LJ Idol: 3 Strikes Week 5: Kuchisabishii
“It’s so weird being back here without him,” Sara murmured to herself as she surveyed the living room and stuffed her father’s spare keys into her pocket. She let out a sigh and stepped further into the room. To her right was the hallway that led to her parents’ bedroom-well, what used to be her parents’ bedroom, at least, the bathroom, and her childhood bedroom. Not quite ready to face the onslaught of memories in that direction, she turned left and headed into the kitchen instead.
There were a few dishes left in the drainer next to the empty sink and the trash can was nearly full, but otherwise nothing was out of place. It struck Sara as odd how something so monumental to her existence as the last of her parents departing the earth wouldn’t leave more tangible effects on the world. It seemed unfair that she was supposed to somehow muster the energy and wrangle all the feelings in order to not only continue her life without them, but she was also responsible for seemingly erasing any evidence that they were once here with her. When her mother passed, she felt the pain, of course, but it was different than this; she still had her father and, though they went through her mother’s clothes, most of her mother’s belongings had remained untouched. The daunting task of going through a lifetime’s possessions weighed heavily on her-and with no siblings-only her shoulders now.
So, she started small. She tugged the corner of the trash bag off the can and carried the bag out the back door to the plastic receptacle provided by the city her father kept on the side of the house. She found the new bags tucked into the same drawer where they’ve been kept her entire life and she secured one bag into the now empty trash can before grabbing another one and pulling open the refrigerator door. There wasn’t much inside: an assortment of condiments, a few beers, about three fingers of a half gallon of milk, a half a loaf of bread, and a Tupperware container with a steak inside. She threw the condiments in the trash bag and reached for the Tupperware. The lid popped open, she took a sniff, and tore off a bite of the meat. It was tender and she recognized the spices her father regularly used when grilling. Her stomach churned as she realized this was the last time she’d eat anything her father prepared. It wasn’t often that you were aware of an experience being the last time while it happened and, though she might have disagreed before, she certainly was not enjoying the knowledge now. She set the Tupperware on the table and pulled a knife and a fork out of the top drawer. If she was going to do this, she needed to do it properly and savor it. Barbecuing had been a favored pastime of her father’s during the warmer months when she grew up. Eventually, he bought the equipment and learned how to smoke his own meat, too. Even after leaving home, he would be sure to prepare something each time she visited and send her home with leftovers that easily lasted her an entire week. She stabbed the last piece and bit her lip as she paused briefly before stuffing it into her mouth quickly to ensure she couldn’t change her mind.
She took a couple steps toward the kitchen sink before diverting to the trash and tossing the Tupperware inside. She put the dishes in their places in the cabinets to be boxed up and sold later. She opened the other cupboards and found an open cereal box, a jar of peanut butter, a few cans of various soups among other pantry staples. Some of these must have dated back to her teenage years, but she began filling the trash bag she’d left by the refrigerator anyway. She’d have to see if a food bank or homeless shelter could take some of these items.
Sara suddenly remembered the old freezer in the garage. She carried the trash bag in her left hand while she switched on the light in the garage with her right. She dropped the bag on the floor in front of the white chest freezer and lifted its lid. There were some frozen vegetables on one side and various cuts of meat with dates Sharpied on the Ziplock bag on the other sides. She picked up a particularly interesting looking cut, but quickly dropped it back into the freezer when she noticed the unmistakable set of fingers in the bag underneath.
There were a few dishes left in the drainer next to the empty sink and the trash can was nearly full, but otherwise nothing was out of place. It struck Sara as odd how something so monumental to her existence as the last of her parents departing the earth wouldn’t leave more tangible effects on the world. It seemed unfair that she was supposed to somehow muster the energy and wrangle all the feelings in order to not only continue her life without them, but she was also responsible for seemingly erasing any evidence that they were once here with her. When her mother passed, she felt the pain, of course, but it was different than this; she still had her father and, though they went through her mother’s clothes, most of her mother’s belongings had remained untouched. The daunting task of going through a lifetime’s possessions weighed heavily on her-and with no siblings-only her shoulders now.
So, she started small. She tugged the corner of the trash bag off the can and carried the bag out the back door to the plastic receptacle provided by the city her father kept on the side of the house. She found the new bags tucked into the same drawer where they’ve been kept her entire life and she secured one bag into the now empty trash can before grabbing another one and pulling open the refrigerator door. There wasn’t much inside: an assortment of condiments, a few beers, about three fingers of a half gallon of milk, a half a loaf of bread, and a Tupperware container with a steak inside. She threw the condiments in the trash bag and reached for the Tupperware. The lid popped open, she took a sniff, and tore off a bite of the meat. It was tender and she recognized the spices her father regularly used when grilling. Her stomach churned as she realized this was the last time she’d eat anything her father prepared. It wasn’t often that you were aware of an experience being the last time while it happened and, though she might have disagreed before, she certainly was not enjoying the knowledge now. She set the Tupperware on the table and pulled a knife and a fork out of the top drawer. If she was going to do this, she needed to do it properly and savor it. Barbecuing had been a favored pastime of her father’s during the warmer months when she grew up. Eventually, he bought the equipment and learned how to smoke his own meat, too. Even after leaving home, he would be sure to prepare something each time she visited and send her home with leftovers that easily lasted her an entire week. She stabbed the last piece and bit her lip as she paused briefly before stuffing it into her mouth quickly to ensure she couldn’t change her mind.
She took a couple steps toward the kitchen sink before diverting to the trash and tossing the Tupperware inside. She put the dishes in their places in the cabinets to be boxed up and sold later. She opened the other cupboards and found an open cereal box, a jar of peanut butter, a few cans of various soups among other pantry staples. Some of these must have dated back to her teenage years, but she began filling the trash bag she’d left by the refrigerator anyway. She’d have to see if a food bank or homeless shelter could take some of these items.
Sara suddenly remembered the old freezer in the garage. She carried the trash bag in her left hand while she switched on the light in the garage with her right. She dropped the bag on the floor in front of the white chest freezer and lifted its lid. There were some frozen vegetables on one side and various cuts of meat with dates Sharpied on the Ziplock bag on the other sides. She picked up a particularly interesting looking cut, but quickly dropped it back into the freezer when she noticed the unmistakable set of fingers in the bag underneath.