Saturday's Storyteller: "Certainly I could get you some soup."
by Belinda Roddie
Certainly I could get you some soup. I could get you any kind of soup you wanted. Broth, cream, chowder, stew. Well, stew's a little different than soup, isn't it? But as you can see from my expansive kitchen, I can do both.
No, don't stand up. Don't. You're very feverish, I can tell. Your forehead when touched is like perusing a volcano with your fingers and hoping that the lava doesn't start to spew. Pretty soon, though, you'll be shivering like a mountaineer who's forgotten his jacket on a very long journey. Come, lie down on your back. The throw pillows are for you.
Now, what will it be? Chicken noodle? I can certainly make you some chicken noodle soup. I have all the ingredients. Stock, broth, water, meat, carrots, peas, onions, potatoes. Sounds good, doesn't it? Something to calm your brow and clear up those poor clogged sinuses. Trust me, your nose will enjoy the steam. Just let me find myself a pot - whoops! Damn near dropped it. A wooden spoon would do the trick for stirring. Here, where did I put that cutting knife.
Really, old friend, this is not a problem at all. I swear, when I saw you stumbling down that road, your shirt collar all askew, your shoes untied - well, I knew there was a problem. Because normally you're so polished in public. Your presence is so dapper and debonair. Very gentlemanly. Very endearing. You know, Alice Wales was asking about you the other day. She said that you were seen walking out of an apartment very fast, and it looked like Donny's house. Donny, that silly boy - he must have scared you off again with his insane ramblings!
The bag? Oh, I certainly won't touch your things. Not in my place to. Ah, there's that silly knife. I was wondering where the damned thing got off to. Now, the carrots. Chop, chop, chop. Isn't the breeze delightful, friend? You can just drift off and get well. No need to run out the door when you clearly need the night to rest. I can drop you off at your place in the morning. What's that? Not your place? Well, where would you like me to take you? New York? Well, I wasn't aware that you were going on a trip! That would explain the suitcases you were dragging behind you. Almost looked too heavy for you, dear boy.
Now, let's get some water in here. Oh, you mustn't go upstairs yet. I've already peeled the potatoes. The chicken won't be a problem. No fuss. I'm a very old man, you see. Tired and world weary. Cooking is a way to help me focus. I certainly can't sit on my pompous bottom and watch soap operas all day, now can I? Oh, I know I'm only fifty-two, but that's old compared to you. I remember seeing your father at your high school graduation. He seemed very proud of you. A real shame that he died so soon afterward. Must've been his big heart finally giving out from all the work.
Ah, there we go. Boiling. No, I will not touch your bags, friend! You said so. You know, seeing you walk down that street, you looked like you saw a ghost. And a really scary ghost at that. Honestly, I haven't seen you in such disarray since you were five years old! You always seemed interested in the strangest things. You stood very close to fires. Did you know that? You told me you liked to watch things burn. Well, I sincerely hope you got out of that little curiosity, because nothing is worse than setting something accidentally on fire and watching it wither away into nothing. Gracie Thomas lost her house that way, you see. Someone was too careless. Cigarettes ought to be banned.
You seem so restless, boy. Fevers will do that to you. Hallucinations, false memories. Did you dream of something? Was it a very bad dream? Is there something I need to know? Well, never mind. It's not necessary. There we go, chicken's in the pot. Your soup should be ready in an hour.
But you do seem awfully protective of those bags, boy. May I ask what's in them? If it's not too private. Oh! Telephone. Yes. One moment, boy. Your soup will be in front of you in no more than ten minutes. Hello? Yes, this is Randall speaking. What? Why, yes, he's right here with me! Oh, no, he's a fine mess. I think he's very ill. Mister Grayson Manning? Why, I've known him since grade school! Now, do sit down, boy, I'm on the phone. Yes. Yes, of course, if necessary. Is everything okay? Yes, well, my address is - hello? Hello? Dash it all, I lost the call. Now why did I...
...my friend, you really mustn't cut the phone cord while I'm talking to the police. Do stop looking so frightened. It's unnerving me. Now you go back to the couch and rest up. I swear, you must be sicker than I imagined. What's that? The soup? Well, it's still very hot. I shall bring it out to you. Well, you certainly don't need a knife for soup. A cigarette? Well, I certainly wouldn't want you smoking in the house, and especially when you're not well. All right, after you eat your soup, you may have a smoke. I'll get you my lighter. It's right in this drawer here.
