Tossing sautéed shrimp and scallion with garlic Alfredo, she spooned it onto angel hair pasta with garlic bread on the side. Diet be damned- every woman deserved a last supper and the high carbs would help sustain her through tomorrow’s inevitable crying jag. No Whine & No Wine! She thought it best to eliminate the alcohol tonight or she might fall to his knees and beg for everything she had refused him last night… Instead she served goblets of ice water with lemon wedges which seemed a fitting torment to her earlier foreboding, confirmed with his cell phone call to the airline. He had been very quiet in the guest room, busy wrapping packages, she supposed, while she cooked. Hell, he had nothing to pack. His khaki twills were in pristine condition, washed and pressed ready to go yesterday. Thankfully that soggy saltwater-ruined chocolate polo shirt had been left in the car trunk, like a moist turd hidden in the corner over by the car jack. She smiled with vicious appreciation as she reflected on the great location for “jack-sh*t.” All of his worldly gifts and goods could be carried in the $4.99 nylon tote he picked up in Chinatown this afternoon. The Chinese lunch they had shared had been erotic- watching his tongue swirl around the chopsticks and lick up rice particles like a hockey arena Zamboni. He had tucked away his own fortune cookie, claiming not to put much stock in that nonsense; yet had viewed the lemon-scented finger tip bowl as a radioactive bird bath threatening species sterility.
After a late, quiet dinner, she had excused herself to her room and sat on the bed watching the flicker of the lit hurricane lamp sitting on the steamer trunk in front of the bay bedroom window. Her sadness was palpable. When he knocked and requested entrance he sat down next to her with reservation, his own reflections were pensive and his rhyme revealing.
“Oh dear lady, seductive bait- you please, you tempt, you fascinate… Time's run out- for us to wait. There are no eggs, there is no ham. There’s just your Adams, and you sweet Sam. This feeling between us, so hard to ignore… We both need the closeness of being cared for.” She could do nothing to stop the overdue embrace of day, all that it entailed and all that it invited.
A misted bay breeze tendril crept through the open window; it glanced at the love knot fashioned tightly between the two on the bed, but aimed for the vulnerable flame of the hurricane lamp. It circled, it snuffed and rejoiced at the smoky remains, while the love knot relaxed and reformed, oblivious to the darkness- alive in its own subdued light.
She awoke with certainty that he was no longer there. His side of the bed was cool and her instincts led her toward the dining room table, of all things. Two plates resided side by side, his dirtied with yellow smears and a snippet of pork rind. Hers was laden with two cold sunny-up eggs; yolks concealed by chopped green cilantro, flanked by two circles of Canadian bacon congealing in grease. A Christmas wrapped package completed the picture and an envelope rested against an unopened bottle of Samuel Adams lager. Her name was imprinted on the envelope and she opened the single sheet of ivory vellum:
My Dearest Sam- This breakfast will be a half a step away from the grave when you finally sit down to eat it. I had great opportunity to truly enjoy my own green eggs and ham and much of this joy I owe to you and the relationship we have shared in the past month. Open the package now and let me explain…she lifted the box lid and revealed the items. The rental car keys were in the box lying next to her missing credit card. The steward dropped your belongings in the seat when you were getting cleaned up. The opportunity invited and I could not let you go without having the chance to tell you that vodka and erotica were yours forever in my mind. I did not stay on my own flight plan, letting my baggage head south to LA without me, but I took a chance and for once was rewarded. My guilty regret at credit card theft was wiped away at your willingness to extend the compassion and caring I had come to expect from you. Christmas wrapping disguised a familiar orange book with a special message drafted in the same ivory stationary:
I would eat them on The Rock, those chartreuse eggs with green ham hock. I’d share them with the harbor seal; enjoy each bite of our shared meal. I’d eat them on Presidio Ridge, high above the red-gold bridge. I’d eat them in the dark Muir trees, surrounded by your birds & bees. I’d eat them on the wharves and pier and draw you close to have you near. I’d eat them on a cable car and wonder how I’d come so far. I’d eat them every day and hour, high atop the tall Coit Tower. Russian, Rincon, elite Nob hills- the flavors heighten, a dream fulfills I’d eat them down in Chinatown as Lombard Street curves, sloping down. I’d eat them out at Ocean View or any time of day with you. It’s been a journey Sam, you-see to safely choose love life for me. Cursed soundly when I misbehave, reawakened by a lemon shave. Your soft sweet smile it called to me, transported sensuality. I needed your green eggs and ham, I thank you, love you- Sam-I-am…[/b]
Latching his buckle against flight turbulence and preparing to land, he wondered if she was even up yet and had read his message to her. Rare happenings were not standard fare in his life and she had been exceptional. The last item in her package had been a carved teakwood fortune cookie with his personal card tucked in the hollowed crevice. He questioned if she understood the significance of his three embossed initials and the private cell number that few persons knew. He deplaned with the other passengers and while he looked for his older brother who was picking him up, an airline greeter presented him with a surprising gift basket of stacked lemons. The familiar Pavlovian reaction was as welcome as the-not-so-random thought that snared his attention as his cell phone rang… Opportunity knocks, go seek your destiny...[/b]
For THE WILSONS board use only.
Last Edit: Mar 26, 2005 20:54:48 GMT -5 by hurltomato
This part made me laugh! "Thankfully that soggy saltwater-ruined chocolate polo shirt had been left in the car trunk, like a moist turd hidden in the corner over by the car jack. She smiled with vicious appreciation as she reflected on the great location for “jack-sh*t.""
And let me just say...... WOW. I am speechless. This story was so great. Thanks so much for writing this HT.