Just Another Supper

Just Another Supper

Krishna Patel finished cutting the potatoes, adding them to the soup pot that was beginning to heat up on the old-fashioned cookstove. Priya the cat fairy opened one cute kitten eye, then went back to sleep, purring from her spot on the well-worn wooden countertop.

Krishna added carrots, celery, and all the other normal soup vegetables, and then placed the lid on the pot. He had done this hundreds of times with his brother Franciscan monks, cooking without electricity in an old, stone kitchen. How he loved it there!

Krishna took out the bread dough, next, flouring the countertop before beginning to knead the loaf. Priya purred as he worked, the firm, gentle repetition of working the dough relaxing. Krishna always thought best when he was doing something for his friends, and he truly hoped they would enjoy the night’s meal.

Returning the dough to its bowl to prove until later, Krishna wiped off the counters, another familiar task he had performed countless times. He then leaned against the old, stone walls, worked by the hands of missionaries and Native Americans hundreds of years ago, and wept.

“Krishna?” Priya said, opening her eyes and transforming into a normal-sized fairy with cat ears and a tail. She fluttered over to Krishna’s shoulder, her favorite place to perch, and gave him as big of a hug as she could.

“I…will be alright, Priya,” Krishna said around his tears. He hugged his best fairy friend gently.

“Why are you crying?” Priya asked earnestly, her little eyes full of concern. “Are you hurt? Do I need to get the others?”

Krishna shook his head. “No,” he replied simply. He looked around the comforting kitchen, everything in its place, and all as it should be. The contrast of the past few days was sharp in comparison.

“I needed this time alone,” Krishna said. He smiled at Priya. “Well, mostly alone. I am glad the others knew.” He listened for a moment, and heard the voices of his friends. They were close in case of danger, but far enough away to give Krishna the time he needed. He loved his friends. They were the most irreplaceable treasure in his life.

Krishna dried his tears, and picked up his Bible. He hugged it close, as Priya sat on his shoulder. “I…nearly died, Priya,” he explained. “If it was not for you and the others helping me, I would not be standing here today. And I thank God every moment that I am still able to be here with you.”

Krishna gestured at the normal, commonplace items in the kitchen. “Here, everything is the way it has been for a very long time, Priya. Here, it is so like the Monastery where I grew up. Here, I can make good food for my friends, the way I have done so many times. It is here that I feel comforted – but also where I feel most keenly that I may never have stepped foot here again.”

“Oh,” Priya replied, understanding in her eyes. “Krishna, the past few days were hard for all of us. I was so worried you would fade away, and so was everyone else. But you didn’t,” she said, hugging his arm hard. “You’re still here, with us, and we’re your friends, and we’re here for you. So whenever you get worried or scared, you let us know, okay? We’re friends, and we want to be here for you, no matter what. And it’s okay to need quiet sometimes, too. I understand. But…maybe I can help you cook a little bit, too? That’s something you haven’t done before, right?”

Krishna smiled at the fairy. “No,” he replied. “I have not cooked with my new fairy friend before. That is a very good idea, Priya. I think our friends would like some dessert after supper.” Krishna and Priya busily worked to make dessert, then left the kitchen.

Hours later, Krishna’s friends the Allies, as well as his brother monks, gathered around the heavy wooden table in the common room. Krishna brought out the bread while his mother carried the soup, and Priya flew behind, fluttering hard under the burden of the dessert she insisted she carry.

Setting everything on the table, Krishna’s eyes once again filled with tears as he looked at the familiar faces of all of his friends. They had eaten together so often, through good times and bad. But this time had a much deeper meaning.

“My friends,” Krishna began. He took a moment to steady himself. “I am so thankful that we are all here together. I have made soup and bread many times, cooking and baking with the beautiful old woodstove. But this time, I wanted all of you to know that I made it for you – my dear friends who risked so much to save my life. When I was hurt, and the shadows fought to claim me, you were all there, pulling me back. I can never thank you enough. And I can never thank God enough that I have such friends as you.”

Krishna felt himself surrounded by warm hugs as he cried. His mother, his best friend, his father, and all the others crowded around. Krishna no longer felt cold or afraid. The light and warmth of friendship drove back the dark shadows, reminding him of the words of dear St. Francis. He was never alone. And he thanked God every day for the love of family and friends.

“Krishnaaaa!” Priya called, pushing past the others to hover right in front of his face. “Are you okay?”

“I have never been better,” he replied, smiling through his tears. He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his monk’s robe. “I think…we should eat now.”

As Krishna sliced the bread, its warm, familiar aroma filled the room. With the smell of fresh, hot bread, and the soft light of lanterns, Krishna was again reminded of suppers shared many times with those he loved. But now, this special time together would always have another meaning. For in the simplest of things, the normal moments that repeat over and over, Krishna felt the love of friends surround him. And this most ordinary of mealtimes was not just another supper – it was, in its simplicity, the celebration of the bond of friendship that would last forever.

Dakota Love

Reedsy Prompt #250: “Antanaclasis”.