u/Firmament247

The second time is always harder.

The night my wife died, I sat alone in that hospital room.  The doctors and nurses left me as I wept over her bed.  I think they wanted to help, but they just didn’t know how.  It wouldn’t have mattered.  Nothing mattered without her.

When that greasy little man knocked on the door, offering me a few more years with her. I too gladly gave him everything. His smile as I signed that contract was so wide I thought it would tear his face in half. I sold my house and moved into a crappy studio apartment. Sold my car. Cashed out my 401k.

I was broke, but I needed her more than any possession.

The surgery was the easy part.  A small chip in my brain, fueled by all the data I gave them.  Stories about us. Old love letters.  The movie stubs from our first date.  Her social media.  I gave them everything I had of her, and goddamn did they deliver.

The first time she popped into my vision, joining me in that crappy little studio, I broke down like a baby.  I just collapsed to the floor while she hugged me and comforted me.  The man told me not to access it too much because the more I brought her around, the more it drained the chip.

She was a perfect recreation of her. The way she smiled.  How her eyes sparkled and changed colors depending on what she wore.  I knew she was a digital recreation that only I could see, feel, and touch, but it was more than enough for me.

Three years.  That’s what I could afford.  Three more years with her, so much less than what she had when our car flew off the road that night.

I spent the first two and a half years never letting her leave.  Every day I needed her with me. I barely even noticed that the scar on her hand was missing.  

Then I had to start rationing my time with her.  Leaving her gone while I was at work, and only bringing her back to me once I stepped through the door, having her welcome me home. 

I had to start aggressively budgeting her time with me.  I got so good at using the chip that I’d have her disappear and reappear when I blinked, when I sneezed.

Anything to save those last precious few months I had with her.  I wasted the first two and a half years. Then I made the last six months last longer than they had any right to.  The length of every blink a decision. Every second with her, a terrible cost.

Once I stood at the door of my apartment for 20 minutes.  Holding the want in my chest before I entered.

I was down to minutes.  The last few minutes I’d have with my wife.

The company hadn’t lied.  Her eyes were gray now.  Her face didn’t have the dimple that I loved in her cheek when she smiled.  She barely spoke.

I made a final meal. Pasta and red wine. The things she loved when she was really still here.  I set the table, holding off on summoning her until I was ready. I was in an old shirt and jeans, which I wore on our first date.

Breathing deeply, I brought her back for one final meal.  I willed her to be there fully, just like she had in the beginning.

She radiated sunshine as her eyes got wide at the meal before us.  “Oh my god! This looks incredible! I can’t believe you made this all just for me. I’m so glad you can cook,” she said, immediately diving in.  Dancing in that happy way she always did when she enjoyed the food.

It broke me. I started weeping at the sight, and she took the napkin off her lap and tossed it on the table, immediately walking around it to hold me, saying, “Hey, what’s wrong, love? Did you have a tough day? Are you alright?”

“It’s over, it’s going to be over. Again!” I cried, burying my head in the crook of her neck as I cried.

“What’s going to be over, love?” she said, running her hands over my head.  

“I’m out of time.  You’re going to be gone again any second now, and I can’t take it. I can’t do this! Not again!” 

She reached out a hand and touched my cheek, raising my face to see her.  She looked at me, those deep green eyes shining with tears. It was like she was trying to understand whether she was mourning me or I was mourning her. 

“You died,” I whispered. “And I gave them everything to have you back.”

 “Hey, it’s going to be okay. I lo–”

And she was gone.

The apartment was quiet. Emptier than it had ever been. I filled it.  My heart was torn to pieces again as I screamed into the void.

It was all over. The weight of it even more unbearable than the first.

“It’s always harder the second time.” 

I tell them that part slowly.  Some of the people in the circle turn away from my gaze.  Some cry before I can even motion to Keith.

“Keith was just my favorite coworker at the time, but after I didn’t show up for three days, he came to my house and found me.  I was still wearing the clothes from my first date.  Lying on the ground, still weeping. Keith lost his wife the year before, and I hadn’t even known. He helped me up, talked to me, and asked me about her.  He encouraged me to get therapy, work through my grief, and became my best friend.  I’m always going to have a hole here,” I said to the group, touching my chest, “But I can have a life now. I can move and live. It’s what she would have wanted.”

