Two pieces of bread fell onto the countertop with a small thud. Florence walked across her kitchen. Her kitchen was a healthy stride across, but it took her a good 10 steps of shuffling to get from the counter to the refridgerator.
Florence was tired, bored and wanted nothing more than to go to bed. It was 7 pm, and while the hot summer sun had long disapeared over the top of her apartment, the heat in the apartment hung like fog in an oven. It would be another hour before it really started to cool.
She kept the cool in the refridgerator pretty low, to save electricity so she could run the A/C in the day once in a while. She hadn't today although it was hot enough to. She'd do it tomorrow.
She pulled the mustard and maynaise out. She turned and let the door scrape against her and she shuffled back to the other side of the kitchen. Her oxygen tube got caught under her slipper so she had to stop in the middle of the kitchen and lift her leg a little. She stepped back on the tube and it pulled on her nose like reins on a horse.
"Damn!" she said.
She lifted her leg again and kicked a the oxygen tube so that it swung up a little. She quickly put her leg back down and was home free. She stepped a few more times and let the mustard and mayonaise fall onto the counter. She mustard slipped out from under itself and fell onto it's hip. Some water in the jar washed up yellow toward the lid.
Florence turned and looked at her oxygen tube. It was caught on the corner that led from her chair to the kitchen. Then it went the opposite way before it disapeared into the bedroom.
She peered at the thing like she wanted to shoot it. She thought about kicking at it again but she was tired and hot and bored and wanted to put something in her stomach before she went to bed. She had a big day tomorrow. The oxygen tank in the bedroom clicked and let out a "shhht! sound."
It was time to go back to the other side of the kitchen. Florence forgot to stand the mustard upright but it didn't matter since the lid wasn't going anywhere. She made it back to the fridge's door and pulled it back open. There was some tuna on the top shelf. She wasn't sure how old it was but not more than a week. She reached for it and her hand shook a little. She avoided looking at her hand and could feel the plastic container's coolness as she tapped at it once with her fingers before catching up to it and slapping the palm of her hand on top. She pulled it toward her. The cool air from the fridge felt nice on her hand and her face.
She grasped the container and let it flip onto its top as she balanced it on her hand. Keeping the refridgerator door open with her hip she turned the container right side up, turned around, and started back to the other side of the kitchen.
A phone rang on the televsion. She hoped the phone wouldn't ring because she'd have trouble answering it before it stopped ringing. The phone rang again. Her eyes darted in the direction of the phone and the tuna sort of got lost in the various trajectorys and fell onto the counter against the mayonaise. There's no way she could make it over there.
Someone answered the phone. "Hey Janet this is Peaches. You going out tonight?"
Florence seperated the two pices of bread on the breadboard and loosened the lid on the mayonaise. She wondered what movie that was on TV. She couldn't think of it but then she remembered there wasn't anything of high interest on tonight anyway. A car raced and honked its horn. Then she remembered she had cheese on the bottom shelf of the refridgerator. Damn. She hadn't been using the cheese at all since she put it there over a week ago. She always remembered when it was to late. Was it too late?
She stood the mustard upright and tugged at the lid. Boy that was tight. Who did that? Not her, she always kept them a little bit loose. Must of been one of the careworkers. Damn. She put the mustard down on the counter again and started back toward the refidgerator. An old rock and roll song played in the other room.
She got to the door and pulled it open hard. She was getting more and more tired and wanted to take her damn pills and go to bed. She peered in the door of the fridge. Who the heck had put that thing on so tight? She'd told someone not to do that. Was it the black woman or the boy? Was it in the morning or the afternoon? She pulled the plastic mustard bottle out. It seemed like it might have been the morning which would mean the black woman. Now when did she tell her that?
She let the door shut again and almost at the same time as the door shut she remembed the cheese. No, no. It was too hot. She could feel a little sweat under her nose. Damn. She had to remember to write that down about the mustard. Too tight. Too tight. She's not a young horse like you. It takes her 5 minutes just to get to the fridge just to make a sandwhich. Remember to write that down. She stopped walking and looked up at her chair. She couldn't see it but she knew her pen and pad were just beyond that chair. Write that down. She wasn't a horse.
