I had never made biscuits and gravy before. The blessings of having a good cook as a Mom were abundant, but alas, I never did learn the many techniques that wonder woman possessed. My repertoire included: peanut butter cookies, a deliciously heated can of Pork n Beans, and Rice Krispie treats that were always too crunchy. But, Joseph wanted biscuits and gravy, so that is what Joseph got.
His sister told me the recipe over the phone. Joseph had called her up long distance and gruffly demanded that she rattle off the legendary gravy recipe that their mother used to serve. She did so, and I obediently jotted down every word. The directions seemed simple enough, and I felt confidant that Joseph would enjoy my gravy. So thoroughly, in fact, that he would be instantly taken back to the carefree days of his youth. I enthusiastically announced that he better prepare his stomach for a scrumptious, hot off the grill meal the following day. He laughed, and said that I couldn't even make a bowl of cereal right. I laughed too, remembering back to the time when I spaced out and poured orange juice over his shredded wheat.
At the crack of dawn the next morning, I crawled out of bed, brushed my teeth, and drowsily drove to 101 Bayfield Court in my plaid boxers and Watsa Matta U? sweatshirt. The antique yet picturesque fifties neighborhood home welcomed my tired body once again. My second home I called it. The door was always open, and the air always chilly inside. The first thing I saw, like every morning, was a long clear air tube sprawled out on the white linoleum tiles, leading to where the kitchen table was around the corner. My heart filled with complete joy when I heard the tubes crisp crack as i...
... middle of paper ...
...ca to return to him at once. I almost said something, but I couldn't. Grabbing the purse at my feet, I stood up, and walked out of the room.
I still think of Rebecca and Joseph daily. I wonder how Joseph's heath is going, and I wonder if maybe he isn't even here anymore. I think about Rebecca, and hope Nancy knows that a cup of cranberry juice can always lure her back home. I remember the time Rebecca, in a moment of clarity, told me about how she met Joseph. It was on his weekend leave during WWII, and at a night bar in San Diego. I imagine a swinging forties band playing in the background, and Rebecca, young and beautiful, casually sipping a drink at a table. I can see Joseph, handsome in his navy uniform, approach Rebecca. I see them meet, dance, and fall in love all in one night. Vibrant with youthfulness, strong in stature, and a glow in both of their eyes.
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