Keith spoke up then saying, “And that’s why we started this group.  John needed support at that time, and now we both want to provide that support for others.”

My eyes scanned the room, full of depressed looks and trembling lips.  My eyes landed on a small woman, her face strained as she held back the tears.

“Carol, please tell us about your husband.”

I always ask them to start with the name. I wish someone had asked me sooner. “Tell us who he was.”

Benji observed the large man crawl from the tent in his backyard, his brow furrowed.  The tent shifted as if accommodating his size before adjusting back into place.  Rolly, his new chef, hired by his mother, was far too large a man to fit comfortably into a tent of that size, yet he seemed to disappear into it every night just the same.  Jessie fetched Benji as it was time for a long day of tutoring.

His mother had connections. Of what kind Benji and Jessie had remained unaware, as she was never forthcoming with very much detail, but Benji had seen the dark-tinted SUVs she often left in for work meetings, ones like she left in this morning.  Benji’s mind wandered as the tutor droned on about world politics.  

His sister Jessie, on the other hand, quietly studied and paid attention. Often asking insightful questions that earned her praise from the tutor, even as she squeaked them out in her soft, often almost impossible to hear voice. While Benji pondered on the mysteries that surrounded this new chef and his mother, Jessie found her stomach grumbling, excited to try another meal, wondering what effect this one might bring.

The children exited their studies for a break, hearing the clang of kitchen utensils ringing out as they approached.  As always, sitting on the island ready for them were their lunches, this time two steaming bowls.  Rolly seemed to be able to predict their hunger like he could feel the pangs in their stomachs and had food ready before they even asked.

They climbed onto the counter to see two bowls of what looked like brown sludge with bits of meat, potato, and carrot bubbling to the surface.  The aroma was divine even as the sight appeared unappetizing.

“You can’t just serve us muddy, whatever this is,” Benji growled out, “Mother said you have to serve us appealing and nutritious meals only.  I’m going to send her a picture and finally be rid of you Rolly.” Benji pulled his phone out as Jessie laid a napkin across her lap and sent a picture to his mother.  His phone buzzed before it even reached the counter, ‘Eat your meal. Don’t embarrass me.’  

Benji wanted to protest, argue back, but he knew there was no point as he slumped in his chair and picked up his spoon in unison with his sister. “Stew is an ancient remedy shared across people and cultures.  I served this recipe to a young man from Atlanta once. He believed he could carry the suffering of others without breaking, and he was effective…. For a time,” Rolly prosed in his never-changing monotone voice as he began to clean.

The children lifted the stew to their mouths as Benji held his nose closed, and they swallowed.

The weariness of a Mother standing over a sink cleaning dishes after a long day.

The way your back aches after toiling to build homes for men richer than yourself.

The emptiness that comes from sitting on a street, asking for crumbs, and not even having the eyes of a person pass over you, even acknowledging that you take up space.

The snap back to reality at the kitchen island was as sharp as ever, but Benji wasn’t having it this time.  He stood on the stool, pointing his spoon at Rolly as if it were the sharpest sword, exclaiming, “Enough of this! I’m sick of this! What are you doing to our food? Is this poison? Drugs? And how do you always have it ready? I haven’t seen you cook a thing, and I know we didn’t have these ingredients in the kitchen yesterday.  Talk. What are you doing to us?”

Rolly calmly looked up as he put the final pot away, sparkling clean, as he said, “I only feed you the freshest ingredients.  They were… carefully sourced.  How does it present?”  

“It presents like you’re trying to drug us and manipulate us! What the hell was that? Why does my back hurt?  What the hell are you doing?!” Benji’s voice was shrill as he screamed, and as his voice rang out and faded into the endless hallways of his family's massive home, he finally heard the sniffles of his sister next to him as she mumbled into her lap, “It’s not just me.”  

Benji’s heart softened for the only other person he had a drop of care for as he sat to comfort his sister as she cried softly into her lap. 

Rolly observed this with interest.  He raised an eyebrow, the first expression he had shown.

“Interesting.”

Benji screamed, “Shut up, she’s crying, what did you do to her?”  

“You are upset.”

A pause
 
“This is expected. Please finish your meal.”

Jessie wiped her tears and continued eating as Benji sat back with his arms crossed, refusing another bite but staring at his sister, worry written across his face. Jessie finished her meal, and Benji stood with her, leaving the bowl untouched as he walked back to his studies with her.  Alone in the kitchen, Rolly began to clean up, but not before pulling out a notebook.

