I'm on the third floor of an apartment building, standing in the doorway of a room. It is a long room, almost like a dining hall. The walls are a dirty chestnut red, accented with decorative white trims. There are large four foot windows, flanked by tall mahogany display cases. The cases are filled with porcelain figurines and plates. Silver plated coffee kettles, and pearl white cups with flowers dancing around the edges. Photos of a family I don't recognize. There is a long mahogany dining table, with a red tablecloth draped upon it. It is surrounded by fancy steel chairs. Impressionist paintings stuffed inside intricately carved walnut frames litter the walls haphazardly. There is a tall black steel birdcage in a corner of the room. It is empty, except for a small mirror. The room is bright with sunlight that has beamed it's way through the overcast winter sky. I can hear the bustle of the city outside, beeping horns and passing conversation. The dusty white cast iron radiator lets out a sigh, and a clunk. There is fine cigarette smoke in the air. People are sitting at the table, speaking rapid Italian to one another. The words are intense, but friendly. I cannot understand them. They sip a deep brown liquid from tiny white cups. Their spoons and dishes clink merrily along with their conversation. The room is dry and stuffy. I walk up to a chair against the wall and sit down. It's red velvet cushion is cushy and pleasant. The feet of the chair are shaped as monstrous paws, holding onto the ground tightly. It's steel frame heavy and true.
I begin to remember. As a child, I played with these chairs as though they were friendly monsters. I would pet their soft velvet heads, and thank them for letting me sit on them. I would hide underneath the table, crawling through the legs of the giants that sat above. I remember smelling coffee for the first time. It smelled incredible. As a child, the saturation on your whole world is way up. Everything is shiny and new. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose.
The people are gone from the table in an instant. I feel different. It is night time now. The sunlight has been extinguished from the large windows, replaced by the tangerine glow of a streetlamp. Conch lights on the wall now flood the room with pillars of bright light. It is silent, except for the dull deep hum of far off machinery. Across from me on another friendly monster, sits a girl. She is looking down while twisting her foot in a circle, deep in thought. I try and get her attention by meekly waving. Her expression continues to become more intense, her features scrunch up as she focuses. It looks as if she's using her eyes to try and burn a hole in her twirling foot.
She seems startled. Her expression immediately drops, and she looks at me quizzically.
"Hi. How'd you get back here?" She asks. As though this is an entirely normal question.
She starts to look familiar. I feel like we've already had many conversations before, the contents of which I cannot recall.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
She smiles. I realize where I know her from.
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