To go along with my post called Creamy Tomato Soup and Grilled Cheese Sandwiches, I have just one more bonus story for you about my experience with the healing power of tomato soup and grilled cheese. It's just one for my baby, and one more for the road, guys. Enjoy!
So, I had just begun dating "Cowboy," when I found myself coming home from Oklahoma City, where I had been away on business. It was raining in the Flint Hills on that day, and I was flying down the highway with my cruise control on when my car, caught air, and hydroplaned. My SUV went flying straight off the road, scooting sideways between the two cars around me (thankfully harming no one), and finally ramping off the road into a deep ditch, where the car rolled, end over end, with me inside. I had never been in a car wreck before, and as the dust settled after the accident, my suitcase, my purse and my cell phone and even the shoes I had been wearing had all gone flying out of the car when I flipped.
I had a severe pain in my chest where it had hit the steering wheel and was deeply bruised, and knew I needed to check to make sure I could walk, so I reached down and unbuckled my seatbelt which promptly dropped my dazed and confused body further down into the deep recesses of the truck with a terrible thud. It was then that realized my car had landed on its side. I literally had to climb up towards to the driver's side door which was now standing right side up facing the sky, serving as the "top" of my car, and my only exit out. The rest of the windows in my car were dark with dirt and mud. I stood, with both bare feet on my steering wheel, and tried to jump to get enough momentum to try to push my driver's side door up and open so I could crawl out and make my escape. But everytime I tried to use my arms to pull myself up and out of the car, a pain so powerful shot through my chest that I literally could not breathe from it. It slammed my chest so hard, I actually whimpered out loud, as I failed, again and again, to get that door open.
Finally, I heard voices. Two kindly older men,"Veterans," I remember they told me, saw my accident and were nice enough to try to stop and help me in the pouring rain. They told me to save my strength, as I heard them struggling to get on top of my car to open the door to help me escape. They finally managed to get the car door open, and helped to hoist me out of the twisted wreck that was now my car.
One of them, reached back into my car and fished out my winter coat, and put it on me as I stood in a daze in the pouring rain, barefoot. The other man, used his cell phone to call the Highway Patrol. To me, it felt like everyone was moving in slow motion. The men were so polite and insisted on standing and waiting with me, for the police to arrive. Making small talk, they asked me what had happened, and tried to make me feel better by telling me that my car insurance would pay for everything, and not to worry. At this point, the Highway Patrolmen arrived and asked me if I wanted an ambulance to take me to the hospital. I nodded my head, yes, because, I was having trouble breathing and I was afraid my lung might collapse on me out here in the middle of the Flint Hills. The ambulance finally arrived and as they loaded me onto the stretcher the nice Highway Patrolman told me he would bring me my personal effect and cell phone once he found them. As the doors to the ambulance closed, I realized I knew no one's phone number by heart, to call for help. All of my numbers were stored in my cell phone, the same cell phone that had now gone M.I.A.
At the hospital in Emporia, KS, I waited in an Emergency Room bed for what seemed like an eternity, unable to move due to the pain in my chest and noticing my shin was also in a lot of pain. They took x-rays of both aching body parts and I was sure I would pass out just from twisting to get my boo-boo's under the x-ray just so. When I got back to my room, the Highway Patrolman was waiting and had brought my cell phone and purse that he had found with everything still intact. Amazing. I was so grateful for him for bringing back my personal effects to me. What would I have done without my phone?
At that point, the hospital released me with a serious chest bruise and a shin that had almost cracked a bone in the accident, but instead was only bruised . . .protected it would seem by the lower half of my dashboard. I should also mention that the Policeman, before he left, told me that I would have most likely been dead had it not been for my seatbelt. (People, please wear your seatbelts. Please.)
I was released from the hospital with nothing more than a prescription for painkillers. As I sat in the waiting area of the hospital in Emporia, I dialed "Cowboy's" cell number and explained calmly what had happened and where I was. I hesistated leaning on him for anything involving the accident, as we were still so new in our relationship. I didn't want him to think I couldn't handle things on my own. That's when he told me to stay right there, and he would be there in 30 minutes. Exactly 30 minutes later, "Cowboy" strolled through the front doors of the hospital, wearing his dressy work clothes, with his long, dark trench coat flying behind him. His eyes took me in, and I could see the genuine worry and concern for me in them. But, the moment between us passed, as I was already on the phone arguing with the tow truck company on where I could locate my truck to clean it out. I looked up, and motioned for "Cowboy" to come sit next to me in the waiting room of the hospital. I thought he never looked more handsome to me, than he did right at that moment. I, on the other hand, must have looked like a fright. I was covered in mud from head to toe, my bare feet had dried mud caked all over them, as my shoes were never recovered. My hair was wet and stuck to my head, and my cheeks, as I turned to kiss "Cowboy" hello. He tried to hug me, but I was in too much pain for that.
He managed to get me into the car, where I realized that I was starting to get tired from all of the excitement and adrenaline of the day. We drove to the tow truck lot in Emporia, where I was preparing for a fight to get access to my truck. The tow truck driver was worried if he let me clean out my truck he would never get paid for the tow. "Cowboy" told me to stay in the car, that he would handle it. Sure enough, 5 minutes later, he was being escorted over to my completely mangled, and definitely totaled truck, to clean out what he could salvage. He made several trips from my car to his, dumping old CD's, ice scrapers and countless pairs of sunglasses lost under my car seats forever, into a cardboard box in his trunk. "My life in pieces," I thought, as I watched him carry armload after armload of my crap from my truck to his car.
