I walked into my room in my parents' rented apartment and was delighted to find that I had a balcony. On that little balcony were two metal chairs and a table to match. I imagined sitting out on one of the black metal chairs, my computer cord stretching into my room and writing, looking out over sea.
The owner of the apartment texted my parents to ask how we were all getting on. I told my mom to be sure to tell the owner how delighted I was by the balcony chairs. She smiled and did so. Not long after her phone pinged and she looked at it.
"Oh, he says they actually came with the place when he bought it, so he can take no credit."
"Huh," I said, "I wonder how long they've been there then. It's not that I had never left furniture at an old apartment, surely people do this all the time, but still somehow this tugged at my thoughts. Why would someone leave these here? Why not bring them with? Why buy them if you were going to leave them? Why did I wonder so much about these chairs and table?
A few days into our stay, I found myself wondering about the chairs again. The sun was shining and we were having some down time so I decided to do as I had planned when I first saw the room. My laptop was fully charged so I decided to just take it onto the balcony and get some writing done. I carefully set down my laptop first as it is one of my most precious possessions and then took a seat in the chair closest to me.
Immediately, I had the inspiration to write of a little cafe that sat along the seaside. In my mind, this imaginary cafe was bustling with eager and loyal customers, serving cakes whose delicious smells wafted out onto the street, carrying some of the heat of the ovens with them, a lively buzz from the happy chatter of customers and staff alike tinged with the sound of a nearby street musician. I could feel the place all around me and so I wrote and wrote and wrote.
My screen darkened. I had used up almost all of my battery. I looked around myself and saw that the sun had begun to go down. I had completely lost track of time. Closing my laptop, I wondered how I had gotten so carried away. I pulled the glass door open to my room and immediately plugged my laptop in lest it get even angrier with me.
Then, I casually strolled into the living room and sat down with my parents. After telling them about my burst of inspiration, I asked, "Do you think the owner would mind me asking who owned the place before him?"
"Why would you wonder that?" asked my mom.
"I just want to know where the chair came from."
"What," snorted my dad, "do you think it gave you special powers or something?"
I shrunk in my seat a little because, yes, that is exactly what I'd thought until he said that, but now I felt rather silly.
My mom, however, came to my rescue, "I'm sure he wouldn't mind dear, he can always say no."
My dad made a skeptical look at her, but that didn't stop her from shooting off a text.
"There, sent."
Swiftly, she got a reply.
"He says that before him it was owned by a family of four and, as far as he knows, before that it was owned by an elderly couple and before them it was the son of the person who built the building."
"Oh," I replied, "how new is the building?"
My dad stepped in there, somehow instantly producing the binder of information the owner had left us, "Looks like about fifty years ago."
"Do you," I began, still feeling a bit silly, "do you know what was here before the building?"
My dad looked like he was rather done with this line of inquiry, but then my mom cleared her throat loudly and he looked back at the binder and began flipping through the pages. "Alright, alright let me look, there must be something in here." He muttered a bit as he skimmed over the history of the area until he triumphantly got to one of the last pages, "Before being the site of the apartment building, this area was a shopping district. Immediately before this building was built, there was a toy story on the grounds, but as far as records indicate the very first shop was a coffee shop..." He began to trail off.
"What?" I asked.
He blankly held up the binder, facing towards me. There, was a black and white photo of the cafe. While it was grainy, it was easy to see my table and chairs sitting outside.
(Prompt by Emily Kleeman)
The owner of the apartment texted my parents to ask how we were all getting on. I told my mom to be sure to tell the owner how delighted I was by the balcony chairs. She smiled and did so. Not long after her phone pinged and she looked at it.
"Oh, he says they actually came with the place when he bought it, so he can take no credit."
"Huh," I said, "I wonder how long they've been there then. It's not that I had never left furniture at an old apartment, surely people do this all the time, but still somehow this tugged at my thoughts. Why would someone leave these here? Why not bring them with? Why buy them if you were going to leave them? Why did I wonder so much about these chairs and table?
A few days into our stay, I found myself wondering about the chairs again. The sun was shining and we were having some down time so I decided to do as I had planned when I first saw the room. My laptop was fully charged so I decided to just take it onto the balcony and get some writing done. I carefully set down my laptop first as it is one of my most precious possessions and then took a seat in the chair closest to me.
Immediately, I had the inspiration to write of a little cafe that sat along the seaside. In my mind, this imaginary cafe was bustling with eager and loyal customers, serving cakes whose delicious smells wafted out onto the street, carrying some of the heat of the ovens with them, a lively buzz from the happy chatter of customers and staff alike tinged with the sound of a nearby street musician. I could feel the place all around me and so I wrote and wrote and wrote.
My screen darkened. I had used up almost all of my battery. I looked around myself and saw that the sun had begun to go down. I had completely lost track of time. Closing my laptop, I wondered how I had gotten so carried away. I pulled the glass door open to my room and immediately plugged my laptop in lest it get even angrier with me.
Then, I casually strolled into the living room and sat down with my parents. After telling them about my burst of inspiration, I asked, "Do you think the owner would mind me asking who owned the place before him?"
"Why would you wonder that?" asked my mom.
"I just want to know where the chair came from."
"What," snorted my dad, "do you think it gave you special powers or something?"
I shrunk in my seat a little because, yes, that is exactly what I'd thought until he said that, but now I felt rather silly.
My mom, however, came to my rescue, "I'm sure he wouldn't mind dear, he can always say no."
My dad made a skeptical look at her, but that didn't stop her from shooting off a text.
"There, sent."
Swiftly, she got a reply.
"He says that before him it was owned by a family of four and, as far as he knows, before that it was owned by an elderly couple and before them it was the son of the person who built the building."
"Oh," I replied, "how new is the building?"
My dad stepped in there, somehow instantly producing the binder of information the owner had left us, "Looks like about fifty years ago."
"Do you," I began, still feeling a bit silly, "do you know what was here before the building?"
My dad looked like he was rather done with this line of inquiry, but then my mom cleared her throat loudly and he looked back at the binder and began flipping through the pages. "Alright, alright let me look, there must be something in here." He muttered a bit as he skimmed over the history of the area until he triumphantly got to one of the last pages, "Before being the site of the apartment building, this area was a shopping district. Immediately before this building was built, there was a toy story on the grounds, but as far as records indicate the very first shop was a coffee shop..." He began to trail off.
"What?" I asked.
He blankly held up the binder, facing towards me. There, was a black and white photo of the cafe. While it was grainy, it was easy to see my table and chairs sitting outside.
(Prompt by Emily Kleeman)
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