The older gentleman sauntered into the church’s dusty basement. Just like every other morning for the past ten years, he was here to eat his eleven o’clock lunch provided by the soup kitchen staff, since his late wife, Emily, was no longer able to cook for him. As he slowly processed through the line, he grimly smiled his tired eyes at the familiar faces behind the counter serving the food. At the end of the line, was a variety of desserts to choose from, but the ladies at the soup kitchen knew he loved macadamia nut cookies, and would always save him a bag full to make sure he got them. Emily had never made him macadamia cookies when she was living because of her allergies. He picked up his plate and grabbed his bag of cookies and made a bee line for his usual spot. He always sat in the middle of the table, in the middle of the cafeteria, with a good eye of the door and the line. As he ate, he slowly turned the mush of food over in his mouth like a cement truck.

It was during dessert that he noticed her. He was halfway through his second cookie when he realized there was a new lady sitting hunched over the table down from him. However, this was no stranger, not to him anyways. Caught off guard, the cookie in his mouth turned to crumbs. She peered over at him with her big round eyes. Stupefied, he stared blankly at her. She was even more beautiful than he remembered her to be. Her voice sounded like cold soup as she called his name. He continued to sit dumbfounded on his folding chair. It hit him. Then it hit him again. The first time in his head, the second, in his heart. She was calling his name, beckoning him over. She was his high school sweetheart. She was a cheerleader, and he was a running back on the football team. They used to be the best of friends. They dated all through high school. Everyone said they were going to get married, but he broke her heart and never laid eyes on her since. Now here she was at the Church’s humble soup kitchen, nibbling on her macadamia nut cookies. In the bottom of his soggy stomach, all of those crazy hormonal feelings he had for this woman back in high school gurgled back. He stood up and jogged over to her as adrenaline began pumping through his veins and towards his heart. She weakly stood up and shuffled towards him. “Mary,” he began, letting the airiness of her name wisp between his chapped lips. He timidly stuck his hand out and wrapped it gently around her paper thin wrists. “It’s great to see you,” he nervously chuckled. He saw the pained look in her eyes, “I’m sorry, Mary, about everything. I know I made a mistake, you were always the one I should have been with all along.”

Her eyes turned into boiling pots of tears. She blinked hard to push them back, and placed her hand gently on top of his. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” She strongly replied, looking him square in the face. With that, she turned around, scooped up her handbag with her forearm and purposely headed for the exit. As she opened the door to leave she ever so slightly titled her head to the side to sneak one last look at Robert, the long lost love of her life. He still stood where she had left him, standing alone like a crumbled memory. She stepped over the threshold and let the door fall loudly behind her. Three days later she died of a terminal illness alone in her bed.