The camp chair creaked when she settled into it—slow, deliberate, like lowering herself into memory.
It wasn’t much of a view: just the backyard fence, two potted mums barely hanging on, and the neighbor’s wind chimes clinking in a lazy rhythm. But the sun hit her knees just right. That mattered more than most things now.
She’d dragged the chair out by herself. Took nearly ten minutes. But it was the kind of stubborn that made her feel alive, not ashamed. The ache in her back reminded her she still had a back. The sting in her thighs? Still there. Still hers.
“Good morning, Ms. Howard!” a voice called over the fence.
She turned, shielding her eyes.
Eli, the college kid next door, stood holding a coffee mug and a bag of bagels. His hair stuck up like he’d just rolled out of a dream.
“Morning,” she said, voice gravelly but kind.
“Still chasing that sunshine?” he grinned.
“Trying to catch a little bit before it runs off again.”
He nodded and disappeared back inside. A moment later, he returned—mug refilled, book in hand. Sat cross-legged on his porch, just within sight.
They didn’t speak again. Not for a while.
But every now and then, they looked up at the same time. And when they did, they smiled. Like the sun had drawn a soft little circle around them both.
💬 Reflection: The Power of Showing Up
Caregiving, chronic illness, or just everyday emotional fatigue can leave us feeling stuck inside—physically or emotionally. This short story reminds us that even five minutes in a chair with sun on your knees is an act of courage. You don’t have to move mountains. Sometimes just moving yourself to the backyard is enough.
- 🌞 Where do you go for five minutes of peace?
- 🪑 What’s your version of “the chair in the sun”?