Friday, July 18th 2014. New Orleans, Louisiana. 11:00am
A sharp intake of air inhaled from Helen’s lips as she gasped for breath.
Ms. Deville had fallen asleep on the rocking chair out on the front porch again and often was found there snoring away. It was always an act of wonder how elderly people could be one minute having a conversation and the next minute be fast asleep. She reached for her iced tea on the small table and took small sips. The ice had melted away quickly in the 90 degree weather.
”Derek!” Helen called out once and then again with no reply. She had forgotten that she had sent him out to go fetch some last minute items for the feast they had prepared. Most of the things were finger foods; cucumber sandwiches, crackers, cheeses, and various fruit and vegetable trays. The main course for lunch was a jambalaya Helen had worked all morning making.
Getting up slowly, Helen walked around to the side yard where Derek had set up a long table with chairs. He had set the table to Ms. Deville’s instructions perfectly, and she would have to thank him once he returned home. Checking the small watch upon her wrist she noticed that she had a little less than an hour before her guests were to arrive. Each of them had rsvp’d so quickly when the invitations were sent out. Helen however, wondered if they had really wanted to see her or if they had just felt sorry that she did not have too much time left. They hadn't really kept in touch beside that, besides Derek that was.
Climbing the back steps slowly, Helen went into the kitchen to discover quite the mess on the floor. A trail of a deep crimson, chunky, liquid spread across from the top of the counter, down the cabinet, and across the hardwood floor and into a heating grate against the wall. Helen ran her bony finger along the substance on the marble top, and brought it to her lips. Sniffing, she realized it was in fact a salsa. ”Derek must have not fed Jack this morning.” Helen thought to herself, and she took a dish rag and began cleaning up the mess that Jack had made. ”You know..” she said out loud, ”You don’t have to make a mess every time. I told Derek to feed you all the time and I always sneak you sweets. I hate messes Jack, stop making messes!” The woman was exhausted just cleaning up the salsa. She took wheezed breaths, as she leaned against the wall. To the unknowing spectator, Helen would probably have seemed just whispering nonsense.
Dark eyes peered at the ankles of Helen, gobbling down the handful of salsa. Jack’s tongue rolled around his fingers, the tangy spice delicious upon his taste buds. Derek had meant well, but he often did forget about Jack in the midst of his intense care towards Helen. Scrambling and scurrying along the insides of the wall, Jack made his way into his once previous bedroom (B1), the basement.
A sharp intake of air inhaled from Helen’s lips as she gasped for breath.
Ms. Deville had fallen asleep on the rocking chair out on the front porch again and often was found there snoring away. It was always an act of wonder how elderly people could be one minute having a conversation and the next minute be fast asleep. She reached for her iced tea on the small table and took small sips. The ice had melted away quickly in the 90 degree weather.
”Derek!” Helen called out once and then again with no reply. She had forgotten that she had sent him out to go fetch some last minute items for the feast they had prepared. Most of the things were finger foods; cucumber sandwiches, crackers, cheeses, and various fruit and vegetable trays. The main course for lunch was a jambalaya Helen had worked all morning making.
Getting up slowly, Helen walked around to the side yard where Derek had set up a long table with chairs. He had set the table to Ms. Deville’s instructions perfectly, and she would have to thank him once he returned home. Checking the small watch upon her wrist she noticed that she had a little less than an hour before her guests were to arrive. Each of them had rsvp’d so quickly when the invitations were sent out. Helen however, wondered if they had really wanted to see her or if they had just felt sorry that she did not have too much time left. They hadn't really kept in touch beside that, besides Derek that was.
Climbing the back steps slowly, Helen went into the kitchen to discover quite the mess on the floor. A trail of a deep crimson, chunky, liquid spread across from the top of the counter, down the cabinet, and across the hardwood floor and into a heating grate against the wall. Helen ran her bony finger along the substance on the marble top, and brought it to her lips. Sniffing, she realized it was in fact a salsa. ”Derek must have not fed Jack this morning.” Helen thought to herself, and she took a dish rag and began cleaning up the mess that Jack had made. ”You know..” she said out loud, ”You don’t have to make a mess every time. I told Derek to feed you all the time and I always sneak you sweets. I hate messes Jack, stop making messes!” The woman was exhausted just cleaning up the salsa. She took wheezed breaths, as she leaned against the wall. To the unknowing spectator, Helen would probably have seemed just whispering nonsense.
Dark eyes peered at the ankles of Helen, gobbling down the handful of salsa. Jack’s tongue rolled around his fingers, the tangy spice delicious upon his taste buds. Derek had meant well, but he often did forget about Jack in the midst of his intense care towards Helen. Scrambling and scurrying along the insides of the wall, Jack made his way into his once previous bedroom (B1), the basement.
