Here is an armchair, a Chesterfield armchair – only one – as two would not have fitted in this small space. The giant sofa did not fit through the door of the flat (apartment), never mind in the lounge / study / dining-room / extended kitchen space that really should just have been a lounge, but the kitchen is like a cupboard and the bedroom accommodates a double bed (where designed for a single), a wardrobe, storage shelves, book cases, drawers and bedside cabinet, groaning at the existing burden.
And so, yes, just one armchair, red, with its deep dimples and ornate studs, a throne for this old man to sit, and read, and think, and drink coffee, and live the life of an old man, dreaming of days gone by, and wondering how many more days there will be, and hoping his children are doing well.
The enormous padded seat shows signs of wear, where he has crashed on and slid off, the arms that were gripped by the chubby little fingers of the old man, warmed by the leather surrounding him, wondering what he will write about next.
And what will he read after finishing ‘The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida’ and ‘Olive Kitteridge’, both great books so far, but oh so different from each other, and both fictional characters having led different lives from him.
And yet, there were similarities, too. Maybe there is so much to compare within humanity that some similarities are bound to exist. These were the thoughts of the old man as he slipped into yet another nap and journeyed to another reality.
Fraser
October 2024