Fiction Issue 2
Chair Family
by Jo Janoski
Five rocking chairs all in a row, lulled by summer breezes, moved back and forth on the old porch in an unsynchronized ballet.
I stood, hands on hips, and studied the group. How like their owners the chairs behaved. The white one, high-backed and stoic, a picture of Mother, herself. And the thick, black wood rocker exuded Father's size and strength. The others were as varied as we children. How strange the chairs still rocked here, after all these years as though we never left. And all in constant disagreement with one another, just like us.
A motorcycle's approaching buzz slipped me out of the reverie. I stood waiting. The contraption pulled up alongside, and my older brother, Steve, stepped off the machine while removing his helmet all in one cool sweep. Being the younger brother, I stood by respectfully, being an underling for his grand entrance.
He had a church window face, elongated and patterned. His angled eyes spilled down pock-marked cheeks to meet with a pointy, gray goatee.
"Are we the first ones here?" He smoothed his hair, then brushed dust off his jacket as he spoke.
"Yep."
"Humph." My brother was a man of few words, and when he did speak, it was with a raspy voice as if it was out of practice or he didn't use it much. He probably didn't. Steve was busy silently pondering life while conquering the highways leaving his voice as dusty as his motorcycle jacket. I hadn't seen him in five years, but he remained as I had left him, reticent and strange.
"Hey brothers!"
I hadn't noticed Brenda's car pull in, a navy SUV which she parked along the edge of the property line.
"Hi, sis!" I replied.
Brenda smiled back, a high and wide piano keyboard, but with uncertainty whooshing through the cracks.
Without speaking, we settled in our respective rockers, just like the old days.
"So, Brian, did you have any trouble selling this place?" Brenda pushed a stray lock of hair off her cheek while shooting those gleaming teeth at me.
"No, not at all. I'm glad you both could come today though to go through Mom and Dad's things. The new owners are anxious to move in."
I looked away, remembering the accident that took both our parents in one explosive crash. They were driving home from shopping, and a drunk driver rammed their car head on. Shock and confusion followed, with the details of their estate dropped on my shoulders. I was the responsible one. Neither Steve nor Brenda ever seemed to have both feet on the ground.
"They can have the dump. I just want my money...and Dad's gold watch." He added the watch as an afterthought. Having spoken, Steve shifted in his chair and returned to a gloomy silence. I stared at him with wide eyes. The dump! I knew Steve never got along with our parents. But I never knew he felt that way. Was he that unhappy with our family life?
"I'll get the money to you as soon as I can," I stammered. "The watch is in his old dresser upstairs."
"I just want to get Mom's jewelry," Brenda said. Apparently, she hadn't noticed Steve's somber outburst, or didn't care. "I've always wanted that opal ring and her diamond earrings. It won't take long to go in and get them."
"Don't you want to look around a little? Maybe something in the kitchen or living room would be a nice keepsake."
Brenda glared back. This time she put the happy smile away. "There's nothing else I want," she stated.
My eyes wandered to Mom and Dad's empty chairs before speaking. "Well, I guess we'd better go in and get it done then." I got up and headed for the screen door, an ancient one falling off the hinges, broken. But the creaky portal had seen us through our childhoods, Steve's door-slamming and all. I opened it now for the other two to welcome them home. Like they cared.
Neither moved. My cheeks burned as anger gnawed like fire in my gut. I released my hold and let the door slam shut. Walking over to stand between them, I hissed, "Are you coming?"
Going back, I opened the screen door and waited.
"I don't see why we all need to go inside," Brenda murmured. "You could get our stuff." Steve nodded. I bit my lip and prayed for patience, but followed instead with another slam as I went in to fetch the watch and jewelry.
Later, as they pulled away, Steve on his motorcycle and Brenda in her car, I watched them in silence. I turned on my heel and studied the old porch with its family of chairs rocking, pondering how today I met two strangers. Could these two be my brother and sister, the kids I played with, the ones my parents loved?
Taking the steps two at a time, I stormed the porch reaching for Steve's chair and with superhuman strength, I rammed into it, hurling the antique off the deck. The dry, old wood cracked on impact with concrete, smashing the rods in back into splintered chunks. With a quick two-step I turned, slammed, and sent Brenda's chair to a similar fate. If I could have crunched them further by jumping up and down on them, I would have. But the wood was too thick. I stood back and took deep breaths. The release of my anger soothed my rattled soul.
Next I reached out and with a gentle hand stopped the motion on Mom's rocker, then Dad's. I needed to talk to them, to explain.
"Forgive me," I murmured, stroking the wood. "You never knew them...like I do now."
