Death by Pea

It would be amusing if it were not so tragic – death by pea.  One of those sweet little green circles of life, swimming in the gravy next to the mashed potatoes was to be his nemesis, his abrupt undoing.  It was lovingly prepared by his wife of 40 years.  He, elderly, his sweetheart, a child bride,  still middle aged.  The marriage railed against by her family, but enduring, no children, just the blessed companionship of one another.

Now retired, puttering about the 4 family flat while she rose, dressed and woodenly departed for work – stiff hair, heavy makeup, tailored clothes – all belying the anguish of emotions, her deep love for her husband, her bewilderment of flying thoughts and misplacement in the world.

She told me “it was a pea.”  His already compromised breathing reduced to gasps and violent coughing – the doctors unable to discern a cause beyond the emphysema did one final X ray and spotted it  lodged in the folds of his nicotine and tar blanketed lungs – a pea.

They’d had peas for dinner she explained, some beef, potatoes and gravy and, for something green, peas.  One went on a wild journey slipping past the barriers meant to guide it and nested, comfortably, not to be digested in the soft tissue of his already compromised breath.

It was a pea out of time and place, an aberration which the folds of alveoli struggled to expel but to no avail.

The doctors said  we can do it – we’ll remove it. They did, but the lungs, chastened by years of cigarettes, blanketed by smokey inhalations, succumbed  ( to the dismay and utter sorrow of the child bride)  succumbed to death by pea.