Tomato Soup
Mike MacConnell | Myfanwy Kinder
The strange object revealed on the deep water camera had the whole room aghast. No one could place it. No one could even fathom it. The research team looked at the ghostly image of the mysterious shape. Some murmured that it looked like a building foundation. Some whispered that it was simply a blur. But one thing was on everyone’s mind, yet no one wanted to say it. Just then, the ship’s cook, Jacques, stumbled into the room, drunk on a bottle of cooking sherry.
“What you lookin’ at, fellas?” Jacques asked.
Before anyone could answer, Jacques’ eyes lit up.
“Hey man! Dat look like de UFO!” Jacques shouted.
The crew nervously exchanged glances. Before anyone could react, a small shape exited the object and rushed towards the camera with terrific speed and—
—CLICK—
“Hey, I was watching that!” Harry said.
He looked up to see his wife Jane standing by his side, holding the remote.
“Well, it wasn’t helping your anxiety, dear. Have you taken your Buspar today?” Jane asked. “Besides, it’s time for dinner, you old cuss.”
Harry groaned. Jane was always on his ass about those meds. And if it wasn’t that, she demanded calm around the house. This included forcing Harry off his beloved lawnmower and hiring a lawn care service, so as not to stress Harry out. Jane hadn’t taken into consideration that that was one of the few things that made Harry feel at peace. The other was smoking the occasional cigar and drinking the obligatory six-pack on Saturday night. Now the booze was gone. You can’t drink while taking anti-anxiety meds, Jane had said. Now, instead of relaxing on his back deck with a good smoke, Harry had been forced to sneak his cigars in the gas station parking lot.
Harry was frustrated as hell.
He climbed out of his easy chair and made his way into the kitchen. He sniffed the wonderful aroma of Jane’s tomato soup. Despite all her annoying habits, she was indeed a good cook, Harry decided. He poured himself a bowl of the rich creamy soup. Steam rose from the bowl as Harry sniffed and smiled. He grabbed a spoon from the drawer and made his way to the table. Jane followed soon after. The two sat at the table, enjoying their soup—not that they enjoyed each other’s company. Unbeknownst to Harry, Jane had been annoyed with him as well. With his giving the finger to bad drivers while she was in the car, the public nose picking, the farting in bed, and not to mention, the constant grousing about ‘needing to be left alone.’ Harry smiled into the soup bowl as he dipped his spoon for another taste. Jane smiled right along as she clutched the divorce papers under the table. Harry made his way to the stove for another bowl. He took his time now, as he needed just the right crackers. He turned around to see Jane’s empty seat. He noticed the papers lying on the table. On a whim, he picked them up. When he read the first line, his face went white. He collapsed into his chair, aghast.
“Damn,” Harry said.
Harry reached into his sock and pulled out his beloved Black and Mild. He extracted a lighter from his waistband and lit the cigar. He puffed contentedly as the thick smell of smoke tainted the air.
