Friday, upon arriving at work, she spotted one of the gold floral arm covers stuck to her trouser leg. She joked with her co-worker, “The chair doesn’t want me to leave!”
Saturday, she spent more time in the chair than usual, making phone calls and reading. “Now I don’t want to leave the chair,” she thought, huffing to her feet to make lunch.
Sunday, she skipped lunch. Instead, she snoozed, watched TV, crocheted, read, and snoozed some more.
Monday, she had a sharp pain in her calf. Calling in sick, she told her manager, “I’ll elevate it and rest. That should do the trick.”
Tuesday, her forearms had an upholstered feel, and she noticed little metal balls on the base of her wood-grained feet.
Wednesday, her lap was covered in a familiar floral pattern.
Thursday, her head felt stuffed and soft.
Friday, the phone rang and rang.
Susan Fuchtman writes poetry and short fiction, with work in Stonecrop Review, Short Edition, Reckon Review, Plume, and elsewhere. She lives in Iowa City where she is a board member of PorchLight Literary Organization, a non-profit that supports writers through community-based, collaborative, and multi-disciplinary approaches to creative writing.
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