He stood at the window of the little white house, nestled among the live oaks. Spanish moss swung gently in the breeze. His old rough calloused hand shook as it brought the steaming mug of coffee to his mouth.
The old chair at the table creaked, like a sigh, and the newspaper crumpled as she refolded it. “Well. Do ya just want toast today or shall I make some eggs too?” she asked laying the paper on the Formica table top, folding and setting her reading glasses on top.
He had been watching his granddaughter out the window. She was a lovely, sunny girl and looked like her mother had at that age. “Hmm? Yeah, I’ll have some eggs. Thanks.”
The old grayed woman in the plain faded pale blue dress rose from the table, crossed the cramped kitchen, and took the egg carton from the refrigerator. Seconds later, it’s compressor wheezed back to life and the antique light over the table dimmed slightly, perceptibly.
“What do ya think she thinks about when she’s out there on the dock every morning?” he asked.
“Have ya asked her?” she replied.
He slurped on his coffee mug again. It was just another morning, the sun rising up out of the sea, painting the horizon oranges and yellows. The dark storm clouds were blowing inland. He watched the girl as she watched the clouds. “No,” was all he said.
She cracked two eggs into a skillet, turned on the stove, and he heard them start to sizzle and pop. The kitchen filled with the smell of cooking eggs. He drank his coffee slowly, steadily watching the scene in the yard through the window. A scene faintly echoing the timelessness of the sea’s own rhythms.
When the eggs were done, she scraped them onto a plate and placed it on the worn avocado table. “Ya gonna eat, Poppy?”
The spell was broken then. He refilled his coffee cup from the small pot next to the sink and came and sat at the table. After pouring ketchup on his eggs, he looked at her and answered softly, “Beautiful things.”
His wife looked over the top of her reading glasses and the newspaper, smiled and nodded her head. “That’s right. Now, ya eat dem eggs.”
Copyright © 2014 Eric Schweitz