|Kitchen by Stephanie Weatherford|
In the lore of our lives, there is a box.
This box contains worlds. Well, one world. The world of our kitchen.
When we moved from our last apartment into our house, we packed up our stuff as one does, and as we'd done several times together already since we moved fairly often (change of scenery and all). We had this down pat. We didn't lose or break anything important. Or so we thought.
One day several weeks after moving and going back to the apartment several times to double-check everything and clean up, we wanted to make some brownies. To the all-corners brownie pan! I thought valiantly ("valiant" is always the proper emotion to feel regarding brownie-baking).
But it was nowhere to be found. Huh. Well, it would turn up, surely!
A little while later, we wanted to use our blue glass baking pan.
But it, too, had gone off to Narnia. Or at least the kitchenware version of Narnia, a land where it's always Thanksgiving.
We noticed more and more specific items were simply...gone.
-All-corners brownie pan
-Glass baking dish
-Several dish towels (used to pad items in said box, no doubt -- see, we totally packed this box!)
-Waffle iron (this one was a punch to the wafflegut)
And the list goes on.
What's odd is that we checked those cupboards, every single one, multiple times. That box had been packed. Like a boss.
And so, a year later, we mourn the passing of Mystery Black Hole Kitchen Box. And of course now every time something from the kitchen is found to be AWOL, we add it to the list of the missing. "It's in the damn kitchen box. NOO," we cry, shaking our fists to the ceiling. "THE BOX," we'll say, simply, with a sigh. "You know it was in that box," is the jaded, cynical reply when one realizes that shredding cheese is going to be a little less joyous.
I miss you, random kitchenware. You never even said you were leaving. You just...vanished. And that hurt, box. That hurt.