When he got back into the car, he was soaked to the bone from the rain. That's when he suddenly grabbed my face and kissed me hard on the mouth. When I pulled back, amused by his sudden expression of passion, I realized that he had tears in his eyes. He whispered hoarsely, "I almost lost you, today. I just found you, and I almost lost you," he said nodding to the general direction of my mangled truck. He whispered, "I had no idea how bad the wreck had been, Baby, until I saw your truck." I was truly touched by his raw and honest emotion. I reached out and stroked his cheek in an effort to assure him I wasn't going anywhere. That was when I realized, that I was likley in love with this man, who I had only known for a month.
We drove back to Kansas City then, where he insisted on taking me back to his place out south. I was honestly too tired to argue with him, so I agreed. The Highway Patrolman had brought me my muddy and mangled suitcase that still had all my necessities in tact. It appeared this was to be my first sleep-over at his place.
He suggested that I soak in a hot bath to calm my nerves, and began to run the water for me. He suddenly poked his head back into the living room and asked me what sounded good for dinner. I realized then that I was starving. I said the only thing that I could think of that sounded good to me: tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. It was my go-to, never fail, comfort food of choice, and I had just exposed it to a man I was trying to impress. "Some Foodie, I am," I thought to myself. He smiled broadly and said: "Great, THAT is something, I do know how to make."
I dumped my muddy, wet clothes by the bathroom door. I heard him call through the bathroom door, as I slid into the tub, that he was running to the grocery store for a few things and would be right back. I told him to take his time. The bathwater felt like warm velvet, and the water immediately started to unknot my knots. As soon as I was sure he had gone, I began to cry. Releasing all of pent-up the shock and horror of that day, in liquid form. I cried tears of sadness, gratefulness, love, worry and mostly just shock and relief. I cried the tears I had so carefully hidden from the world in order to handle what I needed to handle to be able to power through the entire experience without falling apart. I cried the tears of a grown woman, who was finally able to let it all go.
I didn't realize he had been standing outside the bathroom door listening to me cry, unsure if he was welcome. He eventually knocked on the door and asked to come in, and as he approached the side of the bathtub I wiped my eyes and apologized for being a bit of an emotional wreck. He plucked me out of the tub soaking wet and hugged me, tightly holding me to his chest. I was worried about getting his clothes all wet. He just wanted to make me feel welcome and safe in his house. He grabbed the towel from off the toilet and wrapped it around me, helping me to dry off. He disappeared then, and came back with a t-shirt that I could slip into to eat dinner. As I slipped it over my head, I saw that it said, "I (heart) Bacon" on the front of it. Nothing could have been furthest from the truth. I was more than a little "over" bacon at that point. Bacon did not make everything better, and I knew that. I tried to imagine him wearing this shirt, but could not. Little did I know that inside his dresser drawer was an entire wardrobe of funny little t-shirts that said funny little things. It was one of the things I had yet to learn about my "Cowboy."
When I emerged from the bathroom, I plopped down at his dining room table. He had come back from the store and started dinner already. He was making my favorite, creamy tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, just as I requested. He did not poke fun of me, or act like it was strange at all that I had asked for this childhood treat for dinner. In fact, he seemed thrilled to be making it. The comforting smells coming from his kitchen instantly relaxed me, and I watched amused as he puttered around his own kitchen, opening this drawer and then that one. He pulling out this pan, and then that spatula, for the grilled cheese. I was enthralled with his ease in the kitchen. This man, CAN cook, I thought to myself.
When he put the plate with the bowl of hot warm tomato soup and the cheesy and crunchy grilled cheese sandwich down in front of me, I smiled like a little girl. A broad, girlish smile, full of delight and anticipation for the meal that I was about to enjoy. He had, indeed, made my favorite meal for me, I mused, giddy at the thought. It may have been the fact that I had not eaten all day, or the excitement of the day's events, but I ate that tomato soup and that grilled cheese sandwich with gusto. I enthusiastically dunked my grilled cheese sandwich into both my bowl of soup, and occasionally his tomato soup too. I sopped up my soup with my ooey-gooey cheesey sandwich and asked for more, which he gladly served to me, applauding my appetite like a little Italian Grandmother.
At the end of dinner, I was stuffed. I felt warm and comforted and . . .loved. Yes, I felt loved.
As, "Cowboy" tried to help me into bed that night, it was a nightmare. I could sit straight up, or lie flat on my back in relative comfort, but the trip up or down between those two parallels was terribly painful for my poor bruised and battered chest. "Cowboy" wrapped his arms around me, and then slowly he tried to lower me down onto his bed. Meanwhile, I was yelping like a battered puppy the whole trip down. Once I was finally flat on my back in bed, and had caught by breath, I looked up into his bright blue eyes to find him smiling down at me. His arms were still curled around my back supporting me. He whispered to me: "You scared me today. I was afraid I might have lost you. I am going to take good care of you, I promise." Tears suddenly started tearing out of my eyes, running down my cheeks and into my ears without my permission. I could feel his worry and concern for me, but mostly, I could FEEL his love.
That's when he looked me in the eye and told me he loved me. "I love you, Jenny," he said quietly. I lay in his arms, crying the tears I could no longer control and I told him, "I'm so glad, because, I love you, too."
He kissed me, then . . . and held me until my tears stopped. When he finally released me from his embrace, and when to change his clothes to get ready for bed . . .I looked down and realized that I was still wearing his "I (Heart) Bacon" t-shirt. Nice, I thought. Not the attire I thought I would be wearing when a man professed his love to me, but "it'll do," I thought to myself as the pain medicine kicked in and sent me off into a deep peaceful sleep.
Food IS love, my friends. Food is love.
To "Cowboy", with Love,
Foodie
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