Fortuitous
Chicken Soup
He would kill me if he saw me like that.
I wasn't supposed to go through the things without permission.
But he did ask me to find something to eat.
And I had to look around for food, didn't I?
That counted as permission, didn't it?
Where were the celery sticks?
What kind of family didn't have celery sticks in their refrigerator?
I mean, it was kind of necessary for chicken soup.
He always got sick.
It was more often than not that he was sick.
Whether it was allergies, a cold, or the flu.
It always got really bad with him.
And chicken soup was the only thing that got him feeling better.
So when my darling asked me for something to eat, I decided to surprise him.
The only thing the soup needed was the celery sticks to boil in for 10 minutes.
But how was I supposed to finish the soup if there were no celery sticks?
I always did over think things.
One could only imagine my relief when I finally found them.
They were in the cheese drawer, of all places.
It was relief that made me sigh happily and drop my shoulders.
I had to lick my dry lips as I cut them into dices to keep them from cracking.
My eyes kept on glancing to the clock.
How long had he been asleep?
If the soup wasn't ready by the time he woke up, well…
Any person who wasn't stupid could answer that.
My nails grew shorter and shorter as I bit them while I watched the boiling soup.
Why does it take so long just to make chicken soup?
Why does it take so long just for celery to soften up?
It only took five minutes for me to lose my patience.
That might have been a new record for me.
That was the longest I had ever waited.
I might have waited longer if it wasn't for the sound of restlessness upstairs.
I froze with my thumb nail in my mouth as I turned to look up at the ceiling.
He was waking up.
He always made a lot of noise when he was barely starting to open his eyes.
He tossed and turned in his bed, trying to make himself sleep again.
Sometimes he would make things fall off the desk that was next to his bed.
He was waking up.
That meant I had two minutes to get everything ready.
I had to rush myself to pour cold water into a small glass.
I had to pour the soup into his favorite green bowl with dark green swirls painted inside.
I had to put the glass, bowl, spoon, and a napkin on a tray.
I had to carry the tray upstairs.
A sound of pain escaped me as I accidentally touched the steaming pot.
My face scrunched up in agony as I shook my hand.
I let out a deep breath before I grabbed the tray and cautiously made my way to his room.
It was always the stairs that got me.
I was never a coordinated person.
Air and my own two feet were my worst enemies, let alone stairs.
Every time I made myself get up them without falling was a miracle.
I had a miracle that day.
I pushed the door to his room open with my right shoulder.
My eyes made their way to his agitated form.
I bit my dry bottom lip before I made my way inside.
I set the tray on his desk before I sat down on the mattress beside him.
My small, tan hand was placed on his shoulder.
Immediately, his gray eyes opened and his pale hand gripped my wrist.
I smiled down at him once he realized that it was only me.
"Hey, sweetie. You feel better?"
"I feel like crap."
His voice was nasally and hoarse.
He had gotten worse.
"How's your breathing?"
"Can't smell anything. Could barely sleep since I couldn't breathe."
"Oh, my poor baby. I made you something while you did sleep."
"Oh yeah? What?"
I kissed his cold hand before I stood up and pointed towards his desk.
The wait and the pain on my hand were worth seeing his smile.
His thin arms pushed himself up into the sitting position.
I pushed his blanket back off his shoulders and folded it on his lap.
I picked up the tray and placed it on his lap before I kissed his warm forehead.
He grabbed the spoon and started to eat.
He sniffed loudly before smiling up at me.
"I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Probably die," I laughed.
He gave me a look before rolling his eyes.
He ate another spoonful.
He licked his lips before he set the spoon down and looked up at me.
He played with pale hands before patting the spot next to him.
I cautiously sat down and he twitched his shoulder.
I placed my head on his shoulder and grabbed his hand.
"Probably would, too. You make chicken soup exactly like my mom did."
He loved his mom.
She took care of him.
She made him chicken soup every week.
She made him his favorite bowl.
His dad beat his mom.
His mom left them both behind.
He loved his mom.
He missed her.
She died.
She was in a car accident.
She was on her way to come visit.
It was her first visit in a year.
He was excited to see her.
And then it happened.
He loved his mom.
"Well…you deserve something nice."
"I don't deserve you."
He kissed the side of my head.
His lips moved against my hair.
"You deserve everything, sunshine."
