Chapter Three, ACCENT
I could hear the wobbly footsteps of Wilson entered the room and I readied myself to go to his rescue once more, turning only to hind him standing in the doorway of his room. He's considerably taller than me, standing at a solid 6'2" or 6'3" while I stand at a steady 5'5".
He took a step forward, entering the room as I gestured for him to sit at the whittled bench before grabbing his bowl from earlier out of his room. Upon re entering the room I saw Wilson sitting, his hands on his knees as he looked to the flames. "So," I spoke, walking to the pot and pulling up a ladle of soup, "How long has it been since you've eaten anything?" I filled his bowl and returned it to him, the warm food seeping through the wood already. "Uh," he stammered as I approached, "A week or so I believe? Maybe a little longer…" I handed the bowl to him, his voice was small as he thanked me which I brushed off once more, returning to the shelves and taking a bowl and spoon. I sat down beside him as he brought the first bite to his lips. I watched as his eyes closed and he melted, sighing softly as he pulled the spoon out of his mouth. I smiled slightly and took my first bite as well.
It was okay, not seasoned correctly but that was fine.
I was taking small bites, making sure to chew thoroughly, laminating in the flavor and the memories it brought up. When I looked to Wilson I nearly choked. He was eating quickly, too quickly for someone who hasn't eaten in a while. "W-woah! Wait a second there, bud!" I nearly hollered, moving to take the bowl from him before he stopped dead in his tracks, "you're gonna get sick if ya' eat it like that" the back of my mind poked at the fact that my accent was more prominent.
He looked sheepishly at me with stuffed cheeks. Swallowing the food that was in his mouth he spoke with a small laugh, "sorry," his embarrassed smile was cute, "I haven't had anything this good in a long time." He looked down at his bowl and upon my own further inspection I noted that it was empty.
"Well hell, ya' don't need to hoof it down, bud. We've got plenty!" his eyes lit up and he opened his mouth, shutting it again. I hummed as I took the last bite out of my own bowl, looking to Wilson as I swallowed. "Want any more?" his eyes met mine again, there was a faint expression that I couldn't make out. He bit his lip and looked away momentarially, "if that wouldn't be any trouble my dear." a smile rose to my face as I took the bowl out of his hand, "Nah, s'no trouble 'ere," I stood, turning to him and offering an excuse of a curtsy. "Warm bowls and full stomachs are the way to go, dontcha know?" I sang softly, turning on my heel. After filling our bowls I saw that we had a little less than a bowl full remaining.
Taking my seat back on the bench I handed Wilson his bowl, watching him sniff the warm soup and hum. "What is this stuff by the by?" he asked, pulling the spoon to his mouth once more. "Well," I tapped the spoon against the bowl, "I'd like to say it's the equivalent to my favorite comfort food back where I'm from," I muttered, the wind outside howled as the rain fell heavily outside. I looked up at him, "Manomin" His face contorted, "what?" was his only word.
"Manomin- it's the ojibwa word for wild rice." I paused, "it's wild rice soup." the 'oh' that left him isn't satisfying. "There's a whole lot you can do with the stuff. Very filling" I took another bite.
A puzzled sound escaped him, "where are from, miss?" his voice was curious and I looked up at his face again, one dark eyebrow quirked upwards with wide eyes underneath them. I had to stifle a small chuckle as I swallowed another bite.
"I'm an American," I stirred the soup, moving the rice around, "Straight from the midwest, Minnesota" I buried a small chunk of turkey. "We're the nice Americans" I heard Wilson laugh softly. "I agree with that statement" I nudged him, "oh, ye' betcha, eh?" I spoke with the full accent, smiling as he laughed.
"Do-" there was a wheeze, "Do you actually talk like that?" I smiled, "well, some of us Minnesotans do. We all do have our accented 'o's though" Wilson's laugh was visibly genuine, his body moved with every bellow. It was infectious and I found myself laughing along with him.
I wasn't sure about the time but the rain was still pouring outside. The food was gone and we were sitting around talking. Tiredness was falling over us and before we knew it, we had retreated back into our rooms to sleep.