The fourth bowlA Story by Jon Roggie
Phil comes through as usual.
Brings a bottle of Pepsi with a glass full of ice. Pitcher of Bass set in the middle of the table. Manatua gives me a stern look. Shrug my shoulders. "It isn't like I am driving." Neither one seems to appreciate the humor. Fesili, showing a touch of initiative, asks another question. ""Why here?" I pretend to ignore the question. Manatua pores herself a glass. Phil brings in four bowls of chowder. Each is given their own, and one is set before the empty seat. "Yell if you need anything!" I like Phil. He rolls with the absurd. Manatua give me a look, but she picks up her spoon, and smiles. Fesili hesitates. Opens a pack of crackers, and takes a nibble. Tries something new, and smiles. After a few spoonfuls, she looks at the fourth bowl. I smile. "Eve? Are you here?" Soup spoon stirs the chowder, and you hear someone taking a sniff. Cold fingers pat my cheek, and I kiss her cold palm. Manatua turns her head, but not before I see the hint of a tear.
© 2018 Jon Roggie |
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1 Review Added on October 23, 2018 Last Updated on October 23, 2018 AuthorJon RoggiePorterville, CAAboutI tend to ramble, and rarely explain myself. Take that as you will more..Writing
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