I am chuffed, chosen over hundreds. My worth is never the issue, but my price required skillful negotiation. No time for farewells, I am hustled from the showroom, wound in metres of plastic cling-wrap to protect my beautiful brown fabric, and loaded into the back of a black truck. I’m so excited.

At the end of a thirty-kilometre journey I am manoeuvred onto a loading dock, then onto a dolly, into the service elevator, and through a locked door. I am rushed down a wide hallway, and make a sharp right turn into a crowded room. Thank heavens I don’t suffer from motion sickness. The smothering plastic is removed and I am greeted by a cacophony of excited voices.

‘I’m sure she’ll like it.’

‘Do you think she can operate it?’

 ‘Where should it go? Here or by the window?’

‘The window, I think.’

‘Yeah, Auntie’s gonna love looking at the parking lot.’

Why are they not talking to the woman I wonder? She is assisted from the side of the bed and brought to me.

‘We bought you this chair, Ms. Gray. Sit down.’

 I am at my welcoming best. She perches on my dark chocolate seat, barely rumpling my fabric. I feel her tremble.  Ms. Gray is petulant, not what I’m expecting.

 ‘Don’t want it.’

She grabs my padded left arm, digging sharp fingernails into my fabric. I wince.

 My control is thrust into her right hand. ‘Push this. This arrow makes your feet go up.’

 I begin my ascent.

 ‘Or maybe it’s this one.’

I shudder and change direction.

A child grabs the control. ‘I’ll show her.’

Thank heaven’s someone knows how to work my remote. I change direction and slowly raise my footrest and recline my back.

Ms. Gray panics. ‘Stop. Stop!’

She kicks me. I flinch.

‘Get me out,’ she screams.

An adult takes her hand. ‘You’re fine. Relax.’

The child stabs my down arrow. I am not built for speed but I do my best. This kicking and screaming are not what I signed up for.

 For the next months staff and visitors attempt to coax Ms. Gray to sit in me.

 ‘Come on, you’ll like it.’

‘You know you like to put your feet up.’

‘Sit and I’ll cover you with your favourite afghan.’

‘You are so stubborn.’

Each suggestion is met with a vehement NO. ‘If you like it, you take it. Get it out of here.’

I cringe. I don’t think I’m the problem. I sit by the window, a repository for clothes, discarded books, a lone shoe, Oreo cookie crumbs, and even dirty linens. This isn’t what I signed up for either.

One grey, overcast afternoon my future changes. As I am lifted back onto the dolly I rode in on, I attempt to convey how I wish I could have been the one to comfort her.

‘Good riddance.’

Those two words shatter me. What will happen now? I’m hastily covered in a ratty blue tarp and lifted into the box of a cheery yellow truck. I take this as a good sign.

The driver glances at the threatening sky and re-tucks a loose corner of the tarp. ‘I hope the rain holds off.’

He’s not the only one hoping for dry conditions. Riding in an open truck bed is not for the faint hearted.

We reach our destination and the sun breaks through the cloud. The tarp is pulled off and I’m carried into a house. A woman approaches, gently sits, and strokes my arms. Tears slide down her cheeks. ‘I’ll think of her with love every time I look at this chair.’

First time visitors are offered the Gray chair to sit in. Bemused they ask ‘Where? There’s no grey chair.’

I have mixed feelings when the story is told as to how I, a beautiful chocolate brown recliner, have come to be the Gray Chair. Sad memories from my old home gradually overshadowed by happy ones from my new one.