Empathy

J - Emboldened and seen

B - Resistant. Desired effect achieved through J’s response

Note: Study environmental effects post consumption.

He put the notebook away as he cleaned the dishes and the children returned to their studies.  Upstairs Jessie was the one distracted this time.  It wasn’t just her who was ignored and overlooked.  Benji always had her parents' attention, whether for his poor behavior or to praise his strong will.  Even the tutors.  She was often the better student, answering more questions and paying better attention but still the praise was mounted on Benji when they’d report to their parents.

It wasn’t fair.  None of it was fair.

Veronica sat in the imposing board room, her own house visible from the higher vantage point the building stood upon in the hills. She’d laid it all out for the voice on the other side of the screen, the distorted one with only the emblem of a fox, it’s eyes segmented like a machine, as a picture.

These findings are adequate for now. How are the children behaving? Any noticeable change in behavior?

“Some,” Veronica replied, “However, I don’t think whatever he’s doing has really taken hold yet.  The children seem to be questioning themselves more, though.  I’ve noticed they observe more than they used to. Further findings will need to be established.”

Do not return without more results. Dismissed

Veronica quietly packed her things and left the boardroom, and entered the back seat of the black SUV that drove her home.

At home, the children had finished their day, their father, Harry, popping out of his study to say goodnight as they settled in for the night. Jessie joined her brother at the window as they watched the tent adjust to Rolly’s large form as he crawled inside before heading to her own room for bed.

Benji lay in his own bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking of his sister’s crying face.  It bothered him. He couldn’t explain it… but he’d never let it happen again.

Jessie stared at her own ceiling with a scowl as she rolled the same phrase over and over in her mind.

It’s not fair.

It had never been fair.

The key to a good soup is the right ingredients. This has been proven many times. Rarely correctly.  Rollin knew this after years of practice and work, trying new ingredients, finding failure and some success, but not the right recipe. Not just yet.

He strolled up to the immense space, a mansion, one of the many peppering the Appalachians in this Cashiers though certainly one of the more ostentatious ones.  He knocked on the door and waited as a man with sunken eyes but a warm demeanor, slowly opened the wooden door made of a single slab from a tree Rollin knew to have been extinct decades past.

“Ah, you must be… Rollin? The chef? Am I saying that right?”

“Rolly works if it’s not too difficult. I am here for the work. That is correct yes?”

“Right,” the man said with a raised brow, “The work… come on in, it’s hot out there, and you should meet the kids and my wife. She’s the one who found you.”  Rolly crossed the boundary, feeling a charge as he stepped inside, the taste of discovery on his lips.  He followed the man inside, who introduced himself as Harry, short for Harold, a name given by his father and passed down through the years until he was the latest victim of its passage.

A moment later, the sound of designer heels rang out as his wife, Veronica, the one who contacted Rolly for employment, came down with two children in tow, clearly looking to have offered at least some form of protest before descending.

Veronica reached out with a firm handshake, saying, “Rolly. Excellent to meet you, you come highly recommended by my friends in DC.” The handshake was ironclad, as was the woman, as her piercing eye seemed to search and investigate Rolly more than greet him as she held his hand a fraction beyond polite.  “These are our children, Benjamin and Jessica,” she said as she pushed them forward.  Rolly regarded them as he bowed to the children, saying, “Good to meet you, small ones.  I will be serving you, yes?”

The children yelled out in protest, “My name's not Benjamin, it’s Benji, and Jessica hates when you call her that, just call her Jessie jesus mom.  So this guy’s going to be making us lunch and dinner and stuff?”  Anger flared behind Veronica’s eyes as she turned to the children, the anger filling the air with tension as she answered, “Yes, Rolly will be assisting your father and me in feeding you in exchange for room and board.  Now behave and get to know your new caretaker, your father, and I are busy.”

Without another word, those heels clacked as she disappeared into the study upstairs, and Harry apologetically mumbled a few words before disappearing up the stairs himself.  The children looked up at Rolly, an uncharacteristically tall man with a sunken form, as if he’d never eaten one of the meals he had created, and with defiant eyes, Benji spoke up, saying, “Lunch. Now.”

