Eulogy for a Crab Cake

 

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.