He was back in the apartment after work was over, staring at Ginger cooking again. Or was it Wanda? — so bad on names. Cow outfit was still on. Ginger or Wanda or whoever wouldn’t be helping him with an actual name either, then.
“How was work today?” Dare she call him dear?
“Okay. Had an interesting lunch break.” He didn’t stop staring, was riveted on the black and white.
“Oh? What happened?” Another egg flipped over. Expertly he noticed. She’d been doing this for some time.
“I went to a psychic,” he imagined himself saying, then changed it when spoken out loud to, “I went to a physician. I’ve been meaning to go for some time.”
“Physician? Doctor? What’s wrong, dear?” There. She said it. She must… no, she can’t go there yet. The love part. A term of endearment is not a declaration of love.
What to say? Ankle? Knee? Yes, the knee. “Oh it’s my knee, the one I pulled when I got stuck on that stick in the woods about a week back. ”
“Yes, I recall you telling me that. But you said you were okay.”
“I thought it was time to check it out. Never happened before (like that).”
“What did the doctor say?”
“Oh, he said I was okay and to stay out of the deep woods for a while. With a smile of course.”
“Can you do that?”
“I… don’t know. Anyway, um, I was just wondering…”
“Yes?” Now a flapjack, expertly poured before and now deftly flipped, tanned just right on the first side.
“Where did you learn to cook?” He was looking for a magic location and he got one.
“Well, I’ve always cooked because of my Mama,” the implication being that someone had to do it in the household. “And then I did it professionally for a while for that rock band who came along back in the 70s. Just came up to the door and asked me to do it.”
“Ozark Mountain something.” Bingo, he thought. He recalled his three, and also a 4th to go along with the rest. Red green blue… but don’t forget the yellow. Gold. Inside the ship now. Harvested.
(to be continued)
Sunklands 