“Where are all the eggs?” he asked, his head buried in the fridge.
“What do you mean?” she replied.
“You know, the two large yellow and green Styrofoam cartons sitting on the top left shelf; the ones that held eighteen eggs each. Where did they go?” he responded.
She paused. “Oh, those eggs,” she murmured. “I gave them to our son when he picked up the oxygen tanks this morning.”
Silence blanketed the room for a hot minute. His brow furrowed as he stood up and inhaled deeply. “Babe, our son passed two and a half years ago.”
“Nonsense,” she said casually from the other room. “I happen to know that the young man who arrived here at 11 am was the same soul who delivered six high-efficiency portable oxygen tanks, one mega high efficiency ‘mother of all O2 tanks’ specifically designed for power outages, and one transport dolly eight weeks ago. He arrived with goodies for me, so I could stay alive after COVID attempted to do fuckery with my lungs and organs and such.”
She spoke as if in a trance. “You know, he might be our son.”
“He reads a lot and is a self-described nerd who recently moved back in with his parents to save money. Did you know this guy works crazy hours, like a doctor?” she asked proudly. “He’s frequently on call and makes late-night runs that often come in just as his shift ends. Sometimes, he even goes back out after he gets home. He takes all the calls no matter how tired or late the hour, delivering air to folks who are critically ill or dying.” Her husband caught the admiration in her voice as it trailed off.
“He worked in a factory, punching rivets and geedonks, before COVID. Did you know he especially adores his nursing home clients because they see him without prejudice or judgment? He said their chats are filled with wonder and to the point. Time is of the essence for these folks and he loves their honesty, focus, and humor.”
She paused and giggled before continuing. “He once drank a bottle of hot sauce 30 minutes before work, to see what might happen. It went as expected and he regretted the decision for most of his shift.”
“When he was a kid, his dad was given three months to live; some crazy cancer had invaded the family fortress. His old man, now a cancer survivor and a diabetic, is still alive and kicking. Talk about a miracle.”
“He is dog and cat sitting for friends this weekend. Apparently, there are five cats with cool, anagram-like names. He adores all of them. Oh, and COVID hunted him down twice. He escaped the first round without incident, but the virus permanently trashed his singing voice the second time he got sick. He still sings a lot, though mostly in the car. He hates that his singing voice is now raspy and scratchy. Since COVID, he cannot hit the high notes. He wouldn’t sing for me. I think it makes him sad because he looked away when telling me how much he misses singing in public. That must be hard.”
The room grew quiet.
“Anyway, at the end of the day,” she declared firmly, “it was a business transaction, a simple decision really. He was here to collect that which allowed me to breathe when I could not do so by myself. The least I could do was chit-chat with him and offer something in exchange for his hard work.”
“Eggs seemed like a logical trade for oxygen. You know, the circle of life, bound together by love. Food, Air, Life; it’s such a simple pattern.”
Her words trailed off again.
By now, her husband was standing at the edge of the living room, watching and listening intently.
She continued, confident in her assessment. “Honestly, this stranger seemed so familiar. I recognized his wrinkled T-shirt, slouchy jeans, and a dark hoodie. There was something about his crisp arm tats, twinkling, slightly introspective eyes, quirky humor, raggedy hair, and scruffy beard. His hot sauce story had me rolling on the floor in laughter. And, I especially liked his hippy hoppy happy steps as he waved goodbye when he left. He is a deep thinker, very observant, and awfully kind. His eyes had a gentle, genuine glow about them. It was hard to say goodbye.”
“Anyway, I’m certain this young man carries our son’s soul with him wherever he goes. He shared snippets of his life story with me. He makes a living by helping others. It’s our son. I felt it in my bones. I have no idea how our son’s soul got into this young man. I know it makes no logical sense; I just know it did.”
She paused again, sighing deeply. “Yes, I’m certain of it because, for a split second, I felt like everything was ok, whole again, like it was a few years back before it wasn’t.” She smiled a broken smile through her tears as her husband hugged her tight.
Food, Air, Life: Fitting symbols of love, gratitude, and loss. The circle of life lives in the eggs.
In am thrilled to hear how this story resonated with your experience. It’s the quick catch of the heart – that single instant palpitation – where all is well. Sometimes, I think our people come back like that, just to let us know love prevails inside our churn and abyss.
You are such a great storyteller, Merry Beth Austin
You know you narrated my own story. I lost my dear brother while in his forties due to brain cancer. One day I was in Egypt on a business trip. I was sitting in the lobby for a business partner to arrive at any minute. Suddenly, I glanced a man walking towards me and he looked like my late brother. His facial looks, his walking style and green eyes were almost identical to my brother’s.
I almost fainted and only realized that he was not my brother.
I relived my story while reading yours and I felt saying loudly “Food, Air, Life: Fitting symbols of love, gratitude, and loss. The circle of life lives in the eggs.”
Thoroughly enjoyed reading your story and wonderful images that you words carry. You are a visual writer.