The Mystery of The Blue Chair

It all started with a book called The Blue Chair.

It was an ordinary looking book, just a simple hardback with a light blue cover and a white diamond pattern in the background.  I didn’t even notice it at first among tables of dishes, dusty floral arrangements, and an old brown recliner leaning haphazardly to one side in the driveway.  

I was flipping through a box of cookbooks sitting below a table of old lamps and jumbled cords when suddenly, there it was. 

I couldn’t tell anything about the book from its nondescript cover.  I picked it up and delicately opened to the first page, where I saw the 1920 copyright and an inscription in faded pencil that read, To T – , with all my love. – B. 

“The books are a dollar, but I’ll sell you that one for fifty cents,” an elderly woman called from her perch in a lawn chair on the porch.

“Okay, thanks,”  I nodded, smiling.

I stared down at the book in my hands.  It seemed heavier than it looked.  I ran my fingers over the textured cover, tracing the delicate diamond pattern.  I had never heard of the author, and when I flipped the back cover open, there was no description there, either. 

I glanced at my watch and realized I needed to head home to fix lunch soon, so I bent to return the book to the box.

“Aw, tell you what, you can just have that book if you want it.”

I looked up in surprise.  “Really?”

“Sure, it’s just one less thing I’ll have to pack up later if it don’t sell,” she said with a chuckle.

I smiled.  “Well, okay.  Thanks!”

I tossed the book into the passenger seat and cranked the a/c to full blast as I pulled away.  

When my husband came home for lunch, we sat out on the patio, despite the heat.  Over sandwiches and iced tea, I told him about my yard sale adventures that morning – the small planter I had found for the front porch, the Pyrex bowl I found for two dollars that matched the incomplete set in our cabinet. 

“Oh, I also found this weird little book called The Blue Chair.”

He rolled his eyes.  “Seriously?  You already have a whole shelf full of books you haven’t read yet.” 

“I know, I know.  But the lady said I could have it, so what was I gonna do?” I shrugged.

Once he had returned to work and I had washed the dishes, I sank back into the couch and picked up The Blue Chair.  I detected a faint musty smell, as if it had been stored in a basement for many years.  

When I opened the cover and began to flip carefully through the pages, I noticed one page towards the back that was sticking out further than the others.  I flipped to it and realized it was actually an ancient piece of yellowed paper filled with looping cursive that had been tucked between the book’s pages. I unfolded it slowly and began to read.

January 27, 1920
T – I know you said things would have to be different from now on, but I just don’t understand.  How can we change who we are?  There has to be another way.    Please talk to me.  Help me understand. -B

---

This is a short fiction piece I wrote one day inspired by, you guessed it, a blue chair in my living room. Inspiration can truly come from anywhere! This could be the start of a longer piece I decide to write someday, but for now I like living with the unknown of who these people were and what their story may be.