The Kitchen

I don't know if there was ever a moment in time where I had loved so deeply as I do now. I don't know if there was ever a time I cared so much.

Not in the sense that I didn't care or didn't love. But in those emotions passed through me like water off a ducks back. Where people would walk in on my life and I stopped caring if they walked out. Passing though with no more thoughts or emotions to add. I was like a kitchen. People came in, took what they needed, and left.

A little bit of love. Some reassurance or support. A blunt truth, a listening ear. A kind laugh. A quick therapy session. All stored in the cabinets and the fridge. Put in the spice rack and in the cupboard. A free for all kitchen that just gave and gave and was always restocked, and no one asked who restocked it.

My memory lacks like a poorly written cookbook. The measurements are missing. There is a step just a bit to vague to really help. An ingredient scribbled in ineligible writing. One step is too detailed and another is just "add salt". Sticky notes that lost their sticky long ago and are only kept in the pages as long as you keep them there. Stained from years of use. From ring stains from coffee cups, to spills from failed attempts at the recipes.

All the people I have meet in this life. Have loved me like a kitchen, cared about me like a kitchen. For what I can do, for what I can provide. For the bottle of love kept in the fridge. And the assurance in the spice rack. For the listening ear in the cupboards and the advice that sits on the stove. They used my memory like a poorly written cookbook, taking out pages and forgetting to put them back in, letting loose sticky notes get thrown in the trash. Only opening it when they need a specific recipe. Putting it in reach of a giant mess without care if it gets messy or not.

I cannot remember the last time someone had cared to ask how I restock my kitchen supplies so easily. How I am so reckless as to just let people come in and take what they won't before leaving so much without a thank you. Leaving a mess all over my counters and not caring to clean it up later. Mountains of dishes people quickly add to hoping not to get caught just adding more instead of helping to clean the mess.

I cannot remember a time when anyone asked really.

I just knew I became dull, abandoned as fewer and fewer cared about the status of my kitchen. Just that it was usable. Soon the dishes no longer were cleaned, the counter stayed dirty. The plates began to be scratched and cracked as the silverware slowly became rusted. Roaches found their ways to hide in the stacks of messes left behind. Mold left on food never thrown out. The light over the stove stopped working and the fan broke too.

I remember the night you stumbled in. Looking for a different room then mine but still. You wandered into my kitchen, and stayed. Taking the small time to clean off a counter top before using it yourself. Checking expiration dates on condiments before using them. Curiously looking through the cookbook without any recipe in mind, with such a gentle hand as you made sure to catch the loose sticky notes before they fell. How you cleaned the dishes you used and placed them inside the dishwasher.

No, you didn't clean anyone else's. But you cleaned the ones you used.

You left, and I didn't expect to see you again. But you came in the morning, brewing coffee in the coffee maker, or a cup for tea in the microwave. Placing a pan on the stove. Humming a song. Showing each other recipes to try from my cookbook. Small bits of laughter as you made up stories about how stains were created, or what would happen when you attempted it based upon the instructions written. But it was kind hearted. Bring life to a room and had begun to grow dull and abandoned.

Then one of you brought flowers for the window. The other brought new plates to throw out the scratched up and cracked ones. A change of silverware and a through clean of the counters.

Crying as you killed the roaches, terrified. You held back vomit when you cleaned out the molded foods that reeked as soon as you touched them. Like death had released from something disgusting to take you with the stench alone. But still, despite the challenge. You come back each day, putting care into my kitchen.

You are the reason I started cleaning the dishes again. Not out of obligation, but desire. Why, sometimes, when you fiddle with the switch, the stove light and fan will work. They're still faulty, still mostly broken. But you breathed just enough life in them to make them at least try. You are reason the roaches never came back and why people started passing through my kitchen once again.

But this time they clean the spills they make. Care to put back what they take out from the spice rack or the fridge. Why they throw away the food they don't eat and put the dirty dishes neatly in the sink.

And though they aren't as frequent of guests as you are. They are still always welcome.

Another of you had stumbled in. This time guided by another to my kitchen instead of an accidental wander. Mid day in the middle of a recipe and it scared me for just a moment. But you were kind, and respectful, and you picked up the litter on the floor no one else seemed to spot. You make mess from recipes and are slowly learning to laugh along with the mistakes. You do not clean the messes until you are done and sometimes you forget to put the dishes in the sink. But I am not mad at your flaws. I embrace them.

Just like I embrace you.

And I embrace all of your frequent visits to the kitchen. Whether it's just to check expiration dates on the foods. Or to make something to eat. Or to grab a cup of whatever you desire to drink. You take your time and you give me a reason to care. To keep the roaches out and the dishes cleaned. To try and fix the lighting and the fan. To keep the fridge and cabinets and spices stocked with only the freshest things.

You are now the reason why the walls have photos hanging above them. Why bubbles sometimes squirt out of the soap bottle. Why a newer, better written, cookbook has appeared. Why the hot pads have been replaced and why the utensils are always in the right place.

Because you replace the flowers by the window. Check the Tupperware for lids to match. Replaced the cracked measuring cups with new ones.

There is still a lot to fix, clean, and replace in my kitchen. But you give me reason to want the change towards something better.