Take a seat (or make one)

In by mid-30’s, I discovered that I had an ability, and I chose not to tell anyone for a very simple (and very boring) reason: Tax evasion.

Well, ‘evasion’ might be too strong of a word. I wasn’t using by abilities to generate supplemental income of any kind, so the IRS wasn’t missing out on any money. But, whether you use your abilities or not, having a Human Plus talent means you need to fill out an extra 25 pages on your tax return, and I just couldn’t do it.

And besides, my ability was on the cusp of embarrassing with its relative uselessness to the others I read about in the news. I simply have the ability to create an invisible chair whenever I want. I just think ‘chair,’ and then when I sit down, the air feels solid under me. As soon as I stand back up, the chair disappears. That’s it.

When humans started gaining splendid and marvelous abilities, it took less than half a year for capitalism to show up. Nothing takes the magic out of actual magic like finding a way to monetize it. But really, what did we expect to happen?

And as soon as these Human Plus individuals started making abnormal amounts of money, the IRS decided that it wanted some of it.

I knew as soon as I discovered mine that I wouldn’t be starting a side hustle making single-use invisible chairs. Still, I wish the general situation didn’t require me to keep it as a secret. It might have been nice to share with a few friends. Or my spouse. If I had a spouse. But I suppose to have a wife, you first have to have a girlfriend, meaning you have to occasionally go on a date, but we’re getting away from the point, I think.

The point was that I had nearly slipped up so many times. If I was standing around and had even the passing thought that it would be nice to sit down, wham! Chair. And to make it vanish I had to sit down and stand back up. If I didn’t, I’d trip on it, and boy that was hard to explain to people.

So, when I heard that someone had surfaced with the ability to alter other people’s abilities, I immediately made an appointment, hoping she could get rid of my ability entirely.

The woman, colloquially known as the Ability Doctor was far away, (a bus, a red-eye flight, and two subways away, to be precise) so I was naturally very tired by the time I arrived at her office. She didn’t take appointments, so I got there early enough that I could be the first walk in of the day.

I was also alone in a hallway that had nowhere to sit, so for the first time in a public space, I made a chair for myself on purpose.

I assumed that the only person who would see me would be the doctor herself, so when an old man hobbled in with a cane, I found myself weirdly embarrassed. He gave me a glance, but not a long one, because seeing a stranger sitting on air wasn’t nearly as unusual as it used to be before the Human Plus development. He took his place behind me, forming a line.

Immediately, I felt guilty, being able-bodied and young, to be sitting when a guy old enough to be my grandfather shifted uncomfortably on his feet. If the chair had been real, I would have offered it to him.

Although it would have been a lukewarm comfort anyway. I couldn’t see my chairs, but I could feel them, and they were all of the ‘cold, metal, folding’ variety. This poor guy deserved something with a cushion. Or better yet, a nice recliner that was pillowy but still had good lumbar support.

The guy behind me shuffled around and then stumbled just a little. Before I could react, he put out a hand to catch himself, and it connected with some unusually solid air. He looked to me with equal parts confusion and gratitude and said, “Oh! Did you make this for me?”

Did I?? I’d been so busy trying to keep my ability a secret that it never occurred to me to try to make a chair for anyone other than myself. “I guess I did,” I said.

“Oh, thank you,” he said and lowered himself down into it with a happy sigh.

I was about to apologize for the uncomfortable nature of it when he reached down for a lever that he seemed confident he’d find, and gave it a tug, lifting his feet and lowering his shoulders backward.

I’d not only made this guy a chair – I’d made him the cozy recliner I’d been imagining. Had I always been able to do that? Suddenly, it seemed ludicrous that I’d spent half a decade with this and never properly explored the possibilities.

I stood up, allowing the uncomfortable folding chair to vanish, and instead thought of a casual camp chair. When I sat back down, there it was! I could even feel the plastic cup holder ring in the chair’s canvas armrest, ready and waiting for a cold beer after an afternoon of fishing.

I’m not normally one for talking to people in public places, but I was so caught up in the discovery that when the next person walked in, I immediately shot the question to her, “Hey, what kind of chair do you want?”

The old man, close to dozing in his recliner, explained to the newcomer, “He can make chairs. Darn good chairs.”

The woman took in the information with a slight raise of her tightly-manicured eyebrows, and after giving it a moment’s thought, said, “I suppose a velvet wingback chair, like you’d find in a library.”

I made a quick gesture with my hand, which absolutely was not required but the moment felt like it could use a little showmanship. “Okay, try it out. Should be right behind you.”

The line continued growing, and I conjured a chair for each of them. One teenager asked for a hammock, which I worried wouldn’t be chair-like enough to qualify, but sure enough he was rocking back and forth in it just a moment later.

It’s weird the affect a perfect and comfortable seat has on a person, or a group of people. Any other time, we’d just be waiting awkwardly in line together, locked into our individual phones, but the hallway was buzzing with pleasant conversation and laughter.

We discussed everyone’s abilities, and how they’ve been using them, and someone even got into the subject of those dreaded extra tax forms, and I had to admit they didn’t sound as bad as I thought.

I’d all but forgotten why I’d come here in the first place when the Ability Doctor arrived and said she could help the first person in line. The old man reached up to shake my hand, and wished me luck with my appointment. “I sure do hope nothing’s wrong. This is a great ability.”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” I said quietly, and when I ducked into the office, I decided all I’d be asking the doctor for was a recommendation for a good Human Plus accountant.