I went on a walk today and found myself walking around my old neighborhood. I hadn’t been to that side of town in years. A memory came flooding back, I had forgot .
I was all alone and terrified. The world outside my front door was in turmoil. Sounds and smells of death were everywhere. The newly formed street gangs were running up and down the streets in my neighborhood. I went to my room, hid beneath my bed covers, covered my ears and prayed to God that he would let me die.
I slept until the following day. I pulled my bed covers off my head and stared at the ceiling. The sun was shining thru my window. Outside was unusually quiet. My stomach had been empty for two days I could hear it grumbling in protest. I climbed out of my bed and stumbled into the kitchen. The pantry was empty except for a single can of lima beans. I have always hated lima beans. They always made me gag.
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.