Take a Load Off
The devil's chair.
Come. Sit a spell. Take a load off.
My chair is here for people to rest, relax, enjoy. While the cemetery around me might be crumbling - and my chair’s foundation cracking - my chair remains a steadfast place to stop.
Over the years, people have taken to calling it the Devil’s Chair. I really have no idea why. I was a lovely, affable man in life. I was a community leader. Father. Grandfather. Husband. Doctor. My whole life was about giving back, so I really wanted a chair at my gravesite to ensure people could come visit and relax. Standing can be hard on the body, especially when you have to trudge through sludge.
You see, I think I devoted my life to others because it gave me a sense of peace and fulfillment. Sometimes it was just easier than fighting. Giving took a lot out of me, and people rarely asked after my feelings. Yet here I am in death still giving, though a tradition has seemed to form that’s just for me.
One day, someone left a beer on my chair. I didn’t mind. They sat a while in silence, drinking in the beer and the air. I guess they forgot to take the trash, so the empty can sat a while until a Florida storm blew it away. But not before enough people saw it to start a new tradition of bringing a beer to my chair when they visit the cemetery. Sometimes they drink it and leave me a bit. Sometimes the can is full. But my soul is never empty.
I try to send visitors subtle hints that I can hear them, sense them, feel them. I might rustle the trees. Move around the debris. I hope it doesn’t come across as freaky. That is the last thing I want people to feel in a cemetery. I assume people sit because they also want to feel something, to feel a connection. Cemeteries are for the living after all. They are places where people can connect back to themselves. My chair serves that purpose, allowing people to sit, to turn internally, to commune with nature and the spiritual. That is why I want them to know I am listening.
After all, humans seek and crave connection. The Devil’s Chair is so scary, and I have no idea where the name came from. But I do know people are curious enough to see it, to sit on it, take photos and videos of it. Then more people come visit me. If such a scary name gets people into the cemetery, then I am all for it.
But seriously, folks. Bring me better beer. The one you see in the photo is dill pickle, and boy was it disgusting. I might be dead, but I still have some taste.
So, come. Sit in my chair. Take a load off. I am here for you when it feels like nobody else is.
