A crack in the shell

„It is all over.“ says my dear friend E. followed by a very strong definitely and a very finite: irrevocable. Never ever will she return into the life and flat, she shares since five years with the no less dear friend T.  And so my half eaten Croissant falls down on the ground and possibly only the sparrows, who are excited about their extended breakfast, are happy about the sudden silence, between E.’s shocking sentence and the pastry, tumbling downward. She is well aware, says E. further that her recent 35 birthday does not make things any easier, every year counts twice now, she emphasis because it’s not easy anymore to attract the attention of a possible man in a bar, when you are surrounded by twenty-two year old girls with the very same aim but no past and even more important with no cellulite, the evil of all the evils. E. looks even more distracted then before. I look distracted too, but not because of cellulite but of the fact that I can not imagine one single fact, who brings together a „never ever “ and dear T. is good-looking man, but not too good-looking, he has a job somewhat with accounting the title, not too absorbing but not boring either, he is not obsessed with soccer but delighted to accompany you in an opera and seems to be overall a very agreeable contemporary. Same has to be said about E. a charming lady, with a great smile, a funny wit, a tough business ( somewhat with consulting in the title ), good-looking with great lack curls, talented and truly adorable. We all looked with great pleasure on this very nice couple and waited not if but when the marriage was to be expected. But this does only mean that we were all proven wrong. It happened, so E. on a very ordinary, not very sunny but in no ways rainy sunday in the already mentioned shared and very commodious apartment. And as on nearly every Sunday, T. boiled eggs for E. and for himself. His three minutes, hers five. And this was the moment when it all began to happen, what destroyed the bright and extraordinary delightful atmosphere forever. E. namely did not join her darling in breaking the egg, as she tended to do normally, but started to look for the very first time closely and directly at dear friend T. habit and face while he ate his egg. And what she saw, so E. became a terrible sight. T. so E. did not only use pepper, salt and a good shot of tabasco sauce, already a first sign of the rupture of civilization that would shortly follow and stirring those ingredients wildly together but then and E. is nearly indifferent while remembering the scene, did not use a spoon to scoop down the disgusting mixture, but took the egg between two fingers, gulping, smuggling and smacking the egg with utter and great delight. Traces of  Egg yolk, tabasco sauce and tiny bits of the eggshell remained in T.’s face, who smiled in his usual way, asking E. kindly if he should break her egg too. But E. shaken by disgust, denied, leaving the breakfast table immediately, leaving the flat, while realizing with increasing clarity, as she tells me that she lived together with a man who gulped down his egg in the very same way on every sunday. And this doing of such a barbarous notion is something she won’t be able to do and to see again. Not now, not ever. And she knows, finishes E. that she will have less and less chances with every year.

2 thoughts on “A crack in the shell

  1. It’s not the egg, methinks, but lack of love. If her feelings for him faded away or if she never loved him remains the question.

    The next man might munch his toast in a way she can’t approve …

  2. Well, that’s not easy to say, maybe the love for the life she led with him was greater than the love for him and most of the times this is not enough and it needs only an egg…

Schreibe einen Kommentar

Deine E-Mail-Adresse wird nicht veröffentlicht.