Favorite Chair

Lewis waited in his chair by the back window; staring to the top of the hill on which his house stood. His ice-blue eyes lit up with the grey, December sky as he mulled over the news he received from the doctor’s visit the day before. Despite the relentless treatments, his prognosis was not good. The doctors were convinced he would be reunited with his dead wife within a couple months.

The gentleman of sixty-eight years spread his hands out over the quilt that covered his lap and considered all of their works, good and bad; only for them to be crossed over his chest or burned to ashes for eternity. "What a waste," he wispered as he returned his gaze to the window.

 After a while, a small blue car pulled into the driveway and Lewis watched the driver’s head sway back and forth as she gathered her things for her visit. The door finally swung open and Michelle emerged with her arms loaded with a large purse, some magazines, and a couple of stuffed grocery bags. Lewis smiled and was amused by the tiny woman carrying the cumbersome load and got up to help her through the door.

“Thanks Lewis. How are we feeling today?” Michelle’s voice rang as she walked through the door and placed her load on the kitchen table.

“I told you not to worry about coming over.”

“I wanted to,” Michelle handed him current issues of his favorite news magazines before taking her scarf and coat off and laying them over a chair. “So what did the doctors say.”

“Well I’m done with treatment.” He placed the magazines on the stand and reclaimed his chair, inviting Michelle to do the same.

“That’s good news, isn’t it?”

“No. It isn’t.” Lewis watched his young friend’s face melt from hope to disappointment. “So I figure we should discuss funeral arrangement's.”

“Shouldn’t your family be a part of this?”

“No. I’m not talking about mine. I want to know what you would have done if you were going to die?”

Michelle looked down to her hands that nervously played with her key-chain. “I don’t know. Maybe just a funeral and a graveside service.”

“I think they would have a rough time finding a casket big enough to hold your personality.” Lewis smiled at his young friend as he replaced the quilt over his lap and smoothed it out with his hands. “I’m thinking cremation.”

 “For me?”

“No. For me; and then have them scattered in the stream just beyond the woods.”

“With your wife’s?” Michelle’s eyes were large and brown; welling with tears.

Lewis’ eyes turned towards the window and were lit by the grey sky again. “Yes. With hers.”