I walked west on D___ Ave. to G_____ Ave., then headed south on G_____ to C______ Ave. I passed one other person, a woman about my age, traveling in the same harried fashion. Continuing south to the university, I crossed a field marked with two parallel paths carved by foot traffic, then entered a building adjacent, eager to escape the tepid atmosphere outside. The purpose of my trip was simple: having recently moved, I had neither internet nor furniture to sit on, and tired of this situation, I traveled somewhere that offered both.
I had not been in the building more than two minutes when an exasperated man exited from one of the doorways of the hall I was in and looked at me.
"Is it alright if I sit here?" I asked.
"No. You can't be here. The building is closed." he replied in a somewhat cross way.
"Really?"
"Yes. Closed."
Finding that interaction a bit strange and contrary to the building's posted hours, I headed to the library. A sign on the door assured me that it would be open for quite some time. After a half hour spent checking email, I purposefully left behind a 3H pencil at the table I had been sitting at. At first, I had marveled at this particular pencil's ability to make precise lines, but quickly became frustrated with its tendency to produce near invisible lines. I wondered whether it would be picked up or ignored. Perhaps someone might find that the worn finish and finger prints on the sides - evidence that it had once been used heavily by a stranger - was offputting. Maybe someone else would overlook that in favour of the usefulness of a pencil that is just there, ready to use.
I walked back home, first backtracking north through the field, but rather than walking on G_____ Ave., I took a circuitous route through residential streets, the names of which I quickly lost track of. At the side of one of the roads, about two and a half blocks from my apartment, I saw a rose coloured armchair.
It looked old, but in decent condition. I felt it first - it was not clammy, despite the weather. I leaned over and inhaled - it smelt like nothing, neither good nor bad. I flipped the cushion and opened it to check for bedbugs and carpet beetles - none. I gingerly picked it up - I estimated the weight between 30 or 40 pounds.
My neighbourhood is a quiet one. On one of the first days living here, I rode my bike home in the dark and didn't encounter any cars or pedestrians for kilometers. It was so quiet the sound of my derailleur seemed enough to awaken rows of houses. I realized it gives me that feeling during the day too. I was confident I could carry the chair home with no one noticing me.
The first twenty meters carrying it seemed easy. Then the chair began to pull at my arms and interfere with how my legs moved. No matter which way I held it, it was awkward. I had to take breaks with increasing frequency and blocks began to feel exponentially longer. I made it back eventually. I left it at the foot of the driveway and yelled at my roommate to see what I found.
"It's perfect!" she exclaimed. "How the hell did you carry that?"
We hauled it inside, just as rain began to fall.
