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Breakfast for Charlie

Eggs, swiss cheese, mushrooms, and spinach.  It was one of the few things we actually agreed on, and I figured it wouldn’t be the worst way to start the day.  As the scent of melting swiss filled the small studio apartment we shared, I realized there was something missing.  Onions.  I tiptoed over to the refrigerator and opened it as quietly as I could.  I had done a good job sneaking around so far.  I had even cracked the eggs inside a kitchen towel earlier.  Sometimes you just want to do everything right.  Or at least close.  The kitchen towel now laid in the hamper, covered with egg yolk.  And now that I had the refrigerator open, I realized there weren’t any onions in the vegetable drawer.  I found a half-eaten bag of fried onion chips tucked away behind a jar of pickles, but I thought that would be a bit too tacky for an omelet.  Well, too tacky for her.  I’d try it.  I’d try anything.  Continue reading “Breakfast for Charlie”

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Tea Time with Mrs. Lewis

Tea Time with Mrs Lewis

There was a silent strength in the way she poured her evening tea.  Her hands moved with a grace that betrayed her age.  Her soft smile should have accentuated the folds in her cheeks, but somehow the lines in her face all but disappeared.  Her silver hair turned jet black, the weathered wrought iron table turned ivory white, and the sun shone on rolling fields of green grass and blooming flowers.  The cool autumn morning faded like a memory.  It was spring.  It was tea time.  A moment forever locked in time for Mrs. Amanda Lewis and anyone who sat with her at the little white table adorned with two chairs.  The humble dining set filled the entirety of the small patio outside the back door of her blue wooden house.  Most people didn’t know how it happened – how the years melted away or how spring burst forth from any season during tea time with Mrs. Lewis.  But she told me once, when I was young. Continue reading “Tea Time with Mrs. Lewis”

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An Ocean of Stars

Countless stars fill the velvet sky in front of me, stretching on for an eternity. I take in a deep breath and smile. It reminds me of the last time I looked up at the stars. I mean really looked up at them. Not just a cursory glance – the last time I lost myself in the majesty and wonder of a starry night. How long has it been? Quite a few more years than I care to admit. You get busy, you turn your focus to what’s in front of you, you toil and work, and eventually … eventually you forget to look up. But there was a time when I looked up every night. And in this moment, I am that person again. The years of work, worries, and concerns melt away in an instant, and I’m there again: the last night I truly looked up at the night sky.

My toes clench the damp white sand. A half-moon drifts wistfully through darkness, leaving dappled reflections in the calm water. The sound of a reef break travels half a mile, softly accompanying the constant coo of coqui frogs, nestled in the leaves of banana and pan trees. I hear the sound of my own heartbeat quicken as I move my hand to my side and place it on yours, clasping my fingers between yours. I feel your heartbeat and breathe.

A cloud makes its way across the night sky as the first rain drops make their way to the ground. You laugh, a bit of nervousness mixed with your usual raspy chuckle. I look at you and smile – a smile tinged with a bit of my own nervousness. We talk about nothing for some time, both knowing there’s so much more that we need to say. Both knowing that there’s not enough time to say it. Tonight would just be like any other night, we told ourselves. Because it felt better to pretend we’d have a thousand tomorrows and ten thousand more.

Eventually, we run out of things to say and lie back, watching the moon and the stars, your hand in mine. Soon, the sound of my heart and your breathing are all I hear in the stillness of the night. Maybe the reef is still breaking, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I can’t hear it. I turn my head and meet your eyes. I ask you how long you’ve been staring. You just smile.

I shift to my side and raise my left hand to your auburn curls, matted by the constant drizzle of rain. I trace my hands over your cheek bone and pull your russet lips to mine, closing my eyes. The taste of mangos and salt mix together as our lips meet. I feel the cool rain, the grainy sand, and the warmth of your embrace.

I open my eyes and I’m back. There are no clouds to hide the stars tonight. It’s far cooler. And I am alone.

I fight the urge to look behind me. Clenching my eyes, I try to return to that night, but the tides of memory have receded. I take a deep breath, and smile – tinged with a bit of my own nervousness. I drift wistfully through the darkness, the reflection of countless stars dappled across my visor. Ganymede moves along its path, and the sun breaks through. I lick my lips and taste mangos mixed with a bit of salt.