Part 1: "Jeremy"
A little black book sat next to the old-fashioned, turn-style telephone in Robert’s kitchen. He never knew when someone would call looking for someone else he knew, someone else that he was. Every time that phone rang, Robert would slowly stagger towards it, with out any sense of urgency, not caring if the call went to his answering machine or not. Sometimes, he even hoped it would. Today, he made it to the phone.
“Hello?” He answered.
“Yes, hi. I’m looking for a Jeremy? Is he in?” The woman asked.
“This is him.” Robert fumbled through the little black book until he got to a page that said “Jeremy Ribben” on top.
“Oh, Jeremy! It’s Wendy, from the coffee house in Columbus a while back. I had a thought about you yesterday and decided to call and see how you were doing.” She seemed so excited to be talking to him, like he was an old friend.
While she had been talking, Robert was skimming through his notes on the page, remembering what they had talked about that day, remembering who he was.
~ ~ ~
A Bell rang as Robert opened the door. The fresh aroma of coffee beans surrounded him. He smirked and took a seat at the counter. The waitress, an older, shorter, very Italian woman asked what she could get him to drink. She came back with a white porcelain mug of black coffee.
“Do you take cream or sugar?” She asked.
“One of each, please.”
As he sipped his coffee, he brought out a small black book. He flipped to the next blank page, wrote “Jeremy Ribben” on the top, and then closed it. About 20 minutes passed, Robert was into his second cup of coffee, when a woman sat down next to him on the right at the counter. She was very well dressed. Black heels, black tights, black skirt, and a white blouse. Cherry red lipstick under a thin nose, under beautiful brown eyes. Her hair was cut very short, almost boyish, but fitting. It was parted to the right side so Robert had a full view of her face.
When she smiled, the dimples created pushed her cheeks up. She was very cute, but with that smile came uncertainty. Robert couldn’t tell if it was real. She seemed to be forcing it, like her lips were pushing up a weight on her cheeks to show some happiness. She ordered a coffee, black, and a water.
“I have some extra cream and sugar if you’d care for some,” Robert said to her.
“Oh, thank you, but I’m alright.” She sounded bothered.
“Coming from work?” Robert asked.
“Yes, actually. Busy day,” she answered. She was short. Not in height, she was about Robert’s height, but in her answers.
“Well you still look quite beautiful after a long day.”
Robert turned back towards his coffee sup and took a sip. She smiled. It was a different smile. This time, her eyes closed slightly and she put her head down, hiding a bit of blushing.
“Thank you sir, I’m flattered.”
“My name is Jeremy. Jeremy Ribben.”
“Wendy. Wendy Abell.”
They shook hands and continued talking about Wendy’s job, Wendy’s home, Wendy’s family, and when Wendy wanted to talk about Jeremy, Robert quickly changed the subject back to her.
Almost an hour went by, and neither of them had an interest in putting their conversation on hold.
“So, you don’t live in Columbus? What brings you here?” Wendy asked, trying pretty desperately to not talk about herself anymore.
“My mother,” Robert said.
“She lives here?”
“Well, yes, but she’s in the hospital as of now. Severe lung cancer. I came because the doctors said she wasn’t going to live past the end of the week.”
He looked blankly into his coffee cup.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, Jeremy. It’s Friday though, and she’s still alive?”
“Yes she is, remarkably. I just had to get out of there for a while. You’ve certainly helped get my mind off of it.”
“Well I’m glad I could help,” she said looking at her watch.
“Need to get going?”
“Not right away, I can stay a little longer.” She smiled that real smile at him.
They continued talking about Jeremy until Wendy had to leave. They exchanged phone numbers and said to keep in touch.
“Lovely meeting you, Wendy.”
“You too, Jeremy.”
They hugged and Wendy went on her way. Robert pulled out his black book and wrote her man, phone number, and description, along with everything he could remember about her and about Jeremy.
“Make a new friend?” The waitress asked.
“It seems so.” Robert smiled, put down a tip, and left the coffee house.
~ ~ ~
“Wendy! So nice to hear from you, it’s been a while.”
“I know! How are you doing?” She asked.
“I’m doing just fine, just getting over a cold actually. How’re you? How’s work?” He asked.
“I’m well. Work’s busy; I got that promotion and have been working my butt off.”
“That’s wonderful!”
Robert had forgotten what a sweet voice she had. Her face was being reconstructed in his head and everything from that day was coming back to him.
“How’s your mother? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Oh, of course,” he paused, “I’m sorry to say, but she passed that Saturday, the day after we met.”
“Oh, Jeremy,” her voice was filled with sorrow, “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“The funeral was beautiful,” he said.
“I’m sure your mother would have loved it.”
Robert laughed.
“Well, not loved that it was a funeral but...”
“I understand Wendy,” he chuckled, “Thank you.”
“Oh, darn it, I have another call coming in. Jeremy, it was great to hear your voice. If you’re ever in Columbus again, we’ll get together?”
“Absolutely, Wendy. Be well, we’ll talk again soon.”