Rolly eyed the children, one full of fire and force, the other too happy to sink into the shadow of her brother.  “Bad start, but good soup does not always come from the best start.  Come, I make lunch.” Rolly said, walking away towards the kitchen.  Benji strode behind with a confident smirk as Jessie mumbled, “How does he even know where the kitchen is?”  The children entered the kitchen and began to climb onto the stools that surrounded the island as their eyes cleared the counter and Benji insults began afresh.  “You know if your food’s bad, I could have you fired, right? My mother would tell everyone. You’d probably never work again…” his eyes suddenly noticed the food already lay before him.

 A simple meal, but the aroma punctured the air around them, enticing their senses just the same, a bowl of red liquid adorned with a parsley leaf, accompanied by a crisp and well-melted cheese sandwich, picture perfect in all regards save the speed at which it arrived.

“How?... You were in here for ten seconds!” Benji exclaimed as Jessie mumbled out a thank you and began to eat.  “You ought to dig in, tomato soup is best when it’s piping hot,” Rolly replied as he began clearing the pots and pans he had used to make the meal. 

Angrily, Benji mumbled under his breath, “Hope it burns me, then I’ll make mother fire you.” Dipping his sandwich in the soup as he took his first bite alongside Jessie.  It felt like a rush of air hit him in the face.  

Wind tore past his face
Heat permeated the air around him as he felt sweat drip down his body
An engine betwixt his legs roaring with life - Fast, loud, and free

The snap back into the kitchen felt violent as his senses regained control once more

“What? Where.. Where did I go?” Benji said as he looked to his twin, her eyes sparkling with wonder as he could tell she had the same thought.  Rolly looked calm and collected as he droned out, “You haven’t left your seat.”  

“Bu-but my bike? The desert? Where did it go?” Jessie nodded along, saying, “I liked it, I wanna do it again.”  

Rolly turned to the children, already putting away the final clean pot as he said, " That would be the wanderlust children. I bought it from a man in the desert.  A good fellow he was. The reaction is common, but you’ll find your footing soon. The heartiness of the tomato soup keeps you grounded.”

A pause.

“Too much distance can be destabilizing.  Please finish your meal.”  

The children returned to their meal, those same emotions filling them as they finished their dinner.  Jessie’s bowl was empty first and she ran around the counter and gave Rolly an embrace saying, “Thank you, Mr. Rolly, that’s my favorite lunch ever.” Rolly, without lowering himself, patted her back and eyed her, saying “Good soup” before turning his eye to Benji and continuing, “Even unexpected ingredients can beget surprises.” 

Another long pause before he said “A better start than the last.”

Benji eyed Rolly warily as he rose from his spot, leaving his dishes behind as he said, “Whatever, not bad cook. Keep it up, and maybe you’ll last a week.”  He stomped off furiously as Jessie trailed behind him.  Rolly took the dishes and plates, finishing cleaning up before finding a private area in the backyard to set up his tent.

Through the window of his father's study with his latest manuscript stacked on the desk as his father continued to write, Benji asked, “Dad? What’s wanderlust?”  Harry, engrossed in his writing, muttered without his eyes leaving the screen, “It’s a feeling, an impulse to travel and see or explore the world.”

“Then how do you add it to a sandwich?” Benji questioned as he watched Rolly begin to set up his tent behind a tree in the backyard. “And why in the world is the servant putting a tent up in the backyard?”  

Harry continued staring at the screen with his bloodshot eyes, saying, “You can’t add it to a sandwich and Rolly insisted on staying in his tent in the backyard even though we have rooms here. That’s enough questions, I need to work, go play with your sister or something.”

Benji strode out, his mission accomplished as he felt the small flask of whiskey strain against his jeans pocket.  He wandered off to play with his sister, as he glanced at the backyard one more time to see Rolly place the final stake as if he knew where it belonged, and disappeared into the simple pyramid-shaped tent.  Shrugging his shoulders, he went to his room to enjoy his newfound spoils. 

The faint hum of the fans cooling the system buzzed as Veronica played back the scene from the kitchen. Rolly moved at impossible speeds as the simple lunch seemed to appear almost from thin air.  She watched as her son and daughter's eyes went blank as Rolly stood there observing them before they snapped back to reality.  

She reviewed the biometrics.

Heart spiking.

Brain activity elevated.

She opened a new window and typed a simple message

“It’s begun.”