The Auction

November 16th 2022

I sat in a worn armchair, colored by the deep red of a maple in autumn. It reeked of stale coffee and cigarettes, blanketed by a fine layer of dust. My arm draped across a hole in the stitching, which frayed and unwound, revealing a dirtied white foam beneath. The foundation was built from four hand-turned legs, one of which wore less scratches than the others, for it had been reconfigured after breaking under the weight of The Family Photo on the eve of his last Christmas. The lathe still sits in the corner of my grandfather’s basement, untouched. I patted the arm twice and peered up at the seller, who crossed his arms warily.

“I’ll take it”, I said as the corners of my mouth curled up into a smile.