All the Other Places ... continued

Standing in the dark, he reached above the sink and gave one sharp tug on the beaded chain hanging from the ceiling. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. The weak, yellowish glow of the bulb matched the same unremarkable color of the counter, sink, and floor. There were still shadows and spots in the kitchen where the light didn't reach. He didn't mind the shadows. The bulb, situated between two cabinets, didn't have all the unpleasant brightness of an overhead light, the sort of light that would have made the room seem cluttered or too warm. He could move between the counter and stove, and that was enough.

He opened the cabinet to the right of the sink and took out a cup. He then went to the stove and pulled out a small tin pot from the drawer beneath the oven. He filled pot with milk and placed it on the stove. He lit the gas and the bluish flames hissed at the cool bottom of the pot. When the milk began to boil, he turned the flame to simmering heat and dropped in the tea bags. He waited. Shortly the milk turned creamy brown, and he emptied the steaming liquid into his cup.

He took his tea into the living room and sat down on the couch. He drank the tea slowly, holding the cup with both hands, sipping small portions. It was almost too hot to drink. He reached over and set the cup on the end table. It always seems so quiet, he thought. It's what you expect, though. It's why you're up. He leaned over and picked up the cup. He took only a sip and instead of setting it back on the table, he rested it on his chest. His tee-shirt was just enough of a barrier to protect his skin from the hot milk tea.

© 2000 Trout &
Will Fox