You open your eyes and view your surroundings. You’re home. The cabin looking interior is quite deceiving because, even though you would like to live in a cabin, your house is placed in the middle of a suburb. You sigh as you hoist yourself out of bed and to turn off the alarm.
After you get your coffee going, you walk over to the door and grab your paper. You are the only person in the neighborhood that still gets their paper delivered, so the delivery boy just rides his bike to your house then does a U-turn right back out of the homes.
As you sit down to enjoy your coffee alone, you hear a knock at the door. Which you think is strange, as the paperboy never knocks for any reason. So, prepared to meet the face of a young boy, you open the door to the face of Harold – your neighbor. Every year he puts on a “pitch-in” style get-together for the entire neighborhood where he makes his “locally famous soup”. Or, whatever he calls it.
You’ve never been very fond of these gatherings, and have never tried his soup because of this. Normally, Harold just posts his invite to the notice board, but he seems to be more persistent this time. You’ve had him over a couple of times, but never this early in the morning, and this time he looks determined.
He greats you and you welcome him in, as he crosses the threshold of the door, you notice him hiding something behind his back. He reaches the kitchen and places the item on the countertop. As he takes a step back he announces that he would like you to try his soup.
Harold goes into a long story about how every year, at the get-together, he searches for you. He’s 75 now. He tells you that he is sick and wants to find someone to pass on his soup recipe to. Much like you, he lives alone. August, his wife passed away in 2008. They never had kids.
Even with everyone else at the get-together, he always hoped to see you. You are like a son to him, he tells you. To give you a chance to taste the soup, he has brought a bowl. From his pocket, he pulls out a small notecard with the markings of a recipe that he has crafted over the years.
You remember when you would have him over for dinners, he told you that his soup has been passed down through his family. However, when it got to him, he had some issues with some amounts they used and he almost completely redid the recipe. Since then, it was an instant hit wherever he went.
For the rest of the morning, you reluctantly agree to work with him and learn how to make his soup. After tasting it, you really enjoy it and decide to take up the task of passing it on to your children. He leaves your home and leaves the card on your counter.
Not even a month later, he passes away in his house. They found out when his hospital tried calling him to remind him of his appointment, but after many attempts to call him and getting no response, they sent someone to check on him because of his age and medical condition.
He never made it to the next “pitch-in” style get-together. However, the entire neighborhood gathered, you included, to mourn his death. In his memory, you make your first large batch of Harold’s famous soup. It was a hit.
While at the gathering, you meet a beautiful woman, Amber. With hair as red as a sunset and eyes greener than spring grass after a small shower, you fell in love instantly. Over time you were able to pass down the recipe to your children and when you were close to passing, they got a loan from the bank and started a small restaurant on the corner of your home street for hundreds to taste the amazing flavor of Harold’s famous beef and vegetable soup.
Words: 682
Time: Way too long
Revisions: 1
I’m trying a new style and perspective, let me know what you think!
-A
Asher Roland 