The Story of a Soup Recipe

Lincoln woke up to the beeping on his alarm clock. The unforgiving red LED lights blinking the time reminding him that he had to get up. He stumbled into the kitchen and put in an English muffin as he looked at the new recipes he had finished yesterday. The new potatoes soup was his best yet he though proudly as he stared at the dried herbs hanging from what was supposed to be a rack for wet clothes. He stared slowly at his apartment. It wasn’t in the greatest shape he knew, and his roommate Shane reminded him almost daily that knowing all the components of miracle grow was not the greatest way to get a girl but hey he tried.

His English muffin popped up and he put some of his own butter with some diced chives and a bit of sea salt on it. As he munched he poured some no pulp orange juice and read the next chapter of his new favorite book. As he checked the time he was startled into the realization that it was time for school. He cursed a he put on a relatively clean shirt and ran a wet comb through his crazy brown hair. He grabbed his recipes and his binder and rushed out the door. He was running down the hallway when he ran straight into some girl searching through her messenger bag. His recipes went flying and whatever was in her hands was combined.

“Sorry,” he muttered picking up his stuff off the floor.

“Apologies are only for the dense who know not the full meaning of their wrong doing, or the arrogant, who do realize the capacity of their ability to bring misfortune on others and simply feel that they are excused from such things like taking responsibility of their actions and just apologizing. I don’t find you stupid so you must be the latter.” Angela said disgruntled as she picked up her mathematics homework and the beginning of her final manuscript for her latest story.

“Well then I retract my apology with the sincerest farewell to such an eloquent girl like yourself.” He said as he mock bowed and jogged off.

“Jerk,” Angela muttered as she went off to work. She worked at an old town bookstore called Booker and Jenkins, it was started in 1934 and had been passed down father to son mother to daughter ever since.

“Anggie! Good to see one young person getting up when they’re supposed to!” Jenny
Booker said glaring upstairs.

“Jonah still not up?” Angela said grinning upstairs at the flat where Jenny Booker and Jameson Jenkins lived along with their son Jonah.

“I swear that boy is gonna be writ out of my will if he doesn’t come down this instant!” Angela laughed as she walked up the stairs to Jonah’s bed room. There he was sleeping soundly on his bed. Death metal band posters plastered to his walls and clothes scatter around the room. Jonah was tied in a terrific knot that had his tied several times in his sheats.

Angela sighed as she and gave Jonah a smart smack on the side of his head. He started awake and stared slowly at Angela who sat him right side up. “What attacked you this time?” She asked concealing a smile as he shook his head like a dog that had just gotten out of a pond.

“Spiders, everywhere,” He said groggily and Angela stifeled a laugh. “I’m getting up tell mom that I choose her nursing home so she should be nice to me.” Jonah said sleepily as he walked over to his dresser and started flinging shirts around.

“He’s coming and he’s very sorry for being late,” Angela said to Jenny as she grabbed the basket of books that needed to be priced and needed to be put in the stacks.

“Liar,” Jenny said rolling her eyes at Angela who grinned and started to price the books. When she was done she set them in a stack to be put up and opened her messenger bag to look at her manuscript again. But it wasn’t there, only the last five pages. She had her notebooks and soup recipes? She looked at the recipes and then remembered her crash with the boy in her apartment building. She would have to see him again, but after her shift and after school, she wanted to try the recipe.