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Weekly Contest #363
[This story, as the title announces, deals with cancer, as well as death and suicide.] . . .Now, here I stand amidst the falling snow. Two hours ago, I called home from the payphone in the medical-center lobby. “I’m on my way.” “Your client visit go well?” my wife asked. I did have lunch with a client. But I didn’t mention the appointment after that. “Smooth as silk.” Keep the call short, I thought, before my voice cracks or wavers. “I’m glad you’ll be home by dinner. That Canadian clipper is supposed to reach here by this evening.” “I...
I sip the tall glass of iced tea, savoring every sip as I prep the most special meal of my sorry life. Normally, despite the heat of this small cuisine, as Chef likes to call the kitchen, I’m only allowed paper cups of water, no ice. And no eating the food we prepare, except slight tastes.Still, this room, hidden away, has been our refuge from the industrial kitchen Chef and I have slaved in for years. Now it’s my refuge alone. Am I the chef de cuisine? I guess this is my test: Can I create “The Meal” without Chef’s guidance.Another sip. Che...
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