Spring Flowers

Through the bay window in her vintage kitchen, Ethel watched red birds flitter about preparing for the snow the weatherman predicted last night. Blue gray clouds to the west promised there would be several inches by tomorrow’s end. “Phweee!” The tea water was finally ready. She slid the tattered kitchen chair away from the table and headed to the stove. Martin would be down soon expecting his tea.

WIth a click of the knob, the flame was extinguished beneath the kettle. As she’d readied the kettle earlier, she’d unwrapped the Earl Gray teabag and placed it in the dull brown cup. It was his favorite. Chipped lip and all.

Pouring the 212 degree water over the teabag, Ethel set the timer for five minutes. Not a second more or less, this ensured it was strong but not bitter. It couldn’t be bitter. Martin didn’t like bitter tea.

Many years of wear scared the kitchen cabinets. But Ethel didn’t notice the missing handles or hinges anymore just as she no longer saw the scares and spots that covered the kitchen table top. With crossed arms, Ethel leaned against the battered and chipped cabinets to look out the window once again.

It was the yard that she noticed and its beautiful mixture of colors. Browns, reds and oranges. And if she looked closer she could see a few greens mixed in as well from the leaves that had fallen before they’d changed.

What would it be like to roll in them as she had as a child. The leaves poking her skin and sticking in her hair. Floating down upon her when she tossed them in the air. She might just go out tomorrow and find out. Weather permitting.

“Ding. Ding. Ding.” Five minutes completed. Ethel removed the teabag, squeezing what was left of the liquid out and placing it in the trash. She’d just filled the sugar container last night before bed and removed it from the rack adding two teaspoons to the brown liquid, no more, no less. She didn’t want to upset Martin this morning. It was a special day. A smile appeared across her face. She wanted to remember this day forever.

Rustling and grunting from the bedroom upstairs let her know Martin was up and on his way. She was waiting for him as he walked into the small, dated kitchen. She watched holding his quite large stomach in as he took his seat at the table. Ethel placed the tea in front of him. He picked it up. “Slurrrrp.” Her ears rebelled at the sound.

“Would you like eggs and bacon with toast this morning?” She knew he would. Martin never veered from his routine breakfast. But she asked, every morning.

“Hmph.” Was Martin’s reply not even looking at her.It was as close to an answer as she was going to get.

The ancient refrigerator creaked when Ethel opened and removed two eggs for Martin and two for herself. The bacon has been warming on the counter since she’d gotten up. It cooked crisper when it was room temperature. Martin didn’t like his bacon limp.

As the skillet heated, she placed two slices of wheat bread into the toaster. She would start it when she broke the eggs to cook.

Glancing over her shoulder, she asked “How is your tea this morning, dear?”

She thought she heard a soft “fine”, but she couldn’t be sure. When she looked at him, he was holding his cup of tea and looking out the window. What did he see when he looked out there? What was going through his thoughts? Ethel knew that even if she asked him, he would’t tell her.

Pulling strips of bacon from the stack, Ethel placed each one in the skillet to fry. The aroma filled her nostrils and she smiled again. Its sizzling was music to her ears. Breakfast this morning was going to be one of a kind. She knew there would never be another like it. She just enjoyed the moment.

As the crispy strips cooled and the towels soaked up any extra grease, Ethel cracked the four eggs into the same skillet and reached over, pressing the toaster button down. She walked over and placed the butter that she pulled from the refrigerator earlier on the table in front of Martin. Room temperature butter spread on the toast easier.

“Would you like some more tea, dear? I’d be glad to make you another cup.” She asked, smiling at him.

Martin looked at her. “Yeah.” He replied, handing her the cup.

Ethel had turned the fire back on low when she heard that Martin was up, to keep the water hot. He always wanted a second cup. She repeated the same steps as before with the ugly, chipped, brown cup. She didn’t set the timer this time but kept an eye on her watch. Martin said the dinging sound irritated him.

Placing the cup back in front of Martin, Ethel returned to flip the eggs. “Pop!” The toast was ready. A nice golden brown, just as Martin liked it. She slathered both pieces with butter, placed two eggs and four pieces of bacon, two for each egg, on the plate with the toast. Martin sat waiting with his fork in hand as she placed it in front of him.

Ethel took the remaining two eggs and four pieces of bacon for herself. She didn’t require toast. She also didn’t drink tea, so she refilled her coffee, black, and sat down across from him at the table.

She could see him sop up the yoke of the eggs with his toast, and watched a yellow drip on his chin. Inching it’s way down. Ethel wished he would wipe it off. Someday she would sit at this table and not have to watch such disgust. Yolk and grease drippings would not be part of her morning. Would she miss it? She wondered but she didn’t think so.

“I watched the red birds this morning. They are getting ready for the snow.” Ethel chit chatted along. “The weather man says we may get quite a bit for this time of year. I hope the red birds don’t have trouble. I so enjoy watching them.”

Martin continued eating as if she’d said nothing. Like she wasn’t even in the room. The yolk remained on his chin. She couldn’t keep her eyes off of it. With a bite of bacon, grease joined it.

The eggs came out perfect this morning, if she did say so herself. Smiling as she reached for her coffee. The smile faded when a sharp pain stabbed through her shoulder lifting the cup. There was probably a bruise, but she didn’t want Martin to know. He would take too much enjoyment from it.

Sipping her coffee, Ethel moved her eyes from the yolk and grease on Martin’s face to the way his head was bobbing. He was getting sleepy. The tea was working. She was sure the second cup had quickened the effect. She’s added extra “sugar” to it.

He looked at her. Ethel saw confusion move across his face.

He knew but was unable to do anything about it. It was a good thing he preferred his tea with extra sugar. It helped to hide the taste of the added powder she’d also placed in it.

These eggs and strips of bacon with toast would be his last.

Martin tried to stand but his legs wouldn't do what his brain told them and he collapsed to the floor landing on the linoleum in a pile. How she hated that linoleum. It was dull and dingy from years of use. Maybe she would replace it with something bright. She’d call the local carpet store tomorrow for samples.

Ethel took another sip of coffee. Watching Martin take one final gasp.

Finishing her breakfast, the red birds continued to flitter about outside. Wondering if the flowers she planned on planting in the spring would be brighter and fuller with Martin feeding them.

“I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.” She said to no one in particular.

One thing she did know.

Martin would never hit her again.