There was some galloping on the TV and some gunfire. What movie was that? Was there a western on tonight? She tried to remember. She squirted the mustard on the bread. Spicy mustard with tuna. Damn. She had to write that down. That was a big deal. It's too hot and she's too tired to be worrying about that kind of thing. Write it down. She wasn't a damn panther.
Florence made the sandwhich.
She carried her plate to her chair and let it rest on the left arm of the chair, opposite to the television remote control on the right side. She shuffled back to the kitchen and took her glass off the counter. She turned around and put some water in the glass. She was thristy and the room was still damn hot. When will it cool down a little? Summer is supposed to be over.
She got back to her chair and put the water class on the table next to it. She lined her backside up with her chair and let herself fall into it gently so that the food and the remote wouldn't fall off the side and onto the floor as had happened before. Once inside the chair she put the plate with the sandwhcih on her left hip and the remote control on her right hip. She took a sip of water to wet her mouth a little because it was still hot and she wished she had opened the damn sliding glass door wider. But it was too late now.
She took a bite of her sandwhic and regretted again that she'd forgotten the cheese. The spicy mustard didn't bother her, and damn! She'd forgotten to write that down. That the morning help woman had put the lid on to damn tight. It wasn't such a big deal she thought and chewed her sandwhich. Not something to get too angry about, but something worth mentioning just the same.
She reached behind her and got her pill tray out. She put it on her lap and perused the different days and the different times that divided the tray into 28 compartments. The remote fell from her right leg into the corner of the chair. She turned to catch it and the sandwhich followed suit on the left but didn't make a sound. The sandwhich was wedged between the plate and the chair.
Florence let out a sigh and surveyed the damage. There's nothing wrong with the sandwhich; nothing but a bunch of cat hair on that chair anyway and there wasn't anything on TV anyway so whatever.
She opened the pillbox. Tuesday....evening. She took out seven pills and cuped them in her right hand. She put them in her mouth throwing her head back slightly to brace herself. They danced in the back of her throat and stopped in the dryness of her tounge and mouth. She quickly grabbed the water and took a big sip. Three went down. She took another sip. Two more went down. She swallowed carefully, knowing that if the next one didn't go down the bitterness of one pill, the bright orange one, would begin to disintegrate in her saliva and make her entire mouth bitter.
She braced herself and took one last large sip. That did the trick and the last of the pills eased through her throat and into her stomach.
She quickly moved to put the glass on the table. She had to get the sandwhich down or the pills would start to carve into her stomach and then she'd have trouble sleeping which might mean taking a sleeping pill and she'd already done that twice in the last week. Her doctor had advised her against taking too many. She pulled the sandwhich out of the creavace and took a big bite. She chewed quickly but her mouth was dry again. She needed water. She'd taken too big a bite. The oxygen tank in the bedroom clicked.
Florence continuted to chew. She sat up, putting the plate on top of the pillbox and putting both on the table next to her. She took the last sip of water from her glass which loosened the food from the roof of her mouth and let it slip down into her stomach with the pills. She needed to pad those pills or before long she'd be doubled over with pain. What was the deal with those pills anyway. It was like they were made of acid sometimes.
As she walked to the kitchen again she could feel her muscles relaxing. Her pain pills were kicking in already. She felt stronger but mostly she felt better. The refridgerator wasn't so far away, she moved a little faster and opened the door a little quicker. Her cat Rusty came running out from the bedroom and meowed.
"There you are," Florence said. "You must want some food."
Rusty meowed.
"Wait two minutes."
She ambled back to her chair, put the glass on the table, put her sandwhich back on to her hip, and had the remote in the other hand in one, slightly slow, but fluid movement. Rusty weaved bewtween her legs in a figure 8 motion. Florence took bites of her sandwhich and pressed the buttons on her remote control. It reminded her of an adding machine. She hadn't used an adding machine in years. But her fingers were nimble. She turned on the news. The war. The war. The war. Didn't anyone talk about something different? The picture turned green and the words "Destination: Iraq" flashed across bottom of the screen. Florence quicky took another bite. Her stomach was fine. The food was padding the pills. She felt a little sleepy even and the air had finally started to cool. It was night.