What can YOU say in six sentences?
It was my father’s chair, a brown corduroy recliner that sat in front of the big, white tiled fireplace. The older he got, the worse his Parkinson’s disease, the harder it became for him to rise from that chair. I think it was the only place in the house he was truly comfortable, perhaps the only place in a world that had changed so much since he was born in Russia, before the Revolution, since his family vanished in the Holocaust.
He must have missed it, after my mother put him in the nursing home. Then, she sat in the recliner, a tumbler on the small table next to the chair, a gallon of wine on the floor. When she died, the chair went into the dumpster with the rest of the furniture, too damaged even for Goodwill.