uninterested, apathetic, and emotionless patient.” I stare at him, but my grin betrays me. “And I’m no prude.”
“Yeah, you are. And, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to settle with me. I just killed your beloved apathetic patient with those boxing gloves.”
We both laugh, gut-deep laughter. It’s one of those moments in life that feels good to do good. If I’m being honest, it’s not his reaction that has me stunned. It’s the forgotten sound of my own laughter ringing in my ears.
MEL POINTS TO a small, rustic building and I pull over. My stomach coils at the thought of food and I’m sure my pale skin is tinted green. Mel must notice my gloomy mood, because she turns to me and mutters, “It’s your call. It’s either this or being spoon fed by Portia.”
“Did I ever complain about not having choices?” I say sarcastically.
“You’re going to like the food. Ella and I come here every week. It’s the best soup joint in town.” As I open the door, a bell jingles to announce our arrival.
We sit at a dim-lit corner table. The interior is bohemia meets antique. To my surprise, the aroma of food makes my stomach growl. I guess my half-workout gave me an appetite.
“Hey, Mel.” A middle-aged man greets us, placing water and utensils on the table.
“Hi, Jim, how are you?”
“Doing okay. Where is my Ella?”
“She’s with Pop. She’ll be very upset to know I came here without her.”
“What can I get you two, honey?” He looks my way and offers a warm smile.
“What soups do you have today?” Mel asks.
For a moment, I wonder if this is a date. Add stupidity to the list of damages caused by drugs. Of course, this isn’t a date. The conclusion leaves me bereft.
I watch Mel as she listens to the choices of soups. Her eyes sparkle as if she is doing the most extraordinary thing. Her smile is so easy and alluring. She seems so free and careless. I pathetically stare at her, practically drooling. I’ve been doing that a lot lately.
“What are you having?” The waiter asks me. Shit, I have no recollection of what he just listed.
“Whatever she’s having,” I say. The man, Jim I think his name is, smirks. I bet he noticed my lovesick puppy-dog eyes.
“Two lentil soups and two tae tea with freshly minced mint, coming right up.” He turns to leave, but hesitates. He turns to me and says, “I wish my wife was here. She was a big fan of your music. A few years back, she wanted to go to one of your concerts. But I never took her.” He shakes his head. “Regrets…”
Before I can respond, Mel grabs his hand and squeezes it. “Oh, Jim, you made Lauren a very happy woman, there is no need for guilt or regrets.”
“Yeah, Mel, I like to think that too,” he says, before disappearing to place our orders.
“His wife died of cancer earlier this summer,” Mel says, her eyes glistening. “They had been together since college.”
Heart-struck grief replaces the earlier sparkle in her eyes. She looks so broken and sad. On an impulse, I raise my hand to her face and gently caress her soft skin. She becomes very still. I stroke my thumb under her eye and capture a solitary tear. I bring the teardrop to my lips and taste the salty flavor of pain.
“I’m sorry,” I say. I want to offer her comfort. I know her sadness is from the loss of her husband. It’s all over her frail face. I’m overwhelmed with a desire to wrap my arms around her.
“Why did you do that for?” she asks. There is no reproach on her voice, just confusion.
“Because I wanted to know the taste of pain.” I narrow my eyes. “I’ve spent my life at the edge of obliviousness, Mel. I don’t feel. I’m always numb.”
She gazes at me. We don’t exchange words, but there is a heady energy humming between us. I wonder if she can feel it because I damn sure feel that I can touch it.
Before I have the chance to say or do something stupid, Jim places a humongous bowl in front of me.
“Yeah, you are. And, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to settle with me. I just killed your beloved apathetic patient with those boxing gloves.”
We both laugh, gut-deep laughter. It’s one of those moments in life that feels good to do good. If I’m being honest, it’s not his reaction that has me stunned. It’s the forgotten sound of my own laughter ringing in my ears.
MEL POINTS TO a small, rustic building and I pull over. My stomach coils at the thought of food and I’m sure my pale skin is tinted green. Mel must notice my gloomy mood, because she turns to me and mutters, “It’s your call. It’s either this or being spoon fed by Portia.”
“Did I ever complain about not having choices?” I say sarcastically.
“You’re going to like the food. Ella and I come here every week. It’s the best soup joint in town.” As I open the door, a bell jingles to announce our arrival.
We sit at a dim-lit corner table. The interior is bohemia meets antique. To my surprise, the aroma of food makes my stomach growl. I guess my half-workout gave me an appetite.
“Hey, Mel.” A middle-aged man greets us, placing water and utensils on the table.
“Hi, Jim, how are you?”
“Doing okay. Where is my Ella?”
“She’s with Pop. She’ll be very upset to know I came here without her.”
“What can I get you two, honey?” He looks my way and offers a warm smile.
“What soups do you have today?” Mel asks.
For a moment, I wonder if this is a date. Add stupidity to the list of damages caused by drugs. Of course, this isn’t a date. The conclusion leaves me bereft.
I watch Mel as she listens to the choices of soups. Her eyes sparkle as if she is doing the most extraordinary thing. Her smile is so easy and alluring. She seems so free and careless. I pathetically stare at her, practically drooling. I’ve been doing that a lot lately.
“What are you having?” The waiter asks me. Shit, I have no recollection of what he just listed.
“Whatever she’s having,” I say. The man, Jim I think his name is, smirks. I bet he noticed my lovesick puppy-dog eyes.
“Two lentil soups and two tae tea with freshly minced mint, coming right up.” He turns to leave, but hesitates. He turns to me and says, “I wish my wife was here. She was a big fan of your music. A few years back, she wanted to go to one of your concerts. But I never took her.” He shakes his head. “Regrets…”
Before I can respond, Mel grabs his hand and squeezes it. “Oh, Jim, you made Lauren a very happy woman, there is no need for guilt or regrets.”
“Yeah, Mel, I like to think that too,” he says, before disappearing to place our orders.
“His wife died of cancer earlier this summer,” Mel says, her eyes glistening. “They had been together since college.”
Heart-struck grief replaces the earlier sparkle in her eyes. She looks so broken and sad. On an impulse, I raise my hand to her face and gently caress her soft skin. She becomes very still. I stroke my thumb under her eye and capture a solitary tear. I bring the teardrop to my lips and taste the salty flavor of pain.
“I’m sorry,” I say. I want to offer her comfort. I know her sadness is from the loss of her husband. It’s all over her frail face. I’m overwhelmed with a desire to wrap my arms around her.
“Why did you do that for?” she asks. There is no reproach on her voice, just confusion.
“Because I wanted to know the taste of pain.” I narrow my eyes. “I’ve spent my life at the edge of obliviousness, Mel. I don’t feel. I’m always numb.”
She gazes at me. We don’t exchange words, but there is a heady energy humming between us. I wonder if she can feel it because I damn sure feel that I can touch it.
Before I have the chance to say or do something stupid, Jim places a humongous bowl in front of me.
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