fall 2008
She did not reply and remained square to the counter arranging the ingredients she had gathered for pancakes, and then pulled out a large white mixing bowl from the bottom cabinet, pausing briefly to absorb her husband’s statement. Rand knew he spoke misguidedly, but it was unintentional and, besides, he was entitled. Some subjects are dealt with delicately and others are never considered or more accurately – are ignored. Everything remained still and a great strain totaled itself across his forehead. Each time Rand lifted the mug to his lips, she could hear him blow gently on the steamy drink, then sip. Moments passed without any response and the clamor of spoons and spatulas booming in the sink’s hollow drum reverberated mutely, drowning in the abyssal gap opened by her silence. “ Honey,” she said, finally. “Would you like to eat anything while you’re waiting? Like a banana? How about a banana? It will take me a minute to fix everything.” “No,” he said, high with inflection. She moved, verging from one hip to the other, opened the box of mix and poured the powdery contents into the bowl. A cloud plume of dry batter rose and floated away. “ I’m sure the paper has come,” she said to him. “That is...if you’re not too lazy to get it off the lawn.” Hunched, she made humble movements between the steps of her process, cracking eggs over the bowl, dusting off the countertop, trying without success to both use and clean her work area simultaneously. She began to whip the mix. He remained still. She had ignored what needed a response, what required her to feel, if not relive, something hidden, masked beneath the layers of needless preoccupation used to bury the scar of a loss. It was an admission of an unseen ache. “Or,” sighing at the afterthought, “you can wait there while I finish these.” “I don’t want it yet,” he replied. His words were vacant. Rand sat there motionless and unanimated, listening as she worked over the stove. The crackled smell of pepper filled his nostrils, the aroma blending in the air with the pointed stench of onion. The skillet hissed with steam and sizzled. She walked over to the refrigerator and propped herself onto the tips of her toes, reaching for a clean bowl, leaning against its door for balance, struggling. Bending forward, Rand adjusted himself in his chair and watched her, poised for movement.
“Need help, dear?” he offered, half-standing. She managed to snatch the bowl off the top of the refrigerator before he could help and then calmly moved back toward the stove.
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