Memories

Her eyes are a copy of his, green with yellow flecks. It’s eerie to look into your loved one’s eyes when you are talking to his child. Are you chastising the right person?

“Leave it alone, Marie. I’ve told you many times to not bother anything in this room.”

Those green eyes began to cloud over. Storm clouds. Soon the rain would begin to fall.

“But I just wanted to see. You never let me look.”

“Out, out you go.”

I lead her out of the room. We shut the door on the memories. I’m not ready to open the wounds. That time has not come yet.

Marie sat down outside the closed door. “I’m not moving, you can’t make me.”

“Fine. Sit here all day, all night. I don’t care.” I walked into the kitchen, busied myself with making the meal.

Eventually, our daughter wandered in.

“Are you hungry? I made soup.”

Marie sat, chin on her hands. “Dad liked your soup.”

“Yes, yes he did.” I make a good vegetable soup.

“Are you still mad at me?” Those eyes, entreating me.

“No I’m not mad. You just cannot go into the office, you know that. Some day. But not yet. I’ll let you know when.” I ladle soup into bowls.

We sit, two lost souls, eating soup. We remember the fun, the love. We miss him.


W/C 228