Untitled...I just started it, but why not post?

"Please." She paused to show respect and sobriety for the moment. "Tell me about your father."

The room was a small office with blue and white wallpaper, blue velvet flowers on a pearl white background. The thick wood furniture was flimsy and lightweight, cherry wood laminate over lots of corrugated board. The cherry chairs were heavy however with plaid cushioning that clashed with the walls. The novelty of the young girl asking the question was enough to dampen the adult siblings' sadness. They turned to each other confused as Mr. Douglass passed by the open door.

"Mr. Douglass," the brother said and pushed back the heavy chair to get up and catch Mr. Douglass in the narrow hallway. "Mr. Douglass, your daughter...she's so young. Did you really want us to go through this with her?"

Mr. Douglass waited for him to finish his question before speaking, and a few more seconds to be sure. "Mr. Chavis, I understand your and your sister's disinclination given my daughter's age. The Douglass and Douglass Funeral Home is a third-generation service to this community. I myself began working in a full capacity at Lydia's selfsame age. Her credentials as a three time national spelling bee finalist, awarded the Longfellow's Scholarship for her excellence in essay writing, which was competitively judged against high school seniors twice her age, and honored by our own State University for her literary review of Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls, makes Lydia the most qualified Douglass to eulogize the beloved. I am certain your father's life will be recorded with simplicity and splendor which will be cherished by your family during this homecoming and as a chronicle of your father's legacy. I just ask that you answer completely Lydia's specific questions, which will be brief, and allow our family to comfort yours in this moment of mourning."

Mr. Chavis shook Mr. Douglass' dark, gentle hand and walked back to the small office. He touched his sister's shoulder as he sat and looked at her with conviction, saying, "It's alright." Lydia sat behind the desk overwhelmed by her father's leather chair, like a ball in a catcher's mitt, with a look of piety and bereavement.


  1. Thanks for stopping by my spot.

    I just finished digesting your piece and can't wait for another bite. Lydia makes for quite the interesting character.

  2. I'm with Rich on that one, cant wait to hear more!