I ate the entire box of pierogies.
That’s not how it was supposed to happen, but then isn’t that what we would say about us?
Since our parting on Saturday I’ve just flitted in and out of the kitchen. I can’t linger there too long because you’re everywhere in that space … the two kinds of cocoa, the velcro cake pan straps, the cast iron lodge pan, the cleaned out pantry …
Here I sit listening to the Dixie Chicks “Hello Mr. Heartache” while I polish off the pierogies with the damn cherry lemon seltzers you convinced me to buy. I did not want to buy them. I insisted that lime goes with cherry, not lemon. Besides, I didn’t want to carry a case of them all the way to my 3rd floor apartment. You were convinced that lemon did go with cherry, they were on sale with a coupon on top of that, and you offered to carry the case into my apartment. And now it’s my favorite drink. I never did tell you that you were right. Lemon does go with cherry. It was a good buy, and thank you for carrying the case into my apartment. There are only two cans of cherry lemon seltzer remaining. I keep telling myself to stop drinking them, make them last. But I drink them anyway. I like them, and I like remembering the first time I drank it. You gave me the first sip from your can, and I looked at you after I drank it and said, “Oh my god, that’s good! Wow. New favorite drink!” I raised the drink in the air, and you did that thing with your eyebrows when you’re right about something. You move them up and down. You’re all proud of yourself that you were right, and I’m going ape shit over a new favorite drink. Couple of weirdos if you ask me.
The pierogies were meant for two people. We would usually saute some onions and put sour cream on top. I dispensed with all that, and just ate them plain over an entire evening tonight. The pierogies have mashed potatoes in them, and I found myself recalling you there in my kitchen making mashed potato casserole for thanksgiving. I see you there making that crazy fatty dijon mustard, half and half concoction that went into the mashed potato casserole. It was strangely good. You were all mashed potato casserole, and you hit that one out of the park.
I’m eating out tomorrow night.
Beautiful heartfelt writing. Sometimes it’s unfortunate how all of someone’s small details stay with us.
Hugs, and hang in there! This too shall pass. Cinda
Some nights call for a wallowing binge on crazy good fatty food. *Some* nights. Many hugs.