T O M A TO S O U P

 

Stan stared at his wife Ida across the table, noticing for the first time that she had put on her sweater inside out. Every morning he would place her clothes on the bed in a specific order, so she’d know which item to put on first. But that didn’t guarantee how she would put on each piece. He made a mental note to pay more attention the next time they went out.

Sarah, their usual waitress appeared, carrying two cups of tea on a large tray. “How y’all doin’ today?”, she asked.

With Alzheimer’s, there are good days, and there are challenging days. This, it turned out, was a challenging day. Ida was preoccupied, scrubbing at a stain on the wooden table with her finger, forgetting that it was a permanent fixture of their booth. They had been eating lunch at this diner once a week for years, and that blemish had been there since day one.

“Today’s actually a very special day for us. It’s our fifty-seventh wedding anniversary,” Stan announced. His wife stopped fidgeting for a second and looked up. “It was the day you took a chance on a broke, balding schlub by saying, ‘I do',” he said, with a wink in her direction.

“Is it?” Ida asked.

“Yep, sweetheart, it is.”

“Congratulations, you two!”, declared Sarah. “Elmer fixed up some of his famous lemon meringue pie today, and I’ll make sure y’all have a slice on the house before you go. Stickin’ with the Cobb salad and tomato soup?”

“That’s it,” Stan replied.

Sarah nodded, turned, and then abruptly swung around to face them. “I just remembered. We ran out of tomato soup about an hour ago. Chicken noodle ok?”

Stan looked at his wife, now scrubbing away at the stain with a napkin.

“Ida?”

“Hmmm,” she said, still focusing on the table.

“They’re all out of the tomato soup. Do you want chicken noodle instead? How about a sandwich?”, Stan asked. Ida looked confused, so he pointed out a few other items on the menu that he thought she’d enjoy. She was obviously having a hard time picking something new.

Suddenly she began to cry. “I want to go home. Please, can we go home?” she begged.

“Honey, Sarah already brought us our tea. Don’t you think we should stay a little longer? I know you like tomato soup, but you know their chicken noodle is delicious.”

That only made Ida cry harder. Sarah apologized on behalf of the diner for running out. Other customers glanced in their direction, wondering what was going on.

Stan sighed, took out his wallet, and removed a ten-dollar bill, which he placed on the table.

“I’m sorry. We’ll catch you next week.”

Sarah gave him an understanding look and offered to bring the pie and to-go cups of tea out to their car. Stan thanked her as he rose to help his wife out of the booth. He always tried to make their days as stress-free as possible, but sometimes, there just wasn’t any tomato soup.

Ida stopped crying on the way home but appeared anxious. She kept asking Stan which day it was.

He hesitated to mention the date, suspecting that at least part of her current emotional state was because she hadn’t realized that it was their anniversary.

“Today is Wednesday.”

Ida furrowed her brow, a tell-tale sign that she was struggling to recall some distant memory or word.

When she asked which day it was for the third time during their twenty-minute drive, he gave in. “It’s Wednesday, January 7th.”

“That’s the day we got married!”

“Yes, it is,” he said, pulling into the driveway.

Stan helped Ida sit on the living room couch before setting up two dinner trays and turning the television to a rerun of The Price is Right.

“I’ll be right back to join you,” he reassured her.

Once in the kitchen, he walked past the cabinets labeled Bowls/Plates, Mugs/Glasses, and Cereal to find the one with Soup written on it. He had marked the cabinets as a way of helping her stay as independent as possible, especially since she loved to cook. In the past few months, however, he had taken over the role of primary chef. A wave of relief swept over him when he found a large can of tomato soup hidden in the back-right corner of the cabinet.

With his stiff, arthritic hands, Stan carefully filled two bowls with tomato soup before putting Ida’s in the microwave. As he stood watching the timer count down, the faint sound of a Chopin nocturne wafted into the kitchen.

Ida had been a music teacher, so they always had a piano in the living room. She hadn’t played much lately, though. He suspected it was because she now had difficulty reading the music.

Returning to the living room, Stan found her hunched over the piano, playing from muscle memory. He was struck by how her fingers, still capable and sure, glided over the keys. The image of Ida coming down the aisle toward him in a stunning white dress filled his head, the same lovely hands holding a bouquet of yellow daisies that he had gathered for her from his garden. It was a simple wedding, but that was all they had wanted.

Stan waited until she finished playing before taking a seat beside her on the piano bench. Slowly bringing the back of her hand to his mouth, he planted a kiss, as she beamed with the same beautiful grin she had on their wedding day.

“My favorite piece,” he whispered, choking up.

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “That’s why I played it for you. I love you, Stan.”

Now it was his turn to cry.

“I can see that,” he nodded. “I love you so much. Now how would you like to share some tomato soup with me?”

Ida's face fell just a little. “I was hoping for chicken noodle, but that’ll do.”

Stan and Ida are available to buy.

Stan.......$50

Ida.........$50