penne.
fun side note: i wrote this on thursday. on friday, after an eight year hiatus, doves announced they were going back on tour and making music again.
the sun streamed through the blinds, projecting stripes of light and dark across her body. a cat jumps onto the bed, fully aware it was past it's usual feeding time. it slinks past parts of the duvet bundled up on one side of the bed, having been kicked off during the night. the cat inspects it's owners face, popping it's nose near her mouth to feel a puff of breath. good. still here. it lifts one paw up to hit the girl on the nose... but then thinks better. instead it gives her nose a gentle lick to say 'hello. it's me. wake up please. i require food.' it's tongue meets her soft nose. she twitches her head out the way of it's tongue. slowly she opens her eyes to see the cats two big blue eyes staring at her. she lifts her arm from under her and extends it out. 'hello puss. feeding time again?'.
the cat is in agreement and makes a brpt! noise to confirm this. the girl pushes her body up to sit on her side, and brushes the sleep out her eyes. she grabs her phone, tucked under the pillow, to check the time. 11am. basically lunchtime right? she walks out her bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen. last nights cereal bowl and wine glass still lying out. an expectant kitty running circles round her feet. she gets down on one knee to pick the furball up. 'sorry missy, mom's just getting food ok? i'll get you fed soon munchkin.' she cradles the cat in one arm as she opens the fridge door to grab a bowl covered in cling film. 'sorry you had to wait so long baby...' the cat jumps from her arms and runs off towards her bowl. the girl tips some tuna in and the cats tail shakes in delight as it starts eating.
she stretches and scratches her bed head. she must have been sweating a lot last night. tossing and turning as she finds a section of matted hair toward the back. she's glad there's no mirror in here. she heads to the living room - well, the area just next to the kitchen with a sofa and a tv - and puts the needle back to the start of the last record she left on the player. sea song by doves comes out the speakers. side two will do. it's the second half of the day really, it suits. she wanders back to the kitchen and grabs a pot from the cupboard and watches missy as she gulps down the tuna like she's not eaten in days. she fills up the pot with salt and water and click, click, clicks the gas on the hob as she grabs a lighter to get it going.
to her right is a little window that looks down the metal emergency stairs out her apartment and onto the communal garden area. that's if she jumps up on the counter and makes the effort to look down. as she gazes out the window waiting for the pot to boil, she can just see into the apartments on the other side of the square. directly across from her lives an older lady who has boxed plants hanging out her window. sometimes they'll bump into each other as they put their trash out on a tuesday and strike up a conversation. she knows her name is enid and that her family moved here from england, 'scared that the germans would win'. she's spent so much of her life in nyc that she has a thick bronx accent - the only hint of her family roots coming from her name. she grows rosemary, mint and lavender in her pots. she once received a pouch of freshly cut lavender from enid - she'd remarked she had seen her light on at 4am and figured she needed help sleeping. enid's lavender done the trick, and she had told her the next time she saw her. she said it was because they were planted with love. she glanced out and saw each basket handing proudly from her window, plants stood tall and growing strong and bright. she couldn't see enid in the window though - she was probably off to the synagogue. she turns round, snapped out her daydream by the sound of the water burbling away. she grabs the open packet of penne tucked next to the microwave and chucks two big handfuls into the pot.
the snare drum of pounding starts to kick in, the sun streaming in through the kitchen window highlighting the particles of dust hanging in the air. she's not sure if this is the mood she feels, it's just happening around her. on other days she would embrace this as a beautiful moment. right now it feels mismatched. but she lets the record keep playing anyway. she pulls a fork from the drying rack and pokes a piece of pasta. still a bit too hard. missy's wandered to a patch of floor in the living room that's a little suntrap, and has stretched herself out, fluffy belly fully exposed.
she turns and leans against the counter, staring at the piece of furniture that makes up her 'dining table'. A tiny side table with two mismatched chairs tucked into it. she pokes the fork against her lip as she stares at the bowl and the glass left there. all she ate yesterday was some cap'n crunch. and a full bottle of red wine. she just kind of... forgot to eat that day. she drunk the wine because she was bored. most days seemed to end up like this lately. it was the summer, she should be making the most of it. go to central park and take a paddleboat round the lake. get on a train and go to one of the beaches out in the hamptons. get an ice cream and cotton candy at coney island. just be outside, outdoors, that's all. but all she wanted to was to stay cooped up in these four walls. she didn't want to put on a pretty sundress and a pair of brogues to have everyone stare at the scars on her thighs. she didn't want to feel like she was fat and ugly and a failure. plus she had everything she needed here. missy and music and wine. what could all that out there offer her exactly? nothing but misery. she'll stay here all summer and fall and winter if she has to. these four walls are her armour against the world. she won't let them go.
the fork has left four little imprints on her bottom lip. she's bleeding slightly. she turns back to the pot and pokes another bit of penne. perfectly done. she gets a strainer and drains most of the water out, leaving a little bit for flavour. she adds some salt and sits down with the pot of pasta at her little kitchen table. the perks of being alone. no judgement. she sits and eats the plain penne as she watches missy fall asleep in the sunlight.
