I’m a table. Not the kind you would imagine. I’m tiny. And two tiny chairs snuggle up against me most of the time. 

I wasn’t complete when I first arrived at the lady’s front porch. The box that held me was so dark and snug, I could barely breathe. But soon, the lady took me inside her house, opened the box, and helped me out, piece by piece. She sat on the tile, smiling, as she attached one leg, then another, twisting little pegs one by one into my frame, then turned me over and set me on my feet, flat side up. I watched her build the little chairs, and her smile grew wider. 

At first, I wondered if I even belonged here. The lady seemed much too tall to fit in those small chairs. Mostly, she shared a puffy blue couch with a furry little creature she called Millie. When the room turns shadowy, other voices enter the room, but I can’t see them. She looks at the flat black box next to me that does all the talking, and she doesn’t say much. This one-sided conversation confuses me. Then, after an hour or two, the voices stop, the lights go out, and I’m left there all alone, staring at the couch until daylight streams through thin wooden slats.

One morning, I heard a bell chime, and the lady ran to the same door she had opened when I arrived. I hoped another table was here so I wouldn’t feel so alone, but this time I heard voices. Small voices saying silly things like, “Grandma, look at my new shoes. They light up!” And “Millie, I missed you!” And “Let’s get a snack!” Finally, the lady said, “I have a surprise for you, and I just know we’ll have lots of fun with it.” Before I knew it, I was the center of attention! 

Three little people hovered around me, all talking at once, so I couldn’t make out the words. But from that day on, they called me the “Kid Table.” I’m okay with that. I have a name! The lady brought out a big book and colored pencils, which she called crayons, and set them on my flat-top. The two big kids fit perfectly in those little chairs, and the smallest kid stood beside me, helping me feel safe. I heard them say things like, “Remember to stay inside the lines,” whatever that means, and “I’ll color Chase, you color Rocky.” The littlest one said, “I want Marshall!” 

After a while, the lady came along and moved those books and crayons away from my flat-top. “Time for lunch,” she said. And those kids stayed right here with me, saying things like, “Mac ‘n cheese is my favorite, and apple juice too.” But some of that mac ‘n cheese landed right on my flat-top or on the floor next to me, and the lady just said, “That’s why we have paper towels. I got it.” But, sometimes, Millie was sneaky and ran off with those noodles. 

I was tired by the end of the day, and so was the lady. The house grew quiet. The big light disappeared, and only a glow from the clock kept me company. Those hours when I couldn’t see the lady and Millie, I felt lonely. I worried she would take me apart and put me back in that box, and the man in the big truck would take me away. I like it here, and when the little ones visit, I feel needed. And special. I have a purpose. Then I wonder if I will see them again.

To my surprise, a few days later, here they are! Sometimes, it’s only one or two of them. When that happens, the lady sits on one of the little chairs, low to the ground, with her long legs sprawled out in a strange way as she hovers over me, just like a kid. They listen to music, draw, color, paint, and put together miniature buildings they call “Lego.” Snacks are shared here while they watch the flat black box together. The voices on it are Chase, Rocky, and Marshall! The lady seems happiest when the little people are here, and so am I. 

Over time, as they grow, they’ll be too big for me. I’ll miss our fun together, and I hope the lady will find  me a good home, just like this one.