The Name

In freshman year high school math, there was this seat in the middle of the right side of the room. On the right side of the room, all my friends and people that laughed at my jokes sat, so naturally I wanted to sit with them. I also had this friend who sat in the same area, like me she liked the laughs she could create. But that one seat in the middle of the right side of the class was were we clashed in opinion. I wanted to sit in this seat not only because could I be in the center of my comedic audience but I could also sit near a kid that I had a crush on. She annoyingly wanted to sit there for understandably the same reasons, minus the crush. Every single time the bell rung after period 4, it would be a mad dash to get to math class.

I HATE math. HATE it. Its like Chinese to me. I have no idea what I'm trying to do with math, or how to accomplish it.

But this chair, seat, desk, was all I could envision. To be able to win that chair and create smiles, and maybe... love, for it was possible.

Finally when I reached the door and saw that the girl that i secretly held a grudge for had swiped that golden thrown from me. Right out of my hands she took it from me. She snatched it. I could feel the jealously and morose realisation of a sideline math class pour into my stomach.

The number of times I fought for that chair, is probably a number even math professors cant count to. I actually got up in the middle of the class during one of our more heated arguments and literally yelled at the girl who had taken my chair from me.

I was in high school. Not kindergarten, let me remind you. Not only had i gotten angry over a chair. A simple seat. But when she argued that it was JUST A SEAT, I snapped.

THIS WAS MORE THAN JUST A SEAT. This seemingly unimportant combination of cheap plastic, very mailable steal, and piles of gum stuck to the underside of the desk, was meaningless to the untrained eye. In reality, this was a spot that every period 5 I could forget the teacher droning in the back round and the stress that is assigned to being a new comer to a foreign land and a geek. I could create smiles, which was the vodka to me, the smile alcoholic. People laughed at my jokes, they opened up to me and made me feel needed and popular. This was more than just a seat. It was a therapeutic happy place. The seat was just the object that gave my happy place a visual aid.

No person has gone through the world with out having some material possession. Like a safety blanket or an antique watch. Its not the object, its the meaning and memories that the meaningless shell holds.

But every time someone says it is just a watch or just a stuffed animal, it creates the feeling that they don't understand what it is. Its what makes you feel warm and good.

Next time someone says to you "but that's just an object" know that they are wrong and that the feeling it creates makes you say THIS IS MORE THAN JUST A SEAT.