One last spaghetti…


He had just come back from the funeral. His mother had just died. She was his most beloved person. She had taken care of him for so many years, raised him, she… his eyes wet, started crying again. From a small child he had been pondering on the possibility (it was just a… possibility back then) of his parents dying. And whenever he thought about it, his mother always came and reassured him that everything will be OK… But today she wasn’t there. She would not be there anymore. Not now. Not ever again. And that “Never” really made his heart ache. It was that sense of security that he missed the most. A person who loved him so much that would do anything just to make him feel better. He felt good around her. Now he felt void.

With heavy feet he opened the door. Entered the lounge, then went slowly into the kitchen. He hadn’t eaten since the previous day. Since he heard the bad news… He thought eating was an insult to his mother. He could not put anything into his mouth after her death. But now biology came to overcome his will. He had to eat something. Mechanically and unwillingly he opened the fridge trying to find something editable. He opened the door and saw a plate of spaghetti. Tears started pouring from his eyes. Tears he couldn’t stop. It was the food his mother made for him yesterday just before she died. Ready as he liked it. He couldn’t even see the plate with his blurred eyes. Took it. Placed it on the table. Started eating it. Slowly. Each time he ate, he remembered of his mother preparing it. He cried even more. Every bite brought more sadness to his heart. The sauce. As he preferred it. With a lot of vinegar as he liked it. Another bite. And another. He kept on crying while finishing his food. She had even put extra chesses as she only knew he liked it. And another bite. The food was getting less and less. The last meal from his mother. He ate it but at the same time wanted to leave it as it is. It was the last thing he had from her. Another bite. Every time he felt so pleased from the excellent food, he also remembered of who prepared it and the pleasure went away instantly. Tears again. Mechanically he ate it all. When he was a kid, he would always ask for more. And she would – with all her love – give him more. Smiling.

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He fell sleepy. Slowly he bent over the table and laid his head on it. His eyes closed and he dreamed of the only thing that would make his soul pleased. Another plate of spaghetti with cheese… And in his sleep, just for a fleeting moment, he smiled…

Spiros Kakos

02/2013 –  Athens, Greece

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