“Bye Jeremy.” She hung up.
Robert’s head was shiny with sweat. He put down the phone and let out a sigh. Taking a pen, he wrote at the bottom of the page: “Met 8/5/11, called 12/10/11”. He closed his book and went to the cupboard. He got out a black mug with little white buffalo on it. He poured him self some coffee, putting a little milk and a pinch of sugar in. He slowly sipped it on the way to the living room. A woman was in the chair reading.
“Can I get you anything, Mom?” Robert asked.
She looked up.
“No, thank you hun,” she said, returning to her book.
He sat on the couch and returned to his as well.
Part 2: "Charlie"
It was a rainy March day. Robert was sitting at his kitchen table, enjoying a hot bowl of chicken noodle soup. His whole life, chicken noodle soup was his soup of choice. Some people say it’s good for your soul, Robert always thought your soul needed more than that, but it was a tasty meal to warm you up. Mid-slurp the phone rang. He slowly put his spoon into the bowl and turned around to the phone sitting on the stand behind him.
“Hello?” He answered.
There were a couple coughs on the other end.
“Excuse me. Hello. Is this Charles?” The voice asked.
Robert flipped through his little black book. He came to a page that said “Charlie Doors” on top.
“This is indeed Charles, is this Kay?”
“Oh dear, you remembered!” She said.
Her voice was old and crackly, quite weak.
“How are you? How’s Michael?” Robert inquired.
“I’m doing well. Michael, well, Michael has been better. He’s been bed ridden for days,” Kay said.
“Oh, that’s no good at all.”
Robert sat down at the table and quietly sipped his soup.
“That brings me to why I’m calling,” she continued, “Charlie, do you still have that wonderful recipe you described to me, for the soup?”
~~~
It was a cold October afternoon. Robert was parked in a parking lot across the street from a small diner in Albany. He got out of his car, buttoned his coat, and strolled over to the diner, resisting the cold. A bell rang as he walked in.
“Anywhere you’d like, sweetie,” the lady at the register said, without even looking up.
Robert looked around and found a seat at the counter next to an old woman. She was bundled up as if there was a blizzard outside. She was short, with an old oak cane. White hair, pink lips, and old, tired eyes.
“Hello ma’am, may I sit here?” Robert asked.
She coughed.
“Excuse me. Of course, dear, I don’t mind.”
She was your stereotypical, sweet old grandmother, who made you miss your own.
Robert ordered a cup of coffee and a side of Italian toast, burnt.
“You sound like my grandson, Michael,” she said, “he loves burnt toast.”
Robert chuckled.
“How old is he?” Robert asked.
“He just turned six last month. Wonderful boy, he is,” she said proudly.
“I’m sure he is. Are you two close?”
“He’s like a son to me. My daughter is away for work very often, so he comes and lives with me,” she said.
“That sounds a lot like me as well,” Robert said, taking a bite of his toast.
“What’s your name, dear?” She asked.
“Charlie Doors,” Robert said.
“Nice to meet you Charles, I’m Kay Muntelle.”
The waitress came over with a bowl of soup and set it down in front of Kay.
“Enjoy, Kay. It’s good today,” the waitress said.
“Thank you dear.”
Kay smiled and dropped a few oyster crackers into her soup.
“Nothing like a hot bowl of chicken noodle soup to warm your soul,” she said.
“I make a pretty mean chicken noodle soup, myself.”
“A se-..” Kay cleared her throat, “a secret recipe?”
“Oh yes, given by my grandmother.”
She took a sip of yours.
“It’d be pretty hard to beat the soup here. Homemade everyday. I love it,” Kay said.
Robert smiled and went on to tell her the recipe.
“That does sound delicious, Charles,” Kay admitted.
Robert finished his coffee, and pulled out his wallet to leave a tip. He took a business card from one of the pockets and gave it to Kay.
“Enjoy your soup Kay, and if you ever want that recipe, give me a call.”
She put his card in her large purse.
“Thank you, Charles. It was nice to meet you. Stay warm out there.”
“You too, Kay.”
Robert got back in his car and pulled out his book. He wrote “Charlie Doors” on the top of the next blank page, followed by whatever he could remember about Kay and the recipe.
“I doubt she’ll ever find my card in that suit case she carries around,” he said to himself, laughing.
~~~
“Oh the recipe! You finally gave in!” Robert joked.
Kay laughed.
“Yes dear, I would love to make it for Michael. Maybe it’d lift his spirits a little bit.
“Well, of course, Kay.”
Robert told her the recipe and told her to send his “get well” wishes to Michael.
“I hope he enjoys the soup,” Robert said.
“I’m sure he will…that is if I make it correctly!”
She coughed.
“Thank you very much, Charles. Take care of yourself, and next time I call won’t just be for soup!” Kay said.
“You’re very welcome Kay, I look forward to it.”
Robert hung up the phone, jotted in his book, and finished his soup. After placing his bowl in the sink, he took the empty Campbell’s Soup can from the counter and put it in the recycling bin.
