Now that I knew what to look for, I could just see the small garage from the dining room window. It was just out of sight enough that it didn't interfere with the view. I guess why that is why it was rebuilt the way it was. This house must have been something when it was first built, before the remodeling. I can't wait to see the rest of the place, but food first.
We get back to the kitchen, where Sam goes straight to the refrigerator by the pantry entrance. I start looking through the cabinets. The first few ones I open all have dishes and glasses. While necessary, not what I'm looking for. I expected some cookies or cakes. At least a box of crackers. Those I found in the fifth one I opened. The box was new, unopened. Well, it was something.
"What's in the fridge?" I call out to Sam. "I've got nothing."
I take a peek over his shoulder to see even less than I found. No milk, no fruits or vegetables, no soda. Just a few partially empty condiment bottles. Oh, and a few labeled plastic containers near the bottom. Probably leftovers, but I don't eat strange leftovers. Or a stranger's leftovers. Or leftovers in general. Physically, I can't eat them. I'm not a picky eater. Well, not that much of one, but I am a super-taster, of a sort. When I was a kid, for some reason, I had trouble eating some things. They just didn't taste right. Even when it was a favorite, I didn't think it tasted quite right. Then, one Saturday when I was nine or so, I asked for some tacos for lunch. I should have suspected something when it only took a few minutes for my mom to make them, barely half the time. When I started eating, I found a piece of lettuce, even though I hadn't used any. Not this time, but the last time a day or so earlier, I had. I found out that mom just reheated some leftovers, without her telling me what she done. I didn't even think there had been any leftover that night.
All those years of not eating much, I could now blame on leftovers. I could just barely taste the difference between fresh and the reheated. From that day one, I would not eat leftovers at all. Sure, it caused my mom some trouble, forcing her to eat anything leftover. But I was a growing boy, so there wasn't that much leftover, or so I thought. My mom still complains about it, even though ti has been almost twenty years. Ever since I have been living on my own, I have tried to make sure that I make just enough for one serving. This means a lot of take-out and frozen meals, and less pizza than I would like (although reheated pizza is just about the only thing that my taste buds don't mind).
"Maybe there's something in the freezer or the walk-in?" I hopefully bring up.
"The walk-in doesn't work. Hasn't ever worked since I can remember," Sam squeaks up. "The freezer just has meat and leftovers. We usually don't have frozen meals. Neighbors came over when it happened, and they helped clean out the fridge before I, you know."
I shouldn't have brought it up.
"Then I guess it's time for a b-, I mean food run. There was a small market a few streets over. Shouldn't take too long to pick up a few things and be back. What do you think?"
Sam was already working on the crackers. How he could eat those without making a sound is beyond me. Still, he was shaking his head up and down agreeing with my suggestion. At least we would be having something other than take out again.
After Sam put the crackers away, but still taking a few with him, we left the house again. I still didn't get to see the other side of the house. As we drove off, I saw a man walking a dog right towards the house, and he was waving right at us. Odd, but kind of friendly. Not many other people were out for a warm Saturday afternoon. At least traffic was light. It only took ten minutes to get to the market (it was further out than I thought). It was older and smaller than I thought, but it had a good enough selection of staples to make sure we wouldn't starve overnight. Tomorrow, I would find a larger super-market to really have enough. Unfortunately, the place doesn't carry me favorites. Not even look-alike brands. There isn't enough difference in just a few hundred miles or so to not carry what I like. And I know for a fact that the company that makes my chocolate bells is based in this area. I can't wait to get to a larger market, but it will have to wait.
Sam stays quiet on the way back. At least he had the excuse that he was eating on the way there (I made sure he just had enough so he wouldn't leave and crumbs), but he was silent on the way back. He barely made the comment that he had never been in the store before, even though it was fairly close to his home. Apparently, his mother preferred going somewhere else, but he wouldn't say where. I didn't even turn on the radio, wanting the AC going to keep us and the food cool. As I drove down the street, there was the older guy again, waiting for us on the sidewalk near the driveway. The dog was nowhere to be seen. He followed us in as I drove up to the front door.
No comments:
Post a Comment