Tuesday, January 17, 2017

It’s Just A Story

Rick came by yesterday.   Just when I think he has forgotten about me, he shows up.
He has a key to my house.  Even though I know it could only be him, I still have that split second moment of irrational fear when I hear the sound of the key going into the lock.
Click. Jiggle.  An involuntary intake of breath, which I hold until I hear him call out, “Hey Ma! It’s me-ee!”
I slowly let the air out and pat my chest.
“You scared me, Rick!”  It’s what I always say.
“Ma, who else would it be?”  It’s what he always replies.
“I wish you would’ve called first.”  He never does.
Rick is the soft squish of my heart.  “I brought homemade chicken noodle soup, he said.”
“Trish made it last night.  Used your recipe.”
I stared out the window as he set my little two person table for lunch.  It’s a vintage chrome and Formica set I found at Don’s Antiques here in town. It’s my favorite spot in the house.  From my side of the table, I can see the bird feeder.  A golden female cardinal swoops off the pine tree and onto the feeder.  I catch flashes of brilliant red feathers hopping from branch to branch as the male waits for his mate to bring him lunch.
I tell Rick how relentless I was with my bargaining skills until Don gave in and let me have it for the price I originally wanted to pay.
“I think I’m going to go over to Don’s next week.  I saw a pretty soup bowl set that I have my eye on,” I say.
“Ma, you know Don’s isn’t there anymore.”
I squinted and frowned, trying to remember.  “Oh, I know, I know,” I say.  “Of course I know that.”  I was mad at myself for slipping like that.
The soup was good.  Filled with chunks of meaty white chicken.  The carrots and celery were cut into chunks too.  The noodles were Kluski’s Pennsylvania Dutch.  As my handwritten recipe describes, “It’s the only kind I use.”
I tell Rick to make sure he lets Trish know how much I liked the soup.  And I wasn’t just saying that to be nice.  It was delicious.  Gosh, I haven’t made it myself in years.
While we ate, he filled me in on what RJ and Kate were up to.   RJ was a sophomore at St. Ivans college over in Hyattsville.   Kate was a senior in High School.
I told him that I wished I could see more of them.
He reminded me that I promised I would let him know what my decision was.
An involuntary intake of breath, which I hold until he says, “It’s okay, Ma, you don’t have to decide today.”
I slowly let the air out and pat my chest.
“We’ll talk about it next time, okay, Rick?  I promise.”
It was a nice visit, though.  It always is.

10 comments:

  1. It was a nice story! At first I thought you were writing about your son, but then halfway through the story I realized it was a fictional son and mother. I do hope she makes the decision to move in with them (that's what I'm thinking he was alluding to?)

    betty

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    1. Thanks, Betty. As I get older I suppose my thoughts turn to my future options.

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  2. Very nice. She's starting to forget things, isn't she?

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    1. Thanks,Yes, she is starting to forget.

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  3. Yum, the soup looks good. They don't make noodles the way they used to.

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    1. Yes, chicken noodle soup is always good!

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  4. Thank you for stating your podcast, otherwise I would never have found your blog. Your story is so dear. I appreciate your talent. I feel a connection to you. I'm sorry for the loss of your son, there are no words. I lost my father to suicide many years ago and it still hurts. Anyway I love your podcast please keep with it.

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    1. Hello Gayle. Thank you so much for your kind words. I am so sorry for the loss of your father. Yes, loss is so painful. I understand how you feel. I am enjoying doing the podcast. I’m glad you are enjoying it too.

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