The Rocking Chair






a warm waterproof hip-length jacket usually with a hood, originally worn in polar regions, but now worn for any outdoor activity


(informal, derogatory) a socially inept person with a hobby considered by most people to be boring

People think that all ghosts are bad, but they are wrong.

Growing up, I lived in an apartment next to an old woman named Miss Betty. She kept a rocking chair on the stoop and on warm evenings I would sit outside with her and play checkers. She smoked hand rolled cigarettes while we played and gossiped about the neighbors. Through her I learned that Deacon Jones boy was a pothead, and that prim, proper Sylvia Garland was really a harlot. Her words, not mine. I wasn't quite certain what it even meant. My parents never knew what we talked about, or they certainly wouldn't have allowed it.

I was devastated when she died. I sulked around the house for days, until my parents finally forced me outside to play. I guess they thought that the fresh air would serve as a healing tonic. Or maybe they were just tired of having me underfoot.

That's when I noticed the rocking chair moving ever so slightly. Back and forth. Back and forth.

I ran inside and got my checkerboard, ready to play again.


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Comments (2 so far!)



Gorgeous moment, capturing that relationship that can grow across generations and the child's imagination ready to supply where reality is falling short.

  • #1521 Posted 1 year ago
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ElshaHawk LoA

ElshaHawk LoA

Sweet. I guess the neighborhood gossips would be the first to come back to be nosy.

  • #1525 Posted 1 year ago
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  • Published 1 year ago.
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