HEDGED
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Episode 9
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The next morning, I awoke to the enticing aroma of my favorite dish hitting me from left to right. It smelled so good; only Mama could have been capable of this.
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I surveyed the bed and the rest of the room for Tricia with bleary eyes. She wasn’t to be found.
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I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom. Sleep had vanished from my eyelids by the time I exited the bathroom.
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The aroma of “what’s cooking” was striking me from all sides, and my mouth was watering. I could taste every seasoning in the food I was picturing.
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With excitement, eagerness, and high expectations, I moonwalked to the front of the massive mirror hanging on my wall and performed a dance step or two.
My heart rejoiced like a youngster on Christmas Eve after imagining how lovely he’d look in his newly purchased Christmas clothing.
I hurriedly changed into a T-shirt and shorts before scrambling out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.
I guessed as much.
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Mama was standing in the kitchen, just a few feet away from me. Mama was preoccupied with doing “her thing” the only way she knew how.
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Mama was cooking with style. The enormous headphones I got her the last time I saw her were attached to her ears. Mama had seen these headphones in a movie and begged me to get her one.
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Mama was merely moving her head in a potential rhythm while dancing to the song that was plainly booming in her ears, rather than her typical unconscious inclination to sing along and utter it aloud, causing a nuisance.
The sight of “these” triggered recollections. I was moved to tears by the memories.
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I came up behind Mama and wrapped a strong grip around her.
Mama shrieked in terror. It was clear she wasn’t expecting arrivals and didn’t hear me walk in.
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“You scared me, joor” Mama exclaimed before she said, “Good morning, my darling.” “I trust you slept well.”
Mama asked, with a smile and a slightly higher pitch than usual, as she rinsed her hands and then removed her headphones. She continued before I could even frame a response to her greeting.
“Do I even have to ask?” Mama inquired, giving me the naughty boy look.
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This made me feel uneasy in certain ways.
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“It was perfectly fine; thank you, ma.” “How was yours?” I inquired as I approached Mama’s pot to have a look.
Because the pot’s cover was visible, I didn’t have to open it.
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My effort to open Mama’s saucepan and scoop some soup resulted in a playful swat.
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My favorite cuisine, prepared by my favorite “human being,” is not something I can pass up.
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This is not a food that anybody who knows it will prepare for me, and I will not be moved to eat it.
It’s the kind of cuisine I could eat all day, every day, for the rest of my life.
It is not a food that should be consumed cold or too heated.
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This cuisine is always best served fresh. So I couldn’t have had Mama make it at her house and then ship it over. It will still taste good, but not as good.
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This was the first time in a long time that I had eaten this dish. Tricia had attempted to create this delicacy for me a handful of times over the years, but something was always lacking. Either she’d modernized the recipe, and as a result, it came out completely different from what I’d expected, or it simply didn’t measure up.
Of course, I was always careful not to voice my displeasure. I was always grateful for Tricia’s efforts.
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I would have taught Tricia how to prepare this cuisine the way I wanted it, but I couldn’t even make it the way Mama does.
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Food was prepared; food was served, and there was no better way to begin the day than with this dish in hand.
Mama’s meal tasted much better than it smelled.
I sat across from Mama at the dining table, appreciating her cooking and getting goosebumps all over my body from how indescribably good it was.
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It was after stretching my plate and begging Mama for more rations that I realized I still hadn’t seen my wife all morning.
To be continued…
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Moshood Avidiime The Writer
