Short Story: The Empty Chair

I slithered along the wall from the back of the room half way down on the right hand side. Not a seat anywhere. I tried not to groan audibly, but I knew my back couldn’t handle it if I had to stand up for the whole thing. Little by little my eyes adjusted to the low light in the room, and I could see a vacant expanse of wall. At least I would be able to lean. There seemed to be people doing that very thing all around the room. At the back they were two or three deep.

Somebody cleared their throat, and I noticed how quiet it was in this theatre. All eyes were on the empty chair up front. Nobody interacting at all. Just sitting there anticipating what was to come. Well, I thought, I guess this is the main event. An “E” ticket, as they used to say in Disneyland. The big show. Personally, I wasn’t looking forward to it. But I’d been assigned to cover it, so here I was.

I should have guessed the room would be crowded from the size of the crowds outside. Demonstrators from both sides lined the road all the way up the hill, and the police were making a concerted effort to keep the two groups apart. Several television news crews were parked along the edge of the road, and reporters were holding microphones and covering the scene for the TV news. Story at eleven. Midnight actually, to be precise.

The atmosphere was definitely tense in here. There is a certain smell, well not precisely a “smell,” but a sense you get when there are too many people crammed into a room without windows. Even though I could hear the air conditioning whirring softly, the air in the room was close.

Then a light came on, and the guys in uniform started filing onto the stage. They took their places on either side and surveyed the room. I checked for my nametag, making sure everything was in order. I was where I was supposed to be, after all. But the uniforms made me nervous just the same. I patted my “PRESS” tag and thought about all the places it had taken me over the years. Places I never would have gotten near to being before. Not that I would have missed it altogether. No, not hardly. I probably would have been here.

Before becoming a reporter, I had been a “rabble-rouser” as they say. I guess I was kind of a troublemaker, a demonstrator for causes of all kinds and a pothead to boot. An outlaw as far as that goes. Yes, the pure flame had most assuredly burned in my heart. I was young and I wanted to change the world. In those days, I probably would have been down there in the road with the so-called “anti’s,” but now, at the ripe old age of 32, here I was in a business suit with a front row seat. Yes, things had really changed for me.

I remember the turning point. I had dropped out of school and quite my job, and joined a revolutionary cell. My roommate’s boyfriend had recruited me. Well, ex-boyfriend. When she threw him out, I left with him. He had this crazy look in his eyes. All he ever talked about was the revolution.

One thing that really amazed me was how easy it was. People gave us houses, clothes, cars, money. Financially, I actually felt more secure after I dropped out than I had when I was working my butt off to make ends meet. I didn’t know what I wanted to major in, and college was as much of a drag as my $ 3.52 an hour job in a department store. It was a time in my young life when I was going nowhere.

Entertainment consisted of rock and roll music and smoking pot, and when I could afford it the occasional live concert. Right after the last demonstration against the war, I’d broken up with my boyfriend. One night, we were running from the teargas canisters in Dupont Circle, and the next day he was holding hands with a blond we met at the organizing office. All the way back to New York, I sat in the back seat fuming.

So when Gino said I could come with him and change the world for real, I was ready to go. At first, it was fun. Everything was provided for us. Gino did all the talking, and all I had to do was listen and participate. It started out with fundraising stuff, standing on the curb in a shopping mall with a bucket and a sign, collecting the cash people seemed all too willing to confer on whatever cause we were advertising that day.

Then it was organizing the farm workers, going door to door signing them into the union. Even the hunger strike was easy for me. I stood at the door of the grocery store handing out flyers. The Spring and Summer passed this way, and I was having a pretty good time.

Then one day, there was a conversation about blowing up a dam. They were talking about planting explosives. We all had to memorize the phone number of an attorney to call if we got arrested. And when the conversation ended, Gino handed me a revolver and told me to carry it from now on.

The idea of carrying a loaded gun in my waistband took the whole thing to a new level. I slept on it that night, and in the morning I quietly walked away before breakfast. I left the gun on the bed I had slept in, walked to the highway and hitched a ride back into the city. That was the end of my career as a revolutionary.

So here I was, thinking back on the turning point in my life. When I got back into school, I started taking Journalism classes, and presto! Here I was, lurking around at all the big events of the day, but with permission, officially sanctioned, as it were. I’d always been one of the good guys, but I’d almost lost my way.

I wondered how the man of the hour had ended up on this stage tonight, surrounded by uniformed guards and high-level security. What was the turning point in his life, I wondered? How did he end up here instead of the million other places he could have headed in his life? Well, he certainly had the spotlight tonight.

The Chaplain walked onto the stage and stood facing us with a Bible in his hand. He motioned us to stand up with his other hand. Then he opened the Bible and began to read, “The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want…”

Behind him the door opened and more guards appeared. The two in the front had him by the shoulders. They were holding him up and seemed to be carrying him along. His feet dragged behind him on the floor. His head was bowed. At first I thought he was asleep, or drugged. But then he picked his head up and looked out at us. His eyes were wild.