The Chairs of Summer
My friend and I meet three times a week for a run.
That is our routine. We typically always meet in Hallowell and we solve a plethora of problems during our warm up, run, cool down and stretch. In April and May, I would always look behind my parked car and stare wistfully at the spot where the chairs go. The colorful chairs. The summertime chairs. But they weren’t there, because of the virus and also the decrease of brain cells of a few people. One morning, I discovered the chairs there and my heart nearly exploded with summertime happiness.
The attached picture is from two summers ago, when the chairs were lined up close together, like a bunch of girls screaming at an Eric Church concert. Those were the days. The port-a-potty was close by. It always held the contents of whatever happened at the bars the night before from the Wharf. The aroma and littered beer bottles a reminder of all the uncoupling and the undistancing that took place on any given Tuesday. I don’t happen to have a recent picture of me in the chairs because I am fairly concerned the manner in which I am sweating when I finish my run will ruin the mystique that when one sits down upon this colorful throne.
If you sit in one of these chairs, you will instantly be relieved of any stress, back pain, or migraine headache.
The chairs are wide enough to support any booty and just the right amount of lumbar support to really give you that good stretch you can’t get in the car. You should have a coffee beverage when you sit in one of these chairs and and you should also kick your shoes off and put your feet right on the solid ground, close your eyes and any worries, any crazy ex lovers, any children screaming will dissipate. Isn’t that beautiful?
But you guys, the chairs, they aren’t to be moved.
That’s not a direct order from me. I have zero credentials. Thats a direct order from Dr. Kammerer, who is the keeper of the chairs and also the keeper of common sense. Dr. Shah has also stamped his diet coke can of approval. I’m pretty sure medical professionals everywhere have agreed the chairs can remain, the summertime chairs, if social distancing is upheld.
A few times I have finished my run and as I am leaning over, stretching out my tin man joints, I will notice a hormonal couple moving the chairs, closer together, giggling hysterically at their knees touching. No. The chairs are not a tinder hang out. You wanna do that, take it to your suburu, roll your windows up and turn your music on and the rest of us will be none the wiser. But the chairs, the chairs are for personal use, a meditative respite for those of us who are not sure what the world will look like tomorrow.
So imagine my befuddlement, when I look out yesterday morning and a group is circling up the chairs.
What is this some kind of 7 am family reunion? Why don’t you guys meet at 7pm and order Chinese takeout the way the rest of the state does? This gave me a lot of nervous energy. I really wanted to holler out, “you guys had one freakin job, don’t touch the chairs. Do you have permission to move the chairs?” But perhaps they really are that ignorant, I’m not sure. Maybe some out-of-towners, who don’t realize they will lose that privilege for the rest of us. As my friend and I shoved our bodies into our sweaty cars and drove off, I thought please dear idiots of America, don’t lose the chairs for all of us.