I wish at this moment I was sitting in one of the purple
chairs in the Student Center Starbucks. That I could accidentally brush against
its stiff fabric, shuffle off my shoes, and sit with my feet tucked under
myself. I would shuffle through the papers in my bag and pull out some dusty
book I found in the library, listening to the soft pops its spine makes as I
re-open the poor thing since sometime last summer.
I’ve sat in this chair so many times it’s become familiar
territory for me. I know that it is large enough for me to curl sideways if I
want to, and that if I wait here long enough someone will come over to say,
“Good morning”. I always find myself here in the morning. This is probably due
to the large window which overlooks the Student Center balcony and just barely
allows me to see the top of the pines across the walkway.
If I were to be emotional anywhere, it would be here in
this conveniently sized, scratchy purple chair. I’d reflect on the first day I
saw snowfall in Nacogdoches and came in breathless and giggling amongst friends
as we collapsed on this chair. I’d reflect on sipping Café White Mochas and
tucking my hair behind my ear so I could read the last sentence of my
handwritten test review. Finally I’d let my memories settle into this so very
worn cushion which, although it is only a piece of furniture, has become a
close friend.
I know it sounds ridiculous, but I sit there often times
hoping to be found. Yes, I go here to get away from the small corner where I
live and mentor and grow. But in another way I go anticipating being
interrupted from reading my book, which I’m only skimming really. It is there
more than anywhere that I’d be most likely to spill my guts with you.
