I grabbed the can of lima beans. The electric can opener was useless. My house had been without power for a couple of weeks. The manual can opener was in a drawer, next to the stove on the farside of the room. The kitchen wasn’t very large but with wobbly legs, the walk to the other side seemed difficult. I had to stop midway to catch my breath and wait for a feeling of lightheadedness to pass. It took nearly all of my remaining strength to open the stubborn can. The effort made me cry.
Crying crocodile tears, I walked into the living room and wrapped my mom’s quilt around my shoulders. I sat on the couch. I stared at the open can. I hated those beans. I didn’t want to eat them but my stomach hurt. The first bite of beans caused me to heave but I swallowed any way.