Spoonlight
By Tammy Breitweiser
“When is a spoon a match?”
The riddle spills out of Sean’s mouth and gets tangled in his long gray hair but Meghan catches it with her innocence. Sean’s friend cradles the coffee spoon in her small hand. It holds her like an anchor within this space of comfort. The frosted handle and mirrored head reflects her illuminated baby teeth. She shakes her head in answer to the question. She has no idea being only four. If she waits he will answer himself - he always does. She holds the utensil back out to him. Its vibration is calling to him.
Sean makes a quick turn when he sees a shadow by the door that is not there. The spoon clangs to the floor. Noise bothers him now and with a shaky hand he protects the spoon as he lifts it. He tells her with heavy breath he always has the spoon with him. It usually resides in his pant’s pocket, but next to his heart if his shirt allows it. The matching silver wedding ring stays on his finger.
Sean’s wife had believed the old tale from the sea that a person should never run out of spoons. If you do, one must rest until new spoons are found. Estelle believed the spoons held light which allowed the bearer to accomplish the tasks of everyday life.
The spoon is connection even in death. Estelle’s sorority sisters believed her silly story and gifted them a set of twelve coffee spoons for their nuptials.
He remembers their morning coffee ritual. He remembers being the big spoon. He remembers the ice cream sundaes at 3am and her sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter in his white shirt. He remembers the creme brulee savored one spoonful at a time on their anniversary. He remembers her failing to eat cereal effectively and the spray of milk released when she laughed. He broke his own story with each remembering. He felt the memory shift a bit and each time he lost more memories with no time to create more.
Sean could not make it on just one spoon’s light.
In death, Estelle has a spoon secured in her hands. Her request was honored to have an evergreen as a headstone. Sean found the perfect resting space for his bride: a death forest. Another spoon hung from a branch deep inside the boughs to mark her spot.
Sean’s heart was impaled everytime he caressed the spoon in his pocket. The handle smooth in three spots from his thumb. It matched the mark on his heart, never to heal.
“The spoon is a special kind of match I can gift to you,” Sean says to little one with eyes like the ocean. “The time we spend together charges the energy in the spoon to light our days. My Estelle would like you, little one. Since we had no daughters I choose you to carry on the tradition. Keep it close and it will help you through your day.”
Meghan holds the spoon again in her little fists and clutches it to her chest. The wonder of the story and love fills her with light Sean can see. For the first time since he can remember, he smiles.
THE END