The house is filled with natural light. The dark kind. The kind before a storm. Your skin looks grey. Ghostlike even. You make macaroni and cheese. You watch the water boil. You watch the bubbles. Are they coming up for air? You mix in the noodles. You make the prepackaged cheese sauce. Preparation has always been your strong point. It’s raining now. You wonder what if the rain never stopped. You find solace and comfort in the idea. You eat. You sit in front of your brother’s fish tank. The fish refuse to give you the satisfaction of eye contact. Bringing your knees to your chest, your skin smells like oreos. You push yourself off the corner of the tank and start spinning. You close your eyes. You feel the dizziness. You slow down not opening your eyes. You stand up and fall over. You hit nothing on the way down. The tears start. The tears stop. You lie there for five minutes. The rug becomes damp. Your cheek now stamped with a paisley design. The rain mocks your tears. The storm mocks your emotions. You pick yourself up. You return to the kitchen. You eat some leftovers right from the pot. You lean your head against the sliding glass door. Your forehead rests on the cool glass. You hear the front door. “You left this pasta for too long, the noodles are stuck to the pot like glue."
-SMB
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