I’ve No Idea
I’VE NO IDEA
Copyright 2013 by E.C. McMullen Jr.
I’m alone most of today, it’s lunch time, so I go to the fridge to see what we’ve got.
I start moving things around around…
This clear glass container with a plastic lid.
What is this stuff?
I open the lid to get a better look. Yuck.
What the hell is this stuff?
This doesn’t look like food. Not any food I would eat.
In fact, it’s so repulsive looking that I won’t even give it the sniff test. I mean, if it smells as bad as it looks?
My brain’s ID configuration exhausted, my imagination takes over and that’s when things get worse.
It looks like… like something that belongs in someone, in a pudding of gooey vegetables. I guess they’re vegetables. Asparagus kind of string bean tomatoes? But the main thing. The kind of centerpiece to it all. I’ve no idea.
I mean, of course it’s not a brain or heart or any recognizable organ like that. But it still looks like some… Thing … that a person shouldn’t, or couldn’t, do without.
I just got a shiver looking at it. Well screw this, I definitely don’t like it and I’m feeling a little ticked at my wife for putting this damn thing in our refrigerator of all places. This doesn’t belong with food. It creeps me right the hell out.
What’s the damn point of having this disgusting thing in our refrigerator?
By this time my mind, running all over the place, throwing volumes of stored memory this way and that in search for an explanation, still hasn’t figured out what I’m looking at. It’s so bizarre my hand holding the container, is nearly moving by itself further from my face. As if the damn thing might leap at me like the facehugger in ALIEN.
So what do I do?
I cover it back up, put it back inside the refrigerator, and close the door firm, that’s what I do.
That damn thing is just wrong. Wrong!
It’s so unexpected, so unrecognizable, and I’m surprised that I’m getting emotional about it. I’m scared, angry, frustrated at not being able to identify it, and hurt: that my wife would put something like that in there.
What kind of person would do that?
Oh for fuck sake, what the hell is wrong with Me? With all of the great years we’ve been together, Lucy loves me, that’s a fact. A few days ago when I slipped in the rain and cracked my head, hell, she was the one crying.
Now I’m kinda glad I’m alone. No one can see me turn into such a sniveling baby over some spoiled food in the fridge. Jesus, dude. Get a grip!
Lucy will be home soon. She’ll have a sound, calm explanation of whatever that thing, that god damn thing is, and I’ll have a private laugh over my drama queen imagination.
Yeah. My wife will be home soon and that crap in the refrigerator will make sense. I’ll dispense with my overreaction so much that, once I know what it is, I’ll probably even eat it.
Ha! Yeah! It is likely part of something we already ate! It’s a stupid leftover! That makes all the sense in the world!
Well, definitely lost my appetite. I’m back in my room with my computer to wait for my wife.
Now I am writing this goofy blog, letting everyone know. Hey, we can all be idiots sometimes, right?
Lucy will be home soon and balance my world again. That’s what couples do. Keep each other on keel.
You know, she prefers to change my bandages instead of letting me do it. I can never put the fresh ones back on just right. She also checks my stitches as the angle is on the back of my head. Man, I really wolloped myself good. Lucy loves me and I’m a fool for getting so scared.
The cat is in my lap. The dog is near my feet, Lucy will be home soon. All is right with the world.
Except down the hall in the kitchen, some unknown god damn Thing in a jar is squatting among the food we eat.
Why can’t I bring myself to describe the ugly mess? Well I think I’d go nuts. “That way leads to madness.” as they used to say.
Wait. Wasn’t I just over this? What, am I slipping? This is absurdly childish. I’m too old and grown up for this nonsense.
Yet I am still fixating on that crap in my house, in the fridge, in the cold, in the dark, currently unseen among all the other food That I Eat.
I could leave the house, take the cat and dog with me. Because, well, they shouldn’t be left alone with that thing.
Oh god damn it! Stop stupidly obsessing, fool! Why am I being so weak?
Lucy will be here soon. I’m not going to call her! I’m not going to ask about that shit in the fridge. This whole blown-all-out-of-proportion matter I’ve created has me on edge and she knows me. She’d hear the fear in my voice. She’d want me to go back to the doctor.
No, way. Not over something I just know is going to have a normal, even mediocre reason, for being in this house.
I could take a photo of it and put it online.
My friends could probably identify it and then, then everything would be okay.
I’m not going to do that.
What would I do if they can’t identify it? What if They freaked out? That would shoot my paranoia into overdrive.
Or worse, what if they can identify it and that fucking thing has every reason to send me over the edge?
Christ! The more I think about it, the more incriminating it is. God damn I wish I knew what the hell it was!
What was that?
Oh, it’s just the fucking floorboards creaking. Old house and all. Dog would be barking his head off, the cat would be upright and hissing, if anything weird was happening.
Chill out, man! Just chill the hell out.
Everything will be okay.
My wife will be home soon.
Copyright 2013, E.C. McMullen Jr.
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