For example, we wouldn’t have noticed the cowboy if my daughter and I hadn’t decided to sit down. Not that we debated whether or not to sit. We just sat in the High Leg chairs. And then discovered what levers do. From sit to recline, our viewpoints changed. Beginning with the way voices rose to the warehouse rafters and settled on the I-beams:
. . . the wrong shade of taupe . . . act like you believe in dirt . . . got kissy-faced with Frankie . . . length of the arm is important . . .
We had become anonymous.
The first time you do this—test drive a seat in a retail store (Target, Home Depot, next time we’ll try Costco)—you prepare for the moment when a sales clerk approaches. How may I help you? You agree to ask if the fabric comes in a better shade of taupe, but soon learn there’s no need to rehearse for this moment. No one will notice you.
Now, through the double glass entrance doors, we watch a cowboy wrestle a yellow stroller from the back of his large crew-cab diesel pickup. A pink blanket falls to the pavement and a baby bottle rolls beneath the truck. There’s a bit of a scramble before baby is removed from the cab and settled into the stroller. Then he backs the stroller into the store, spurs on his dusty boots clanking on the foyer’s marble floor.
How would it be, to never take off your spurs? Your own jangle beside you everywhere you go. We lever back, study the rafters, tune for the chime of spurs wandering through the furniture store.
. . . oh garbage, i am failing miserably . . . invisible linkage . . . that explains why you need slippers for the beach . . . fish bones in the ear . . .