, like her.

Every small advice he had ever read of, about eating fruits, about a healthy lifestyle…..and that he had ignored now returned.

“Drinking will kill you,” his wife used to quarrel, “Smoking will destroy you”

“We are all dead finally” he would joke. Now it was a reality, and he wasn’t sure how he would confront it.

His mind raced through the questions until he had the door banging, and he was jerked back into consciousness…there was no doctor, just an empty chair staring at him from across the dinning table.

“Here”, his wife said, “Your food!” as she took the other chair,

Jack pushed back the plate of beef, “No hunny”, he said, “You are right. I need to start having a lot more of vegetable! Prevention is better than cure!”
A special occasion

It was a special occasion, every graduation always is. So we sat in the auditorium awaiting to be conferred our degrees.

The chitchats were all about the same things: the future, careers, husbands, and children. How fast we had all grown!

You’d expect some fears, some apprehensions, of course, but if they existed, no body showed. Nothing would grim our special occasion.

Not long, and conferment was done.

Then came the final act: the class photo. Everyone filed in, taking their place in order of degree precedence, and from back to front row.

The two overall best graduants, Claire, and Jack, had their chairs reserved either side of the Principal, and would take them last

Finally, the whole lot of us bank row-ers took our place.

Jack took his place to the Left of the Principal in the honored front three row.

Next, Claire came matching forward. The ecstatic audience of students and teachers and parents applauded and lauded the overall best of our lot, until the unexpected happened:

Claire stopped on her tracks, leaving everyone in confusion, as she stood staring, then walked around and away from her reserved chair to join the back row.

She had declined the honor of taking a seat, she explained, belonged to Christopher, the deceased Engineering major who had until he lost his fight to cancer, in our third year of study, led the class.

He and Claire had been intellectual sparring partners.

And how that photo of the empty Chair gaping in the front row of three, still haunts the class of 2009!