Behind Blue Eyes

I thought that when I quit pathology, life would be normal. My wife and I could finally be happy. Of course I was wrong.

“Dammit, Morgan, why can’t you just be with me? You don’t have to work any more. Be happy, with your family,” Madeline argued.

“You know I’m happy with you, Maddy. I couldn’t be happy with anyone else. But even you know I’ve always wanted to be a chef. I love food, obviously,” I said, trying to lighten the mood, chuckling at my slight gut. “But that never distracts me from you. You’re the muse of everything I do. Never forget that. And don’t forget we agreed to go into this, together.”

“Together, my ass. You spend more time down at that rat-hole restaurant than you do here. You loved me during pathology just so you wouldn’t go completely dissociative. Now that’s over and you can marry yourself to your cooking. I’ll be back later.”

And with her last word said, Madeline stormed from the house, slamming the door with a force that shook the shelves nearby. I stood there, stunned.

What went wrong? I should’ve been here more, but we talked about this. We knew it would take a lot of my time to get that place running again. I stood, stunned, wondering when my only real love would return.

I did the thing that calmed me: cook. I grabbed some vegetables from the crisper, and a good roast to make some beef stew. It was her favorite, spiced with fresh herbs and just a dash of cinnamon. No one ever guessed that last ingredient, except for my Madeline. She loved the strange flavors, that shouldn’t work together but do, kinda like the two of us. After getting that on to cook, I started on a loaf of good wheaten bread to go with the stew, in my attempt to make an apology meal for the chill fall night.

A meal was ready, a wine was chosen, and she hadn’t yet returned. I began to wonder if she was alright, but also knew she was tougher than she looked. I relaxed a little, but still wondered what had made her so angry. But all my life I had been too hard on those around me… I guess not even she could repair me that well. Of course, I was always hardest on myself. I'm not sure I'd be here today if it weren't for her...

“Hey honey, I'm sorry I stormed out,” she called, as she came back through the front door. The door shut behind her, and she wandered into the kitchen, led by her cute little nose. “Oh... I didn't think I was gone long enough for you to make a meal like this... All I did was walk around the mall to calm down.”

“You'd be amazed what a depressed cook can do when trying to distract himself. Come on, I'll grab you a bowl of stew.” I ladled some of the broth and vegetables into a bowl before picking out some of the choicest cuts of meat for her, while she sliced and buttered some of the brown bread for the two of us.

“So... you mind explaining why you got so pissed off earlier?” I decided to ask.

Madeline paused, and stared down at her stew. She fidgeted with her spoon before responding.

“You know... I shouldn't have. I mean, yeah, I want you to be here with me more. But you were right, we agreed on this. It's been your dream to have a restaurant and this place... fits you. I... I dunno,” she blurted through. “It's like I want you to live your dreams, but not if they take time away from me. Just a little green-eyed monster, I guess.”

Morgan put on his best angry and disappointed face, hoping to have a little fun.

“Morgan... quit the fake face. You're not gonna make me feel even worse about this. You're such an ass,” she said amidst a smile. “Why the hell did I come back?”

“For this.” I walked over to the woman of my dreams, picked her up from her chair, and kissed her. My arms holding her close, my nose breathing in her scent. It was a wonderful feeling. We relaxed and returned to our seats before she responded.

“No, I'm fairly sure it was for the cooking. I can barely boil water, much less make homemade beef stew.”

“And you call me an ass,” Morgan quipped. “Just eat your damn dinner.”

The evening passed with joy, with the sharing of laughs and a great deal of wine. All tension and anger left had long been dissolved and washed away, leaving behind the happy couple that had met all those years ago, in their first year of college. Morgan and Madeline hadn't been this happy together for quite some time now. The pathology made a cynical man nearly impossible to live with, but she grounded him, kept him down to earth. And allowed him to live his dream of being a chef.



The next morning Morgan woke his lovely wife with a soft kiss on the brow, wondering how he had ever attracted such an amazing woman. Intelligent, patient, interesting, and, shall we say, flexible and we'll say no more. She barely roused from her slumber, but managed to whisper, “I love you.” And he felt more emotion in that whisper than he had heard from, or than he had said to, her in a long time. He laid there next to her, holding the only woman he loved as close as possible. After a long silence, he whispered back, “You mean more to me than life.”

“Yeah, I know. If you actually enjoyed life, you wouldn't be a pathologist.”

“True... humanity was given such a great gift, and we just squander all of it. People should get what they deserve, but they rarely do.”

“Time to go help the few that what they deserve. Aren't you due at the restaurant soon?”

Morgan squinted at the clock for a minute. “Damn! I shoulda been there already! I hope Johnboy was on time.”

He rushed to get dressed and was out the door in under ten minutes. Record time, for him.

“Such a goofy man,” Madeline said to the now-empty space next to her. “But he's my goof. And I wouldn't have it any other way.”



When Morgan finally got to the Rat's Nest, he was happy to see the lights were on, and Johnboy had already fired up some ovens and started the bread. The smell of the baking wheat loaves filled the restaurant.

“Well, well, bossman finally rolls in,” Johnboy hollered. “What kept you?”

“None of your business, Johnnie. Everything going well? I'll get the smoker running on some briskets.”

