Owner -Jas Saunders

The Lifelong Love Story of a Table and His Owner

Jas saunders

I am a table. Welcome to the room. Please, take a seat on the sofa across from me.

If it helps, put your coffee mug upon me, but please, use that coaster!

Tell me stories. About you. Your childhood? What was it like? Your first kiss?

It warms my heart to hear you tell that story. But it hurts to know that you’re sharing these stories with other people. Not me. I’m just a dinky little table, a remnant of your university years. But then again, we’ve gone through so much together.

This stain? A reminder of your 3rd exboyfriend. You told him that it wouldn’t work, it wasn’t his fault, but yours. He didn’t really understand. He spilt his drink over me when he waved his arms. Yelling that he had tried, oh so hard, to make it work.

You cried when he left.

You knew why you didn’t love him. The fact he didn’t understand tore you apart.

He could be nice, smothering me with bouquet after bouquet. But when he left, all that remained were tissues. But he didn’t stop you. You went out and brought others home to me. You’d giggle on the couch, but it’d happen again.

Love just wasn’t working for you, back then. But I was there for you, at the end of the night, whether you remember it or not. Through the good and the bad, when your housemate announced her engagement. When she finally moved out, the apartment felt twice as large. Trust me. I felt the same. I would’ve comforted you if my four wooden legs could move.

But I never doubted you. You would find someone who loved you. Someone who made your eyes light up. Or make you smile the smile you’ve always hated because you feel insecure about your teeth. Or make you feel as good as you did when he used to dance in the room with you. He did that a lot. Your vinyl-player or radio on my chest. You’ve always loved your classical music. It’s grown on me too.

I was right, though. You let one last person enter the door to your lonely, dark apartment without Kelly or housemates. You used to be so alone. But he filled your once empty home. Laughter echoed in the newly painted rooms. The couch got new cushions. But you two wanted a real house, not an apartment. I guess I should say I was lucky to watch you grow. Before officially moving into the house, the couch was sold. I hope her new owners love her as much as you did. She was a present from your mother. The TV and the stools left too.

I was the sole survivor. You kept me for so long. Through your wedding day and till the birth of young Joey, your third child. But I shouldn’t call him young Joey now, as he’s left to university and your daughter is a mother.

I watched a heart attack take your husband. He toppled but never hit the ground - I was there to catch his final fall. Arms spread across me, I heard him take his last breaths - a rattling farewell, a goodbye hug telling me to look after you.

But how can I?

I’ve found myself at your yard sale.

“Mummy,”

A little girl stands before me.

“Yes, Delia?”

The mother places an arm on the girl’s shoulder.

“Can we have that table?”