A peaceful Breakfast with Ethel

"Good morning." he said cheerfully sitting down at the table. His sleeping shorts hung loosely around his tanned and wrinkled old bones. He broke wind and scratched his lower back.


She glowered at him but said nothing.  Her white hair looked like unflavored cotton candy.  Her hands gripped the skillet she tended tightly.


"Nothing from the song bird this morning?" his voice strong and happy.  He slicked his sparse hair back and sat down groaning as his body protested to the angle of the kitchen chair.


She puttered aggressively at the oven, fixing a slight breakfast as her powder blue flannel nightie billowed and shimmied.  


"I'm hungrier than that."


"I'm not." she said flatly


"Do you say then, I have to fix it myself?"


"I don't care if you ever eat again." her tone was filled with disdain


"What flew up your nose? Why the gripes old gal?" His head tilted like an inquisitive puppy


She dished angrily and set a single plate down before herself.  "YOU are a thorn in my side Samuel." she spluttered through thickly buttered toast, waving it like a conductor with one eye squinted shut.


"I really don't get to eat?" he rubbed the place where a plate would normally sit filled with sausages and eggs. He frowned, pouting like a child and patted the neglected space.  Determined not to let Ms Ethel "Crankypants" ruin his good start;  "My headache is gone." he said  hoping to change the mood with some good news.


"So what. I have a backache AND a stiff neck." she cocked her head for emphasis and shovelled another mouth full.


"Do you want me to get you some medicine?"


"No."


"Call Doctor Evans?"


"NO!" She slammed down her fork.  He jumped startled. "I have too much work to do because of you."


"Me?"


She rolled her eyes and shifted.  Realizing she had made such a dainty breakfast and it was already gone, she was sad  that she hadn't made more; sausage at least.  She would need the strength.


"Can I help you?"


"You've done enough already Sam." She sighed and cleared the table.


"I had a strange dream last night Ethel." he said softly.


"I'll just bet."


"Do you want to hear it?"


"No."


"Can I have breakfast?"


"No Sam."


"Why not?"


"Because I'm tired of you, you ground up, whining little man. I'm tired of serving you, hearing you and seeing you. " she wrung her hands impatiently on her darkly stained apron and stormed out leaving Sam alone still petting the empty place in front of him.


"Can I have lunch?" he called after her hopefully.


"NO!" she wailed and dashing down the hall, slammed the door to the guest room where she stayed for a long time. Sam didn't venture in.  He just wandered around, tinkered with the clock he loved and played solitaire. Finally she ventured out . Ethel looked stony and numb. He stayed seated on the old navy and green plaid couch listening to the radio.  He loved oldies. Dean was his favorite.


"Ethel?"


"Yes Sam." her voice was tired and thin.


"Do you want to hear my dream now?"


"No Sam. I have to go to work in the yard."


"I can come with you and keep you company."   He wanted to tell her his dream.


She sighed warily and walked out the creaking old screen door.  She picked up the shovel that perched attentively like Excalibur in the garden soil and began to work the dirt.  She pulled weeds, turning it all by hand, humming softly.  If Sam had followed her, he'd have seen the smile that was so rare for her these days. The ground scratch at her tools and rolled over like an eager pup, black and rich for her attentive gentle hands.  She was sure to have a beautiful garden this year.  Picking what simple vegetables were ready, she lugged the small clothed basket back to the house.  Sam met her at the door.


" For Supper?"


"No. Dinner."


"Can I have some?"


"Sam, no. It's time for you to leave. We go through this every day."


"We do?"


"Yes you old fool. You can't stay here. You can't eat here. You can BE here." her voice was rising to a shrill cackle.


"Why Ethel?" he asked simply.


Her shoulders fell and she seemed to crumple under the weight of the question. Her white fluffy curls flopped in exasperation across her forehead.  Her green eyes turned to the floor.


"You're dead Sam. You've been dead for...forever it seems." 


"Dead?"


"Yes Sam."


"Gone? for good?"


"DEAD! GONE! KAPUTZ! NO MORE BREATHING FOR LACK OF LIFE!" Ethel's tone reached a maniacal crescendo and ended with a bitter laugh. "Dead. Sam is dead."


"Dead." he echoed. "but how did I have this dream Ethel?" 


"Oh Sam." the tears were streaming down her cheeks. "It wasn't a dream."


"But it was Ethel. I dreamt that you shot me and took the money from my checks and buried me out ..."


"In the garden?"


"YES"


"Yes." she chorused. He stared at her incredulously. She made no motion or effort.


"Ethel?"


"Yes Sam."


"Then why can you hear me? Why can we interact? Why can we..."


"BECAUSE I'M DEAD TOO YOU OLD FART!" Her fists clenched in rage and she shook with uncontrollable fury.


"Dead?" The concept seemed new to him.


"Jeezus Sam. Yes."


"How?"


"You simply drove me insane.  When you were alive, you were such a weak, simple man who could do nothing for himself and I simply needed your money.  I wanted it to run away from you; from everything you touched and all that we were; which was a sad pittance.  Once you were in the damn ground, I realized I would never be rid of you.  Every day you would come to me and want breakfast. Want to talk. Want Want WANT.  I WANTED PEACE SAM. So I hung myself in the guest room and as a joke, God has left us here together." She scratched at her neck impatiently.


Sam saw for the first time the deep copper stain on her apron and realized it wasn't dirt from the garden.  He noticed the purplish wound around her neck. Looking around his kitchen, he saw the disrepair; the peeling paint and warping tile.  He smelled rot.  The sun sadly turned its back and slunk into the comforting folds of night.  He was suddenly very tired.


"Maybe tomorrow will be better Ethel." he yawned and headed for the stairs.  "A good breakfast is always a great start to your day.  We'll do that; start over tomorrow Ethel." He silently glided up the tattered steps to his room and closed the door.


The shadow of a woman leaned weightlessly on the wobbly chair and bowed her head.  Yes. Tomorrow.  There was ALWAYS tomorrow.






This one cracked my kids up. They loved it so I had to post.  I like it too.  I needed to work my conversation abilities anyway.  I hope you enjoyed it.  Nothing really too surprising or twisting about it, but fun in its own right.  Thanks for visiting.  I enjoyed your company.