She really wanted those
crab cakes.
She made a special trip
to the store and brought
them home with an excited
grin happily spread across
her face.
She was deliberate in
her joyful anticipation
for those crab cakes and
described their delicious
contents, seasonings and
flavor profile with glee.
She could hardly wait
to eat them, to go with
the special Salmon
she’d also happily bought
for a lovely dinner she
had planned.
It had been a while
since she had been able
to make a full, fun, special
dinner for us since the operations,
and minor medical setbacks and all, so
she was eager to make
something.
I was happy she was happy
to make this meal, so I stepped
away as she started prepping
and sorting and getting things
in their proper dishes and into
the oven and air fryer.
The kitchen happy and warm.
An opportunity to take out
the trash perhaps,
I left the kitchen and
stepped outside, through the yard,
past the gate, to the alley, and
disposed of the disposable.
I turned from the gate,
only to hear, a painful wail
and scream through the open
kitchen window.
I latched the gate quickly and
ran up toward the backdoor and
flung it open, and crossed
the back porch and into the kitchen,
where I found her, crying and clutching
her stomach.
The small dish containing the
now well heated crab cakes
was flipped over on the floor,
the crab cakes themselves,
a smushed mess of crab and
cake, still steaming from the oven,
now, rendered inedible.
She cried as she explained through
her tears how she tripped on her
flip-flop sandal, and almost fell, but
dropped the much-desired crab cakes,
and also how she pulled something in
her stomach, near a most recent site
of medical procedures.
I got her to the couch,
as she continued to cry,
about the lost crab cakes,
now ruined on the floor,
how she wanted to make a nice
dinner for us and now, because she’s
clumsy, had ruined it all.
I hushed her and calmed her
down, explaining that as long as
she was okay, the crab cakes could
go to hell, there’d be other crab cakes,
other dinners to have.
I blamed the flip-flops for all the trouble,
and will likely ban them in the future.
I cleaned up the lost crab cakes,
lamenting for the wholly crushed
enthusiasm of my girlfriend,
who really wanted them.
Her sadness made me
love her more.
Her passion and enthusiasm
for crab cakes, and her profound sadness
at their destruction,
made me appreciate how much she
cares for me too.
A human crab cake, for
her to love.
I brought her an ice pack,
and placed it on her belly,
as she wiped her tears,
I told her I love her,
and that everything would be
alright.
And I believe it.
