FASA/1989-182: A Four-Legged (should not) Admire a Two-Legged

No one would remain forever in the classroom as long as them. The students and the lecturers would leave the classroom as soon as they could—immediately as the bell was ringing almost running, they down the stairs.

And so were the janitors and the custodians, in every weekday, the things were always the same for them: to leave the college building after each classroom was cleaned and the chair was arranged in certain position.

But, there was no human being would spend her or his time, each night and day in the classroom of this college building, watching every single thing inside the classroom. Therefore, neither no one would talk that it was impossible to see that they—a group of chairs, were talking when humans were not around them.

It was a Thursday night in the last week of the second semester, and tomorrow would be a judgment day for every chair in the classroom. Some of them—the wrecked, rusty or bad-looking chairs, would be taken out of the class.

In the second row near the window and the door, the two leftmost chairs were talking to each other in the middle of a dark, silent night.

“How if I tell my deepest feeling toward her tomorrow?” the oldest chair in the class—the silver-painted student chair asked to his younger companion, a glossy black-painted student chair.

“Don’t be silly. You’ve been here since 1989, and now you will ruin all the vows that we’ve been made as chairs, won’t you? And you’re the most blessed chair I’ve ever known. You’re once in a blue moon. For 27 years and 27 times, you passed all the eliminations,” said the younger chair.

“Yeah, I know. Thank God—and of course thank all the joiners and the carpenters all over the world. But boy, have you been in love before?”

“Yeah, of course, I’m falling in love with FIB/2012-079,” he mentioned the number which is stamped in the backrest of a female chair back there—about three rows apart from them. It had been their habit to take the number on their backrest as their name. “and my point is, I’m in love with a chair, the same being with us.”

“Then what should I do? Give up to this unfair condition? And I do believe in destiny—I’m her special chair since the first time she entered this class until now after she has become one of the lecturers in this college. God keeps me stay here to give me more chance with her.”

“And perhaps tomorrow your chance will be all over.”

“Why are you guys—the youngsters nowadays—always very pessimistic with anything? Can you become more optimistic sometimes?”

“Well, old-man, perhaps we come from a very different age. I’m just trying to make everything easier for you. The easier way for your old rusty screw, isn’t it good for you?”

“You mean an instant way, eh? You, the generation of yours, are just too mellow and I think it has something to do with how God created you with the industrial-instant mass production way.”

“Slow-down, old-man, we’re just talking about a girl—I mean a woman, or even worse, a married woman. However, we are still the same creature, a chair.”

“No, you’re just a robotic chair generation without heart and chairity,” he meant to humanity in a chair term.

“Well, then tomorrow you will reveal to this human that you, a chair, love her. And once again, forgive my cynical way of thinking, but I think this human will run out of class and then jump from the second floor even before you finished your first sentence,” the younger chair said in a slow tempo and with several stresses in some parts in order to show how sure he was.

“Well, that is the worst scenario that can happen, from you—a young boy,from a pessimistic, realistic and hopeless generation of today. Can you, just for a while, become a little bit more positive of something?”

“Well, let’s say that this woman will understand you and she will love you too. But, I think you still remember that God will punish, with a very bad suffering, a chair who show human their ability to talk, to listen, to think, and to feel. Our duty from God as a chair is only to be sat by humans, no more than that”.

“Yeah, perhaps you’re right, no more than that. But, screw god, at least she knows all my feelings toward her. I will…”

In a sudden, the door was opened in one immediate motion. All the wind of night was blowing so hard into the class and it seemed trying to deliver something from the outside.

“I hear all of them. You don’t need to speak anything to me, tonight or tomorrow. Because now, I already know,” she whispered while she down his knee and leanedhis head over that one particular chair.

The night inside the classroom never became so silent like that night, right after the woman ended her whisper.

Preference: “Rico de Coro” by Dewi Lestari

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