By L’Tanya Durante
My mouth waters, my belly growls as I wait for you. I know you won’t disappoint. My spoon gently sliding in a crevice, through the crunchy outer layer that protects your most vulnerable inner spaces. Your thick, chicken-infused pudding squishing between my teeth and gums. Saltiness playing tag with your sweetness. Your tender, flaky soft crust, a scaffolding for chicken, green peas and carrots, milk and butter. . .and memories.
I remember those times when a whiff of you called the family to the dinner table. A mother who served you in three bowls. A father who kicked off his mortar-encrusted boots before eating. A daughter who sat between them, enveloped in protection and love, who said, “If anything ever happens to either of you, I’ll jump off a building.” You patiently listened to our laughter, our stories, and our fears.
But that was then. Now, I shiver from a life I no longer recognize.
Hurry up, chicken pot pie. Wrap me like a soft fleece blanket. Remind me of what used to be. Fill me with childhood memories.
Bare feet wiggling by the fire.
A black-light poster of a panda whose eyes shone light green in the dark.
The sound of a needle, fuzzy and crackling as it glides across vinyl.
A mother. A father.
About the Writer:
Over the course of a life that included a marriage that didn’t reflect her values, jobs that didn’t resonate with her interests, and providing care for growing children and an aging adult, L’Tanya Durante thought her voice had disappeared. It hasn’t. L’Tanya writes creative nonfiction and loves reading and writing flash nonfiction. Several of her “Tiny Truths” have been published in Creative Nonfiction Magazine. You can follow her on Twitter @writeordiegirl.