They worked mostly in silence, prepping the restaurant for the opening hour. This place wouldn't be possible without Johnboy. The meats were spiced, the vegetables were chopped, and several soups were slowly simmering to be ready for dinner. When we were about done, we heard the door open, and slam back closed.

“It's just me, boy-os! Don't come out shootin' or nothin' crazy-like,” Arthur, the barkeep, shouted. The old man came in early to make sure everything was stocked the way he liked it, and to clean up around the bar a little. 

“We'd never shoot you, Arthur. Unless you started it, of course,” I shouted back. Turning back to John, I asked, “We got everything covered for dinner?”

“Looks that way. Go see if Art needs anything.”

I left my wonderful kitchen and walked up the old, dark-paneled hallway to the main part of the restaurant. I could see the top of Arthur's grey head over the bar, must be  bent down to look for something. As I got closer, though, I thought I heard him chuckling.

“Sucka! Gonna shoot me now?” the old man laughed out while spraying me with the soda water gun.

“You old jerk! I oughta can you now,” I chuckled, ducking from the spray to punch him in the arm. It's good to know you can have fun even when you're old, if you don't let the world beat you down.

“This place wouldn't last a minute without me. I give the place a certain... atmosphere.”

“Yeah, that's from all the cabbage you eat. The customers complain about your 'atmosphere.' Anything you need?”

“Doesn't look that way, nope. They've been getting the shipments in on time now.”

“That's good. John's in the back, and I think we got everything prepped for dinner, so he should be able to handle it till Janie gets in to serve. I'll head out a while, maybe look for something different to do for desserts this weekend. See ya later, man.”



Morgan took off down the road his '65 Mustang, and headed straight for the farmer's market. They wouldn't have much local this time of year, but the stores would have some great fall apples, and the best wines and cheeses anywhere. And maybe he could pick up a little something for Madeline.

The market didn't have much, just like he expected. Morgan picked up a bushel of Honeycrisp apples for some little desserts, and a couple bottles of blackberry wine to experiment a couple recipes with. And for Madeline, he got a beautiful hand-stitched quilt, depicting scenes of American history. It was just the sort of thing she'd love, and would be perfect for her to curl up in to read on the porch, like she always does.

Morgan dropped the apples and wine at the restaurant, and hurried home to surprise Madeline. And guess where she was? Sitting on their porch, rereading “Brave New World” by Aldous Huxley. He snuck up from the side of the house and threw the quilt over her head. She came out of the rocking chair like a rocket, swinging her arms to get the blanket off. She succeeded, after a time, and turned those swinging arms at me.

“Get back here, you big oaf! What the hell was that for? What did I do to you?”

She connected a few hits, but nothing too hard. Once she had calmed down, I picked up the the quilt to show her, and apologized for being away so much. She dropped the book, and stood there.

“It's beautiful... I looked at this quilt just a week ago and loved it. How'd you know?”

“Just one of my many talents. I thought you'd like something to cover up with to read out here when it's cool.”

Morgan took Madeline into his arms, and kissed her. She said, “I forgive you,” and then continued the kiss. They sat in the rocker to watch the sun start to go down, before they headed to the restaurant to see how dinner was starting.



The knock came in the early afternoon. (More to come here soon! Unfinished idea. A few days pass between here, and the next section)



The night air was crisp, and the leaves rolled down the street, catching a ride on the light breeze. The moon hid itself behind a veil of clouds, but the antique gaslights were just enough to make your way where you were going without getting lost. This particular evening, one lone man was out at the late hour, bundled in a long coat and wide hat, with a mission in mind.

I arrived at an old alleyway, containing lots of scattered trash, a few broken bottles, and a lone door lit from above by a bare bulb. Three sharp knocks, and the door opens an inch.

“Who’s thar?”

A marred hazel eye, attached to a scarred face, peered through the opening at the lone man standing there.

“Morgan! I heard that you’d be back. We’ve missed you, and we’re sorry for your loss.”

“No worries, Sam. I’m just hoping a little of the old poitin might help me forget.”

The snick-snack of a chain being removed and the door swung open for me, inviting me into the inner sanctum of this place.

I took the first step into the old bar for the first time in a long time, and the haze of tobacco was still there, as were the creaky floorboards and the dark-varnished tables, worn smooth by years of use. And behind the century-old register stood the barkeep, Arthur. Same grey ponytail, with the same gruff exterior of every bartender at every ancient dive like this.

“Good to have you back, Morgan. The same old?”

“You know what I like.”

Arthur pulled a draft stout while I took a stool near his station, and waited for the head to settle. I gazed around the room, seeing a few familiar faces, but the bar was mostly empty on a night like this. It felt good to be back here, and away from home. Hell, it wasn’t home anymore, even.

“Here’s to peace, kiddo,” Arthur gestured towards the tall pint.

“The life-giving elixir, right, old man?” I chuckled.

The first sip. Now that felt like home. There was no stout like whatever this was that Arthur served. Delicious.

“Anyways, have you heard any news? Anything I’d find interesting?”

Arthur paused, and his usually grumpy expression softened, and he looked genuinely sad. “I hear a lot of things, boy. And I might’ve heard something of interest to you. But are you sure this is what you want to do?”

Morgan stared at the pint, wondering how to answer. Of course it was what I wanted to do, had to do. But was it what I should do? I mean, if I succeed at revenge, everyone I used to work with would be after me, and they'd know exactly who it was.