Challenge 76: Ugly, Yellow Table

67. At a crucial point in his career, the African-American writer James Baldwin withdrew to a secluded spot in the Swiss Alps. “There,” he later wrote, “in that absolute alabaster landscape, armed with two Bessie Smith records and a typewriter, I began to try to recreate the life that I had first known as a child and from which I had spent so many years in flight … It was Bessie Smith, through her tone and her cadence, who helped me to dig back to the way I myself must have spoken…and to remember the things I had heard and seen and felt. I had buried them very deep.” Inevitable, certain things—songs, household objects, familiar smells—bring us instantly back to some past moment in our lives. Start an essay by describing one such thing and see where it takes you. (University of Chicago)

It is extremely short and doesn't even come up to your knees. If you don't watch your step, you might bang your shins against it, and believe me, although it is round, it is going to hurt. The legs are short and poorly carved out. The color is a rather ugly yellow with tiny, brown stripes, and there are points at which it has worn off to expose the rusty nails. The brown lining shines beautifully against the light, and I think that is the sole part that looks presentable. I cannot remember how long we have had that short, round table. We never get rid of it because it comes handy at one point or another.

***

My first memory of the table dates back to 2002. The T.V. is barging in the background with the singing of little elephants on a birthday party. My mother is not around and it's just my sister and me together. We turn the T.V off. Carelessly, we look through our cardboard box of toys to find the chalk that my mother bought so long ago. Finding the chalk, we head back to the table and flip it so that it's on it's head. We sit on the back and draw with the chalk. We make a big flower covering the whole of the back and draw little starts around. 

I take glance underneath the table and there, I still see the flower my sister and I made ten years ago! It is a little faded and worn out, but it still brings back the memories.

***

We are bored. We wait for our tuition teacher to arrive. He is late than usual. Both of us are ready with our books and everything set on the table. When it gets too much, my sister gets up and brings the page of stickers we just bought. I don't remember what those stickers bore, but I think some sort of a celebrity. We stuck it on the table and laughed. But once the tuition teacher comes and we are engrossed in the math problems, his fingers pick the sticker out unconsciously. There is nothing left but the scar of what had been a colorful sticker. Over the years, that white patch has turned a blackish brown color.

***

The shelf is too high for me to reach. I really that little statue of a girl. I want to bring it to my room and keep it. I stand on my toes and still can't reach it. I get frustrated. I look around. I see the table. It is a perfect stepping stone. I drag it to the shelf. With the innocence of a child, I step on the edge. The table isn't balance and can't hold my weight. It tilts my way and I fall. I sit there crying and hitting the table.

***

It has been quite some time since I've seen the table. And I know exactly why. It is hidden underneath the mountains of books in my father's study room. He doesn't like it when we enter the room, even if it is my mother. I can understand why. It is frustrating when you find that things have magically been displaced since your last return. I can see that the table is not of much use to him except for holding the books. Dust has covered some of the little exposed surface of the table. It is amazing how much the table can hold. I quickly find the book I'm looking for and leave the room.

***

I had returned from school. I need to study for the SAT. I ask my father for the table because it is the perfect height for sitting and working. He hesitates, but realizing it couldn't be of more use than that, he nods. I roll is away quietly and carry it myself up to my room. I place it on the carpet on the floor. Something looks wrong. It isn't coherent with the rest of the room which consists of newer furniture. Still, it serves its purpose.