Chicken Pumpkin Soup

I was sitting in the break room when the alleged Hoodoo Lady shuffled in, holding a plastic tupperware bowl filled with dark soup. She placed the bowl inside the microwave, programmed a time, then waited. She watched the soup circle round and round inside the microwave. I had a tuna salad sandwich on rye I had bought from a vending machine. The rye really made it.

When the microwave dinged, she reached inside to pull out her soup. It smelled good. Better than my tuna on rye. ‘Hoo!’ she called out, waving her hands in the steam of the microwave. ‘Lord that be hot!’ Slowly, she shuffled the soup over to the table and sat down.

‘What kind is it?’ I asked her.

She looked at me with foggy eyes which appeared mostly covered in cataracts.

‘Chicken pumpkin, darlin.’ she said, then blew on the soup while stirring it with a plastic spoon.

‘Sounds good.’

‘T’is.’ she said.

She began to eat in silence, though the soup was still steaming like crazy. She was tougher than me. I hate burning my tongue.

‘You have any idea what pretzel is made from?’ I asked.

She looked at me again. ‘Pretzel.’ she repeated.

‘Yeah pretzels, like you eat with beer.’

‘Pretzels made from bread, darlin.’

‘Are they?’ I asked. ‘I thought it might be corn.’

‘No, darlin.’ she said, with a small laugh. ‘Pretzels made from bread.’

‘OK,’ I said, finishing my sandwich and closing the plastic container it had come in.  I stood up and tossed it into the garbage can by the door. ‘Good to know. Thanks. Have a good afternoon.’

‘So long.’ she said, giving it to that soup.

I headed outside for a smoke. She couldn’t be into hoodoo, I figured. If she were into hoodoo, she would’ve fixed her eyes by now.