Drips are Everything

Part 1

For some reason, I’m eating dinner. There are plates with food on them and pots and pans with the remnants of food in them, and maybe also a little food in them. I leave the dining room and walk back to my bedroom. For some reason, I am in my bedroom and I notice that things are missing. I don’t know what things but something feels missing. For some reason, I start looking around and I find a note. The note says,

“You are expected in the Great Hall tomorrow morning before sunrise. The doors will close promptly at 6. We have removed the alarm clock from your room. You will get it back once you arrive here punctually.”

For some reason, I am confused when I read this note. The first thing I think of is the great banquet hall in the galley of the Santa Maria. I’m not sure if such a thing existed or if I just made it up, so I consult Wikipedia. I don’t find any useful information on Wikipedia, so I Google Santa Maria. I think about how google is a verb and how everyone thinks about this and talks about it. I get mad that I am thinking about it and I click the image tab on my Firefox web browser. I find an image of some old lady named Maria dressed in a Santa Claus costume. I think about how much I hate the internet and then I shut down my computer.

I read the note again. The second thing I think about is my friend George who loves Fight Club and is probably playing a freedom trick on me right now. Stealing my alarm clock so that I am free from time. I read the note again,

“You are expected in the Great Hall tomorrow morning before sunrise. The doors will close promptly at 6. We have removed the alarm clock from your room. You will get it back once you arrive here punctually.”

I stay up all night and try to record the passing hours as best I can. At what I think is 5:30 in the morning, I walk down the hallway, through the kitchen, and out into the dining room. It is empty. I look out the window. The driveway lamppost is still lit. I see a squirrel climbing a tree and notice that the tree is mostly dead. That tree is 60 percent dead, I say. I walk into the kitchen and cut an onion. I put oil and the onion into a pan on the stove. I get out eggs and break them and put them into a cup. I add a little milk and I mix it up with a fork. Then I add some chili pepper. I put some broccoli in the pan and I put a lid on the pan and I walk back to my room. I find paper and a pencil and I write a note that says,

“You missed your opportunity at the Great Hall this morning. You will get another one tomorrow. Where’s your cell phone?”

The note is a post-it so I stick it to my computer screen. I walk back into the kitchen and put the eggs into the pan with the broccoli and onions. I walk over to the window and look outside. The driveway lamppost is still lit. I see a squirrel climbing a tree and notice that the tree is mostly dead. That tree is 60 percent dead, I say.

Part 2

You come home from being away for a week and I say,

You should cut your hair.

You’ve been looking at pictures again, haven’t you?

Yes.

You put down your things and go into the bathroom. You come out of the bathroom and you pick up the cat and hold her on your shoulder. She doesn’t like it. In a few seconds she is jumping down. I am standing in the hallway. There is music on the stereo. You look at me and I say Hi.

You kiss my cheek and then make yourself something to eat in the kitchen.

I sit on the couch and stare at the carpet, waiting for you to come into the room. You can see me from the kitchen because there is a window hole cut into the wall between the rooms. You say,

What have you been doing?

Nothing. Waiting for you.

My mom picked me up from the airport.

Yes.

My dad was coming in from London about the same time my plane came in but it would have been too complicated to meet up and come home with him.

I don’t say anything. I look at the carpet.

I am tired, you say.

Yesterday I walked to the park. It was much longer than I thought. I didn’t make it all the way there.

You should have taken the bike. I wanted to walk.

You can’t walk to the park from here. It’s too long.

Maybe.

It was a nice walk though.

Okay.

You want to go to sleep?

I want to check my email first.

Okay.

You go over to your computer and turn it on. I sit down on the rug and turn the stereo up a little bit. You say it’s too loud and tell me to turn it down because it’s late. I turn it down. It’s 11:17. You have many emails. You read most of them. I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling. The shape looks like Utah inverted, or something. Eventually you are done and we brush our teeth and go to bed.

In the morning, we get up and I make tea. I ask you if you are taking the day off and you ask me if you should.

Are you taking off today?

Should I?

Yeah.

Okay.

We drink the tea and make toast from bread that I made the day before. We eat the toast with Ghee and fig jam. You use both the Ghee and the jam and I use only the Ghee.

I wash the teapot and the cups and the little saucers that the teacups sit in and put it all on the drying rack. I come back into the room and you are looking at your computer. I walk over to the window and the sun is coming through and I feel it. I open the door to the balcony and the air is chilly but feels clean. I close the door and ask you if you want to go for a walk out in the open. You say yes and we get ready, pack a few things in my backpack, and head out of the city.