text: The Portendorfers packed the car with their clothes, a dog bed, a giant bag of dog food, a baby stroller, grandma’s wheelchair, beach toys for the other two children, a big beach umbrella, and matching beach chairs. As expected, the whole paraphernalia didn’t fit in the trunk, so Mr. Portendorfer tied some of it to the roof of the car. The family, including the dog, squeezed into the vehicle and left their suburban home for the beach. Well into the trip, one of the chairs became loose and fell off the car. That was when the Portendorfers were all singing together, so they didn’t hear a thing. Lucky for the chair, the impact made it roll all the way to the side of the road before getting hit by any car. It stayed there for a while, folded as it had been packed. Its aluminum frame had suffered a few dents and the nylon seat was torn. But it was all in one piece. When the dust settled, the chair stretched its four legs and started walking in the direction the car had gone. Its frame was so badly bent, the only way it could move forward was by limping sideways like a crab. While passing by a small village at the foot of a mountain, the walking beach chair was mostly ignored, except for an old man who started shooting at it with a rifle. The chair continued its journey; the bullet holes actually made it easier to move against the wind. Night fell, but it was still bright with the moon, and the headlights. Later, black clouds covered the moon, and the rain fell hard on the forest, drowning the sounds of crickets and cicadas. Sometimes the chair stumbled on a rock or a ditch, but it was important to keep its balance: flipping on its back meant never being able to stand up again. The Portendorfers arrived at the beach house. While unloading the car, Mrs. Portendorfer noticed that one of the beach chairs was missing, and asked her husband to drive back and try to find it. But Mr. Portendorfer didn’t think that a cheap old beach chair was worth his trouble, especially at this time of night, and with all the rain. As the Portendorfers slept, the chair dragged itself through the storm. A river that ran parallel to the road began to overflow, so the chair let itself be pushed by the waters for the last stretch of the trip. When it arrived at the beach house, the sun was shining and the Portendorfers were eating breakfast. When the family came out, they found the missing chair on the grass, all twisted and crooked, covered with mud and weeds. The other chairs had gathered around it, to hear its story. Grandma's wheelchair moved on its own to join the group. I wish I could say that the family was ecstatic to see their loyal beach chair back, that the children jumped with happiness, that their parents had tears in their eyes, that they all got together and washed it, fixed it, and took it to the beach with them. Yes, I wish I could say that.