His black ramekin sat in the sink, water brimming over the mass of uneaten egg and spinach.
He’d wanted black ramekins for weeks; matte black, resembling spent shell casings, he said. My heart was warmed by his enthusiasm but could not share it as I knew they would not be ideal for his purposes. But that little heart of his was set and a few days ago they arrived.
Gods, did I want to have been there to hug him. His ramekin hopes dashed against the rocks, abandoned in the sink. A grown man, to be sure, but sometimes I look at him and can only see that little laughing boy with the chubby cheeks.
