Eggs. You always had to be careful with them. Hold on too tight and you’d crack them. Hold too loose and pretty soon they’re rolling off your palm, onto the floor, and making your rather stupid cat sick. Must be some sort of strange metaphor for life. Then again, he knew he had been staring a too hard at pie charts and flow charts and math charts and, well just generally working too much if all he could think of were eggs.

The egg in his palm felt fragile, like a cardboard box in the middle of a typhoon. Yet it felt strong. Before this egg was food, it was considered strong enough to host a life form. Wasn’t that worth something? He’d never ‘hosted’ any life form within him before and Angie had made it clear enough having someone else growing inside of you was not the most pleasant of experiences. Thus, eggs were strong. He was thinking about eggs again.

Jordan was leaving for college soon. Angie was having a fit packing and unpacking and packing, making sure everything would fit into the car. Everything Jordan owned, everything Jordan would need in case of emergency, and everything else that fell under the category of ‘just ’cause.’ It was testing the limits of their car. He had offered to help, but his aid would just disrupt the delicate balance of fan on the box on the fridge Angie had created.

Instead, he was inside thinking about eggs.

He knew he couldn’t hold on to them too tight, they’d crack. No one wants a cracked egg with runny yolk on their hands. Disgusting. But he couldn’t just let go could he. No really, he couldn’t. They’d fall and crack on the floor instead. Floors didn’t come with shock absorbing sponges. It’d be a mess. Always a mess. What a mess.

Jordan was only 18. But Jordan was 18. He’d been 18 once, he knew what 18 year olds did when given absolute freedom. College was absolute freedom. He’s seen the drinking and the partying. The romps with co-eds in darkened rooms and behind bushes and why not, the library stacks. He’d been 18. It was a mess. Not that he’d done any of those things, just a sip here, a dance there. Maybe stolen a kiss once or twice. But then he’d known well enough then. He knew what happened after romps with too much alcohol in the system. Jordan, well, he was just 18 wasn’t he?

He could hear Angie grunting against the weight of another box. He did offer to help. She did turn him down. He was too busy thinking about eggs anyway. The shells were relatively strong. He remembered his high school science experiment where the class had stacked as many text books as they could on halved egg shells. They had ooh-ed and ahh-ed at how much weight the seemingly fragile domes could handle. Eggs have deceptively strong shells. Upstairs, he heard muted expletives, followed by loud crashes. Jordan was still packing. Always at the last possible moment. But Humpty Dumpty was an egg wasn’t he? Look what happened to him.

He’d heard Angie crying softly last night as they lay with their backs touching. He pretended to be asleep. Really, what was there for him to say? It would only be two months until Fall Break. Jordan would be home then, back with a laundry bag filled with clothes unwashed and demanding to be fed. Two months was nothing. Two months was loose change. For the most part of their married lives, Jordan was the son and they had orbited around him. What happened now? They had been ‘three’ for so long, what did it mean to be a pair? Not that it really mattered. Two months was loose change.

Jordan promised he would call home every weekend. Not that he’d needed to hear Jordan’s voice every weekend. Of course not. It was just nice to know he wanted to call home. Nice to hear his voice.

He heard the car boot slam close which meant Angie was done. Which meant it was almost time to make the drive up to Boston. It was time. Sometimes there are occasions in life that need a drum roll, and all he got was the cat mewing at his feet. But really, this was no big deal. Loose change, two months. Just loose change.

When Jordan was 5, he came home from school one day crying. His face was a mess with dirt and dried tears and snoot. It was a face that would break any father’s heart. He wanted to teach the boy who’d made fun of his son a lesson, tell the little brat that “you know what? My son’s teeth are not oversized. They’re perfect.” He worried all night long and all morning about what that inconsequential little brat would tease Jordan about today. He’d worried up until the minute Jordan was back from school with the biggest, toothiest grin on his face. Apparently, Jordan had made friends with little inconsequential brat. Jordan and David were now soon to be roommates. Who knew.

Eggs. Just didn’t really know how to deal with them. From the moment you picked them off the shelf in the store to the moment you take ‘em out to be cooked, you’d worry. Too tight or too lose. It was hard to let go. Of eggs.

The cat mewed again. Sometimes, there are occasions in life that need a drum roll.

He cracked the egg, stirred in milk, added copious amounts of Tabasco sauce. Disgusting, but just how Jordan liked it.

“Jordan!” he yelled. “Breakfast is ready. Eat and let’s go.”

End.