"Love you, darling."
"Love you, sugar."
I wasn't supposed to go through the things without permission.
But he did ask me to find something to eat.
And I had to look around for food, didn't I?
That counted as permission, didn't it?
Where were the celery sticks?
What kind of family didn't have celery sticks in their refrigerator?
I mean, it was kind of necessary for chicken soup.
He always got sick.
It was more often than not that he was sick.
Whether it was allergies, a cold, or the flu.
It always got really bad with him.
And chicken soup was the only thing that got him feeling better.
So when my darling asked me for something to eat, I decided to surprise him.
The only thing the soup needed was the celery sticks to boil in for 10 minutes.
But how was I supposed to finish the soup if there were no celery sticks?
I always did over think things.
One could only imagine my relief when I finally found them.
They were in the cheese drawer, of all places.
It was relief that made me sigh happily and drop my shoulders.
I had to lick my dry lips as I cut them into dices to keep them from cracking.
My eyes kept on glancing to the clock.
How long had he been asleep?
If the soup wasn't ready by the time he woke up, well…
Any person who wasn't stupid could answer that.
My nails grew shorter and shorter as I bit them while I watched the boiling soup.
Why does it take so long just to make chicken soup?
Why does it take so long just for celery to soften up?
It only took five minutes for me to lose my patience.
That might have been a new record for me.
That was the longest I had ever waited.
I might have waited longer if it wasn't for the sound of restlessness upstairs.
I froze with my thumb nail in my mouth as I turned to look up at the ceiling.
He was waking up.
He always made a lot of noise when he was barely starting to open his eyes.
He tossed and turned in his bed, trying to make himself sleep again.
Sometimes he would make things fall off the desk that was next to his bed.
He was waking up.
That meant I had two minutes to get everything ready.
I had to rush myself to pour cold water into a small glass.
I had to pour the soup into his favorite green bowl with dark green swirls painted inside.
I had to put the glass, bowl, spoon, and a napkin on a tray.
I had to carry the tray upstairs.
A sound of pain escaped me as I accidentally touched the steaming pot.
My face scrunched up in agony as I shook my hand.
I let out a deep breath before I grabbed the tray and cautiously made my way to his room.
It was always the stairs that got me.
I was never a coordinated person.
Air and my own two feet were my worst enemies, let alone stairs.
Every time I made myself get up them without falling was a miracle.
I had a miracle that day.
I pushed the door to his room open with my right shoulder.
My eyes made their way to his agitated form.
I bit my dry bottom lip before I made my way inside.
I set the tray on his desk before I sat down on the mattress beside him.
My small, tan hand was placed on his shoulder.
Immediately, his gray eyes opened and his pale hand gripped my wrist.
I smiled down at him once he realized that it was only me.
"Hey, sweetie. You feel better?"
"I feel like crap."
His voice was nasally and hoarse.
He had gotten worse.
"How's your breathing?"
"Can't smell anything. Could barely sleep since I couldn't breathe."
"Oh, my poor baby. I made you something while you did sleep."
"Oh yeah? What?"
I kissed his cold hand before I stood up and pointed towards his desk.
The wait and the pain on my hand were worth seeing his smile.
His thin arms pushed himself up into the sitting position.
I pushed his blanket back off his shoulders and folded it on his lap.
I picked up the tray and placed it on his lap before I kissed his warm forehead.
He grabbed the spoon and started to eat.
He sniffed loudly before smiling up at me.
"I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Probably die," I laughed.
He gave me a look before rolling his eyes.
He ate another spoonful.
He licked his lips before he set the spoon down and looked up at me.
He played with pale hands before patting the spot next to him.
I cautiously sat down and he twitched his shoulder.
I placed my head on his shoulder and grabbed his hand.
"Probably would, too. You make chicken soup exactly like my mom did."
He loved his mom.
She took care of him.
She made him chicken soup every week.
She made him his favorite bowl.
His dad beat his mom.
His mom left them both behind.
He loved his mom.
He missed her.
She died.
She was in a car accident.
She was on her way to come visit.
It was her first visit in a year.
He was excited to see her.
And then it happened.
He loved his mom.
"Well…you deserve something nice."
"I don't deserve you."
He kissed the side of my head.
His lips moved against my hair.
"You deserve everything, sunshine."
"Love you, darling."
"Love you, sugar."