the sun streamed through the blinds, projecting stripes of light and dark across her body. a cat jumps onto the bed, fully aware it was past it's usual feeding time. it slinks past parts of the duvet bundled up on one side of the bed, having been kicked off during the night. the cat inspects it's owners face, popping it's nose near her mouth to feel a puff of breath. good. still here. it lifts one paw up to hit the girl on the nose... but then thinks better. instead it gives her nose a gentle lick to say 'hello. it's me. wake up please. i require food.' it's tongue meets her soft nose. she twitches her head out the way of it's tongue. slowly she opens her eyes to see the cats two big blue eyes staring at her. she lifts her arm from under her and extends it out. 'hello puss. feeding time again?'.
the cat is in agreement and makes a brpt! noise to confirm this. the girl pushes her body up to sit on her side, and brushes the sleep out her eyes. she grabs her phone, tucked under the pillow, to check the time. 11am. basically lunchtime right? she walks out her bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen. last nights cereal bowl and wine glass still lying out. an expectant kitty running circles round her feet. she gets down on one knee to pick the furball up. 'sorry missy, mom's just getting food ok? i'll get you fed soon munchkin.' she cradles the cat in one arm as she opens the fridge door to grab a bowl covered in cling film. 'sorry you had to wait so long baby...' the cat jumps from her arms and runs off towards her bowl. the girl tips some tuna in and the cats tail shakes in delight as it starts eating.
she stretches and scratches her bed head. she must have been sweating a lot last night. tossing and turning as she finds a section of matted hair toward the back. she's glad there's no mirror in here. she heads to the living room - well, the area just next to the kitchen with a sofa and a tv - and puts the needle back to the start of the last record she left on the player. sea song by doves comes out the speakers. side two will do. it's the second half of the day really, it suits. she wanders back to the kitchen and grabs a pot from the cupboard and watches missy as she gulps down the tuna like she's not eaten in days. she fills up the pot with salt and water and click, click, clicks the gas on the hob as she grabs a lighter to get it going.
to her right is a little window that looks down the metal emergency stairs out her apartment and onto the communal garden area. that's if she jumps up on the counter and makes the effort to look down. as she gazes out the window waiting for the pot to boil, she can just see into the apartments on the other side of the square. directly across from her lives an older lady who has boxed plants hanging out her window. sometimes they'll bump into each other as they put their trash out on a tuesday and strike up a conversation. she knows her name is enid and that her family moved here from england, 'scared that the germans would win'. she's spent so much of her life in nyc that she has a thick bronx accent - the only hint of her family roots coming from her name. she grows rosemary, mint and lavender in her pots. she once received a pouch of freshly cut lavender from enid - she'd remarked she had seen her light on at 4am and figured she needed help sleeping. enid's lavender done the trick, and she had told her the next time she saw her. she said it was because they were planted with love. she glanced out and saw each basket handing proudly from her window, plants stood tall and growing strong and bright. she couldn't see enid in the window though - she was probably off to the synagogue. she turns round, snapped out her daydream by the sound of the water burbling away. she grabs the open packet of penne tucked next to the microwave and chucks two big handfuls into the pot.
the snare drum of pounding starts to kick in, the sun streaming in through the kitchen window highlighting the particles of dust hanging in the air. she's not sure if this is the mood she feels, it's just happening around her. on other days she would embrace this as a beautiful moment. right now it feels mismatched. but she lets the record keep playing anyway. she pulls a fork from the drying rack and pokes a piece of pasta. still a bit too hard. missy's wandered to a patch of floor in the living room that's a little suntrap, and has stretched herself out, fluffy belly fully exposed.
she turns and leans against the counter, staring at the piece of furniture that makes up her 'dining table'. A tiny side table with two mismatched chairs tucked into it. she pokes the fork against her lip as she stares at the bowl and the glass left there. all she ate yesterday was some cap'n crunch. and a full bottle of red wine. she just kind of... forgot to eat that day. she drunk the wine because she was bored. most days seemed to end up like this lately. it was the summer, she should be making the most of it. go to central park and take a paddleboat round the lake. get on a train and go to one of the beaches out in the hamptons. get an ice cream and cotton candy at coney island. just be outside, outdoors, that's all. but all she wanted to was to stay cooped up in these four walls. she didn't want to put on a pretty sundress and a pair of brogues to have everyone stare at the scars on her thighs. she didn't want to feel like she was fat and ugly and a failure. plus she had everything she needed here. missy and music and wine. what could all that out there offer her exactly? nothing but misery. she'll stay here all summer and fall and winter if she has to. these four walls are her armour against the world. she won't let them go.
the fork has left four little imprints on her bottom lip. she's bleeding slightly. she turns back to the pot and pokes another bit of penne. perfectly done. she gets a strainer and drains most of the water out, leaving a little bit for flavour. she adds some salt and sits down with the pot of pasta at her little kitchen table. the perks of being alone. no judgement. she sits and eats the plain penne as she watches missy fall asleep in the sunlight.
Comments
Post a Comment