Empty
Nest
By Johnelle Warren, 2004.
“Oh Ginger! No eating my breakfast, you naughty kitty!”
She sweeps the golden tabby away from the
fried eggs on her favorite old chipped plate, and drops it gently
to the floor.
“You’re a sneaky one, you are.
Just like little Peter, you are! Here, here- stop complaining! I’ll
get you your own egg.”
The cat meows, and dances excitedly all around
her sore, lavender-slippered feet, as she slowly shuffles towards
the refrigerator.
“Did I ever tell you about Peter? Oh,
he was a handful, that one! Always getting into everything, he was!
But he had a heart of gold. Don’t let anyone tell you differently!
He did! That’s why I never believed them.”
She takes an egg out of her icebox with a
wrinkled, arthritic hand, carefully closes the door, and slowly heads
in the direction of her cupboard.
“Yes, the war changed him some. He was
never quite the same after that. But it was all that woman’s
fault! It was. That harlot! But everyone else believed her. So that’s
why Peter left. I really don’t blame him, I’d have left
too, if people believed that kind of thing of me.”
Reaching with a bony arm, all dark spots and
lines of blue, she takes down a small bowl. She cracks the egg into
the bowl and sets the broken bits of eggshell on the counter.
“Started a business down in Mexico,
he did. ‘Course, I never expected him to pay us back that money,
you know. They’re probably still reading all my mail, just in
case he ever writes.”
Holding the counter with one hand, she lowers
the bowl to the ground in front of the mewling cat. She scratches
it behind the ear as the cat begins greedily lapping up the raw egg.
Groaning, she slowly straightens up (as much as possible with her
time-hunched back.) One strand of her thin white hair has fallen free
of her night-time curlers, so she tucks it carefully back into place.
She looks back down at her cat, which has already finished the egg
and is looking up at her expectantly.
“Why you! Never satisfied, are you?”
She shakes her head. “Just like Martin
you are!”
She takes a deep breath and once again shuffles
towards the refrigerator.
“Ah Martin. Now there’s a really
good boy. Perfect little angel, he was! And he’s grown into
a fine man now. Works too hard though.”
Grasping another egg, she starts yet again
towards the bowl.
“Did I show you, Ginger? Did I? I got
a letter from him! Head of his corporation, he is now! Maybe now he’ll
come visit, once he settles in! Works too hard, Martin does.”
Crouching down in slow motion, balancing herself
with the counter, she cracks another egg into the bowl.
“And his littlest one is off to college
now! Can you believe it? Little Jenny, in college! My, how time flies!”
She stands up and retrieves the eggshells
from the counter, and begins hobbling to the garbage can.
“Seems like just yesterday little Jenny
was just starting grade school! Aw, she was a cute one, she was! All
smiles and bouncy ringlets! Looked just like my poor little Beth,
she did.”
She dumps the broken eggshells into the garbage
can under the sink, and wipes her hands on the side of her soft violet
nightdress. She walks slowly back to the table, and sinks into her
chair with relief.
“Beth, oh my poor little precious Beth!”
She takes a deep breath.
“That flu was a bad one, it was. We
were all sick, we were. And God bless her soul, she didn’t make
it. Broke my heart, it did.”
She sniffs, removes her thick glasses, wipes
tears from the corners of her eyes, and puts her glasses back on.
Hands shaking, she takes a small sip of her orange juice, almost spilling
the glass while setting it down.
“Oh Ginger. Ginger, Ginger. I think
it broke John’s heart even more than mine, though. She was daddy’s
little girl, she was.”
She picks up her fork and knife, and begins
cutting her eggs into bite-sized pieces.
“Sometimes I think John was the lucky
one, forgetting all that near the end. Sometimes I do. But he forgot
all the good times too, he did. And we sure had some good times! Me
and John. We sure did!”
She pushes the bites of egg absently around
on her plate.
“So, Ginger, I guess I’m the lucky
one. ‘Cause I remember it all, I sure do.”
A rare, wide smile graces her wrinkled, leathery
face as she sits at her table, nibbling on her eggs.
©
Johnelle Warren 2005.
Back
to Stories, Articles & Essays
