Semi-Daily Scribbles

Gary knew how to boil water. Mighty helpful when it came to dinner time. Sure, he could have gone the nuke-it route, but Gary was old school. He liked the blue box and yellow lettering. He liked the skitter-skatter of the elbows cascading out of the cardboard. The familiar plink-plonk of macaroni into the pot of water Gary so expertly boiled. His favorite step in the process was to rescue every particle of delicious orange dust out of the corners of the cheez-flavo packet. Extra butter and half and half were the keys to creaminess. Gary got asked for his secret all the time. Many blue boxes were stored in his cupboards. And, as was the custom in Gary's household ever since he was a boy, the slick coated dinner was eaten with a simple side of citrus suprêmes. A certain uniformity in the color of his food, across all meals, was a matter of importance to The G-Man.

The idea had heft to it, and Loni liked the whole self-reliance angle. Going against the tide wasn't a natural sensation for her, but then she needed a new tactic to keep her on track. Her goal of making assistant manager down at the Chik'n & Biskit turned gray and hazy, where once the prize flashed constant and reassuringly, like a VACANCY sign in the window of a motor lodge at the end of a 16-hour drive. But Loni's focus and patience had been recently put to the test.

She'd always looked up to Lindsay. Big sis was quick with advice and ready with a plan which Loni never questioned. Loni basically did everything her sister told her to do. Peace was just easier to keep that way, plus Loni had a hard time with decisions. Lindsay's last visit, though, was a game changer. Lindsay wanted to move back in so life would return to the way it was before the accident. Loni wanted that more than anything, but Loni was also a realist. There was no going back. Lindsay spent most of her time these days buffeted in the breeze like a feather, when she wasn't sending messages to her sister to leave the light on and to always remember her. There was no chance of ever forgetting Lindsay. Loni's sleep was upset on a nightly basis thanks to Lindsay's fidgeting and restless whispers. Whispers like, "Why do you need a job anyway? Haven't I always taken care of you?"

Loni made her decision. Her job wasn't just a job, and she would tell Lindsay exactly why she needed it. Chik'n & Biskit was her tether to reality, albeit a reality filled with grease fires and surly customers. The job was Loni's assurance that she, not Lindsay, was the sister who could still be seen and heard and not mistaken for a memory.

All is well in Lenore's pastel world. Every edge is encased in cotton. Surfaces are soft and Lenore melts into walls and comes out the other side wiser for being so fluid. Intuitive. Lenore pays a visit to her neighbors and asks about their health, their holidays, their sons and daughters who run away when she comes around. The neighbors answer with empty-headed stares and chills that prickle the skin. Mrs. Klein's Bichon Frisé sniffs at the tassel on Lenore's scarf and barks, to Mrs. Klein's bewilderment, at the gentle breeze rustling the box hedge.