This week's prompt was provided by Arden Kilzer.
Certainly I could get you some soup. I could get you any kind of soup you wanted. Broth, cream, chowder, stew. Well, stew's a little different than soup, isn't it? But as you can see from my expansive kitchen, I can do both.
No, don't stand up. Don't. You're very feverish, I can tell. Your forehead when touched is like perusing a volcano with your fingers and hoping that the lava doesn't start to spew. Pretty soon, though, you'll be shivering like a mountaineer who's forgotten his jacket on a very long journey. Come, lie down on your back. The throw pillows are for you.
Now, what will it be? Chicken noodle? I can certainly make you some chicken noodle soup. I have all the ingredients. Stock, broth, water, meat, carrots, peas, onions, potatoes. Sounds good, doesn't it? Something to calm your brow and clear up those poor clogged sinuses. Trust me, your nose will enjoy the steam. Just let me find myself a pot - whoops! Damn near dropped it. A wooden spoon would do the trick for stirring. Here, where did I put that cutting knife.
Really, old friend, this is not a problem at all. I swear, when I saw you stumbling down that road, your shirt collar all askew, your shoes untied - well, I knew there was a problem. Because normally you're so polished in public. Your presence is so dapper and debonair. Very gentlemanly. Very endearing. You know, Alice Wales was asking about you the other day. She said that you were seen walking out of an apartment very fast, and it looked like Donny's house. Donny, that silly boy - he must have scared you off again with his insane ramblings!
The bag? Oh, I certainly won't touch your things. Not in my place to. Ah, there's that silly knife. I was wondering where the damned thing got off to. Now, the carrots. Chop, chop, chop. Isn't the breeze delightful, friend? You can just drift off and get well. No need to run out the door when you clearly need the night to rest. I can drop you off at your place in the morning. What's that? Not your place? Well, where would you like me to take you? New York? Well, I wasn't aware that you were going on a trip! That would explain the suitcases you were dragging behind you. Almost looked too heavy for you, dear boy.
Now, let's get some water in here. Oh, you mustn't go upstairs yet. I've already peeled the potatoes. The chicken won't be a problem. No fuss. I'm a very old man, you see. Tired and world weary. Cooking is a way to help me focus. I certainly can't sit on my pompous bottom and watch soap operas all day, now can I? Oh, I know I'm only fifty-two, but that's old compared to you. I remember seeing your father at your high school graduation. He seemed very proud of you. A real shame that he died so soon afterward. Must've been his big heart finally giving out from all the work.
Ah, there we go. Boiling. No, I will not touch your bags, friend! You said so. You know, seeing you walk down that street, you looked like you saw a ghost. And a really scary ghost at that. Honestly, I haven't seen you in such disarray since you were five years old! You always seemed interested in the strangest things. You stood very close to fires. Did you know that? You told me you liked to watch things burn. Well, I sincerely hope you got out of that little curiosity, because nothing is worse than setting something accidentally on fire and watching it wither away into nothing. Gracie Thomas lost her house that way, you see. Someone was too careless. Cigarettes ought to be banned.
You seem so restless, boy. Fevers will do that to you. Hallucinations, false memories. Did you dream of something? Was it a very bad dream? Is there something I need to know? Well, never mind. It's not necessary. There we go, chicken's in the pot. Your soup should be ready in an hour.
But you do seem awfully protective of those bags, boy. May I ask what's in them? If it's not too private. Oh! Telephone. Yes. One moment, boy. Your soup will be in front of you in no more than ten minutes. Hello? Yes, this is Randall speaking. What? Why, yes, he's right here with me! Oh, no, he's a fine mess. I think he's very ill. Mister Grayson Manning? Why, I've known him since grade school! Now, do sit down, boy, I'm on the phone. Yes. Yes, of course, if necessary. Is everything okay? Yes, well, my address is - hello? Hello? Dash it all, I lost the call. Now why did I...
...my friend, you really mustn't cut the phone cord while I'm talking to the police. Do stop looking so frightened. It's unnerving me. Now you go back to the couch and rest up. I swear, you must be sicker than I imagined. What's that? The soup? Well, it's still very hot. I shall bring it out to you. Well, you certainly don't need a knife for soup. A cigarette? Well, I certainly wouldn't want you smoking in the house, and especially when you're not well. All right, after you eat your soup, you may have a smoke. I'll get you my lighter. It's right in this drawer here.
This week's prompt was provided by Arden Kilzer.
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