wanderings

delirium

"Hey, darlin'."

Lucy raised an eyebrow, wondering if she called the right person.

"Chris?"

"Yeah.  Luce?"

His voice didn't sound right.  There was a dryness to it.  A rasp that sounded like whispering at normal volume. A touch of congestion that rolled his "t"s into "d"s.

"Quiz night.  Are you coming?"

"Oh, right.  I, uh...
I've been under the weather
a couple days now.
Sorry, but I'm going to have to..."

An eruption of sneezing causes Lucy to pull her phone away from her ear.

"Ah!  Ow... you sound terrible."

"Sorry.  Sounds worse than it is.
I have my tea.  I have my blankets.
I have an abundance of movies.
I'm fine."

Friends gathered around tables getting ready for the night's games.  Bustle and buzz of conversations droned out toward the entrance where Lucy escaped to call Chris.  Would they be okay one short tonight?  How about two? Kate looked back over holding palms up inquiring "is he coming?" Lucy shook her head, "no", and asked to the phone,

"How does soup sound?"

—

Chris answered the door adorned in sweatpants, t-shirt, and very loose and comfy cardigan.  Lucy looks him over torn between pity and amusement.

"I'm too late.  You've turned into
frumpy Mister Rogers."

"You really don't need to do this.
I can take care of myself fine,
and I don't want to get you sick."

"I've had my flu shot and I
handle freshman recitations.
Freshmen! Freshmen are gross!
My immune system is solid."

With a sigh, Chris welcomes her in with a wave.

"Okay, but I did warn you."

Lucy pats him atop his head on the way to the kitchen, full grocery bag in hand.

"Of course you did. Now, I need
a pot and a cutting board."

The grocery bag emptied onto the countertop. Celery, carrots, chicken, egg noodles, broth, etc. Lucy rummaged through cabinets.

"Next door to your left and
cutting board is by the fridge.
What's all this?! Carrots?
I thought you were just going
to get a can of something."

"I lied. You wouldn't have
gone along with this, otherwise.
Now have a seat and relax.
Nurse that tea of yours."

Too tired to argue, he positions himself on the couch with a view into the kitchen.

"How is everyone?
Can't be too happy
losing you tonight, too."

"They're all good. They hope you feel better
so you would, and I quote, 'stop being
such a selfish loser letting us down
in a big way'."

A mix of laughter and sniffling from the couch. Lucy tosses a new box of tissues onto the couch next to Chris.

"With aloe? Oh, no way!
You are my favorite person."

"It's sad you're so impressed with that."

"You need to appreciate the
little things in life. Don't judge."

Chris opens the box and grabs a couple tissues. With a resonant honk, he sits back with a satisfied look of relief.

"When have you ever been able to stop me from judging you?"

Lucy returns to the vegetables and commences chopping while a pot of broth heats up.

"I guarantee this will cure
everything that ails you.
The key is fresh ginger.
Not that powdered stuff.
I remember when I was
little and sick, all stuffed up
and gross, my mom would
make this and the ginger
was the first thing I could smell.
Sometimes the only thing
I could smell. I'd take a mug
of extra broth and sip it like tea.
It would just open things up
in my head, I could at least
feel better enough to get some
decent sleep. This one time,
I had this ear ache. An hour
after sipping broth, my ears
popped and it was like I could
hear for the first time in days.
So, I always make sure I have some..."

A snore and mumble from the couch cut Lucy off. She turned to look to find Chris leaning to one side, neck uncomfortably craned over. Lucy shook her head at his pitiful shape and went over to ease him down onto the couch with a throw pillow under his head and pulled a blanket over him.

"I'm awake, really. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Just rest."

Lucy then turned to pick up the mug from the coffee table to take into the sink. Chris' hand reaches out to her's only to slip and dangle along side of the couch.

"It's okay, mom. I'll get the dishes.
I'm not done with my soup, yet."

Lucy turns back to look at him drifting in and out of sleep. She lifts his arm off the floor and he curls up into himself more.

"I'll wake you when soup's ready."

"Luce."

"Yeah?"

Lucy could just barely make out what Chris' mumbling. It took a moment before she realized he wasn't talking to her, but about her.

"You'd like, Lucy, mom.
... good person...
... makes soup...
... to me."

Lucy stopped at stared at him for a minute, startled at this fever induced half conversation. Was he telling his mother about her in his dream-like state? Was it from her own talk about soup and being sick as a child or was there something else?  Her mouth caught up to the smile in her eyes just as a hint of voyeuristic guilt set in. Then came the weight of concern and implications and the question "why". She picked up the mug and returned to the kitchen sink to resume making soup.