Empty Chairs and Empty Tables
A workday reminds me of one of my favorite Les Miserables songs.
“Empty Chairs at Empty Tables” is one of the most haunting songs from Les Miserables, the phenomenal musical written by Claude-Michel Schönberg. It reimagines the masterpiece of Victor Hugo’s novel of the same name, now with the gut-punching music and lyrics to go with the story.
The musical is filled with heartbreaking tunes. “Empty Chairs at Empty Tables” has particularly strikes a chord with me. It’s melancholic, laced with so much grief and loss. You hear the agony not only in the words but in the pauses in between stanzas. It’s a song of guilt and mourning, evoked by the simple image of empty chairs and empty tables.
I thought about this song as the workday ended today. Much like yesterday, I was left alone in the office, still rushing to finish my to-do list before heading out. Everyone else had gone ahead. I had the choice to leave earlier, I suppose, but I insisted on finishing whatever work I could in the office. Maybe I knew I wouldn’t get much done at home, and that an office environment would more likely push me into productivity. Maybe I was in a flow state I didn’t want to break. Whatever the reason, I left much later than the rest of the workforce, alone among “empty chairs at empty tables.”
Granted, it’s not as dramatic as what Les Miserables illustrates. There was no bloodshed, no battle, no talks of revolution. The only thing in common was that the image was a marker for the end. For Marius Pontmercy, it was the end of the struggle, with the entire image compounded in severity by the loss of his friends and the guilt of his survival. For me, it was the end of the workday; a reminder that it was time to retreat home. Varying intensities of emptiness.
Does this mean then, that the beginning commences as the tables and chairs are filled? It seems logical for the workplace: a new day begins when people come to flock to the office once more. People gathering around often connotes work and activity. But what about Marius? How does he begin again? How does anyone begin again after tumultuous circumstances, not only from death and loss, but even heartbreak, disappointment, bankruptcy, and abandonment? Do we begin again once the chairs and tables are filled once more?
I honestly have no answer. I do not know how emptiness is filled nor how loneliness is reversed, but I have a feeling it’s not as simple as filling in the chairs and tables again. Because emptiness is never limited to just physical space. It exists within us, manifesting as longing, loneliness, and isolation. There is no prescription for how you take away that kind of emptiness.
