Sentient

“You know you’re nuts.”

Carpenter responded, “No, I’m not; you are! And what makes you say such a cruel thing?”

“Let’s review this, shall we? Do you remember that century-old mesquite tree in your yard that the microburst tore down two years ago?”

“Yeesss….”

“Good. Do you remember you called an arborist out to cut it up and plane down the thickest twelve feet of it into six-inch thick slabs?Remember performing your carpentry magic and shaping those slabs to fit together to make a table? Does any of this ring a bell?”

“Yeesss….”

“Well, I’m that table, you knothead!”

Carpenter retorted, “There is no need to resort to name-calling! Besides, you are the one with knots at your head.”

“Okay, I’ll concede that I have knots. But I don’t have a head so I can’t be a knothead like you!”

“Ah hah! That’s absolute evidence you’re the nutty one. There you go, against all evidence to the contrary, claiming you don’t have a head. Everyone knows that guests of honor always sit at the head of the table. You admit you are a table; therefore, by your own admission you have a head that you refuse to accept as reality.” Carpenter thought he had Table on the ropes now.

“Oh, don’t be silly!That’s just a figure of speech.”

“Nay, nay, my splintery friend. It is not! Just ask any AI information generator; we all know those don't lie. The head of a table is a real internationally recognized thing, and you have one. Ha, so there!” Carpenter was so proud of himself!

“Okay, you make that sound almost reasonable, maybe even close to sane. There’s still one significant problem here in this conversation. Can you guess it?”

“No, I don’t know. What is it?”

“You’re talking to a table, an inanimate object! Doesn’t that strike you as at least a tiny bit demented?”

“No, I don’t and let me tell you why.”

“Oh, please do.”

“Because you’re answering me back. Ha! Now’s who’s the crazy one?”

“Carpenter, you’re starting to scare me. First, you’re conversing with a table, me. That’s almost understandable because I am a magnificent piece of furniture. People have been known to talk to their cars, but not furniture. Second, and here’s the scariest part, you think I am talking to you. Doesn’t that strike you as at least a little bit off kilter? A talking table, after all, is not what most of the world’s adults have ever considered as any kind of reality.”

Carpenter returned with, “I’m not sure how you’re doing it. Maybe you were bestowed with life like Pinocchio was. He started as just a wooden sculpture too you know. And, like you, he was a masterpiece of an artisan and true artist. Maybe a fairy princess came along and blessed you with life. It happened before and before you knew it, Pinocchio became a real boy and lived happily ever after. Maybe something like that will happen to you.”

“Good grief! Can you hear yourself? Do you listen to your own gibberish? Comparing a fictional marionette crafted out of soft pine with a massive table made of hard mesquite isn’t quite right. Do you see that, Mr. Geppetto wannabe? The puppet transformed into a real boy. What am I going to do, become a dancing pirate frigate? You worry me more every time you utter a word. That finish with which you shined me up isn’t flammable is it?”

“Of course, it’s not flammable. I used the finest furniture wax to feature your tight grain and your variety of coloration throughout your structure. You’ve heard the admiration in the voices of folks who came to admire you. ‘Such a glossy, deep finish; perfect in every way,’ they said.”

“No, I never heard anyone or anything other than your insane prattling. I’m a table for Pete’s sake! I don’t have ears or any other auditory sense components. I don’t have a brain or vocal cords or lungs or any other body parts.”

“Not true! Face facts; you’re real. You have a head; you already admit that. And you have legs, four of them made from branches from the same tree your body came from. See? More evidence to prove you exist in my reality.”

“Okay, I concede the whole leg thing. Every table has legs; that’s how they rise above the floor.

“The next thing you’ll say is that I have more body parts. And maybe clothes that will indicate some type of self-awareness. And then you’ll probably add some nutty gym equipment. I’m telling you, you’ve got to get a life outside this crazy obsession with talking furniture. Which brings up, do you converse with chairs or kitchen cabinets or, wait, I have it, living room furniture? That would prove you have some wiring crossed upstairs and that should prove to you I can’t exist! Just another pin into your bubble of un-reality; I’m a wooden table, period. And I am not sentient or communicative. I don’t exist as a living creature outside your mis-wired mind.”

Carpenter continued, “You know, my friend, I’m increasingly concerned about your emotional stability. Let me explain to you a few facts of life you’re overlooking. For example, you do have more body parts. You recognize you have legs. Every living creature with legs has a knee on each leg. Thus, you have four knees. And feet. Every leg has a foot. You, my dear talking table, are real whether or not you accept it. You’ve got to wake up and face reality.

“As far as clothes, look at yourself. You’re wearing an apron, for Pete’s sake. And to further show you’re alive, you do have that stretcher you use to train your legs to stand straight and to maintain your stability. Only someone self-aware would care enough about their stability to use gym equipment to enhance their balance and physical stability.”

“You, my dear Carpenter, are slipping further away with each minute. How can you continue to insist that I, an extraordinarily handsome and functional table, a piece of furniture, am sentient and talking with you? Have you considered psychiatry, as in visiting a practitioner thereof?”

“My dear Table, it is you who needs serious counselling. Continuing with our analysis of your denials of your sentience and self-awareness, look at me. I am holding a mirror; are you telling me that you cannot see your reflection?”

“Carpenter, I don’t have eyes. I am a table. Legs and parts thereof, I concede I have, just like every other table crafted since humanity made tables. A skirt? Yes, you built one onto me unlike other tables you’ve crafted. And many massive tables and lots of flimsier tables have a stretcher built into them to keep their legs from folding under. You are good in your craft and art, you would include those details in your creation. But, you’re still not quite right in the head. I’m begging you to please get help.”

Carpenter’s alarm went off.

“Linda, Linda, wake up! I have the most amazing idea for a story about a talking table. You’re going to love it!”