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Corinth used an ice cream
scoop for the egg salad, and
she clicked her thumb on the handle to release the full circle
of creamed white and yellow cubes onto the toasted white bread
for Lloyd’s sandwich. He sat at Goolrich’s Pharmacy
downtown during his lunch break from Picker’s Supply. Lloyd
always ordered egg salad on white toast unless he ordered tuna,
but usually it was egg. He knew Corinth made it fresh because
when he stood across the street for a smoke, he watched her hold
each egg in her palm like a broken bird, while the others lay
to the side lined up in a row. She sliced them right on her palm,
then spread out her hand and let the pieces flitter into a bowl.
He saw the onions there, too, but she sliced them so thin you
could never really taste them in her egg salad. It wasn’t
onion you tasted, just a bite of something other than the mustard.
And she didn’t put any relish or celery or any of that tuna
salad stuff in the egg salad. She made it right.
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