Someone’s in the Kitchen with Becca

Becca and I were at the little lake cabin. It was noontime. The interior of the 1940s cabin was a sweltering 92 degrees.

Thankfully, old bungalows were designed before A/C. I opened all the windows and doors, and within mere minutes the cabin had cooled to 91 degrees.

The 12-year-old wore a dripping swimsuit, beach towel draped around her shoulders.

“What do you want for lunch?” I asked.

She thought about it for a few seconds. “Can I have anything I want?”

“Within legal reason.”

She thought again before speaking. “Know what I want?”

“I don’t have ESP.”

“The sports channel?” she said.

“Never mind. What do you want?”

“I want you to teach me to make a sandwich.”

Becca is blind. Her eyes are closed because the muscles in her eyelids are atrophied. So she looks like a renaissance painting of Raphael’s angel.

“I’ve never made myself a sandwich before,” she said.

“Sandwiches are complicated things,” I said. “Even for a sighted person. Making sandwiches is messy. Let’s do that another day.”

“I don’t mind making a mess.”

“I believe you.”

She was not giving up. “Please?”

So I reasoned with her. “How about I HELP you make a sandwich?”

She shook her head. “I want to do it myself. I don’t want your help. I want you to talk me through it.”

Becca stood in the center of the kitchen, dripping, holding her white cane with the red tip. The faint traces of a little sunburn were starting to show up on her face even though—I swear—I coated her face with a sunscreen product resembling commercial aviation wax.

“Is this important to you?” I said.

“Yes.”

I caved in.

“Good!” She was all smiles. “You sit at the counter, and just tell me what to do.”

“Ten-four.”

The first thing to do was talk her through navigating the inner labyrinths of the unorganized refrigerator. I told her where to find the mayo, ham, bread, lettuce, pickles.

She opened every jar herself. She opened every plastic baggy. She performed all tasks with the gentle care and patience of a surgeon.

She dropped things, of course. Silverware fell from the counter. Mayonnaise globs flew through the air. Heavy glass jars rolled across the floor. She had more condiments on her hands and clothing than on her bread slices.

But she never lost her composure. Her confidence never once faltered.

It took 47 minutes to prepare the sandwich. I talked her through every step. And even though I was tempted, true to my word, I did not lift a finger to help.

When the sandwich was finished, it did not look quite like any sandwich I had seen before.

“How does my sandwich look?” she asked.

“It’s perfect.”

“Tell me the truth.”

“It’s a great looking sandwich.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes.”

Becca sliced her sandwich with a butterknife. It took a whole five minutes to finish cutting. She placed one sandwich half onto the counter. She was smiling like she had just discovered teeth. There was a smear of mayo on her forehead.

Then, the magnificent girl pushed the sandwich toward me.

“Here,” she said. “I made it for you.”

4 comments

  1. stephenpe - August 2, 2024 12:24 pm

    How do you cry using just a sentence. Becca teaches us more about life each time you write about her. We love you, Becca. And you, too, Sean.

    Reply
  2. Bubba Stubbs - August 2, 2024 1:53 pm

    How dadgummed SWEET is that?

    Reply
  3. Lorelee - August 2, 2024 3:47 pm

    What a beautiful heart Becca has! Thank you for putting such amazing, inspiring, warmhearted stories out into the universe. We need them now more than ever to remind us of what’s truly important in life. I’m reminded of a Bible verse, “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy – think about such things.” Thank you for focusing your readers minds on “such things.”

    Reply
  4. Joan - August 6, 2024 12:24 pm

    What a blessing you are to so many people! Someone has to tell the good news stories in this world! Love, love, love you and Becca and all the rest of the folks you write about!

    Reply

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