#ceremonially

the  kitchen  is  a  living  thing.    it  has  a  temper  that  can  rage  HOT    &    UNRULY,  a  tantrum  unshackled  that  leads  to  ruin,  wreckage,  becomes  contagious  until  it  infects  the  patrons    &    the  line  cooks    &    even  the  guy  wringing  the  grey  sweat  out  of  the  mop  over  its  bucket.    

(    the  kitchen  is  a  living  thing.    it  can  be  beautiful,  majestic,  an  unparalleled  magic  when  tended  to.    )    

the  beef  is  a  BEAST.    

carmy  doesn’t  have  the  energy  left  to  tame  its  fury  tonight  with  sizzling  grease  spattering  the  mending  out  of  the  tousle  of  hair  half-raked  back  off  his  scalp.  the  crowd  is  constant,  raucous  support  of  the  cubs    &    too  many  old  styles  dunked  into  the  teamsters  poking    &    prodding  the  monster.    the  brick  catches  the  way  his  shoulders  back  up  to  it,  pricking  the  red  asper  into  the  pilling  white  cotton  stretched  across  her  torso.    a  rake  of  his  fingers,  washed  raw    &    pink    &    rich  with  calluses,  peels  his  temple  before  plucking  a  cigarette  to  bobble  at  his  lips.    

❝   it’s a  good  idea.   the job would be  easy  if we just    –    ❞    off the look rusty gives,  he purses his lips and cants his head.   ❝  right, okay,  but have you considered if we   –    ❞    again,  loud  silence that interrupts his second option before it was ever spoken.    ❝  you know what,  if you want to cut off my ideas,  the least you could do is offer up a  new one  in turn.   ❞  

          every  so  often,  hayden  howard  steps  in  it  –mostly  by  taking  his  teasing  of  andy  too  far.  it  had  started  pretty  innocently;  the  kind  of  pestering  only  someone  who’s  know  another  for  years  could  accomplish.  he  was  high  off  of  the  way  andy  screeched  his  name  in  protest  as  ice  cubes  were  dumped  down  her  shirt.  he  made  the  mistake  of  dancing  his  fingertips  up  her  sides  –a  classic  tickle  attack  that  turned  andy’s  demeanor  as  cold  as  the  contents  of  his  cup.

this,  just  like  the  signal  of  burnishing  leaves  outside  slowly  losing  their  green  in  favor  of  burnt  umber    &    goldenrod,  is  the  liminal  space  of  their  relationship.    there’s  no  more  denial  associated  with  late  nights  or  text  messages,  or  furtive,  sideways  glances.      

but  anything  more  than  that?    

spending  anything  approaching  quality  time,  touching  daylight  activities  as  a  pair,  has  slipped  into  categorical  avoidance.    until  now.    sam  has  a  fresh  mug  of  coffee  dusted  with  a  festive  smattering  of  cinnamon  in  one  hand,  hip  propped  against  the  kitchen  counter.    the  house,  decorated  with  autumnal  wreaths  in  the  windows    &    cartoonish  decals,  is  ready  for  the  season.    an  assortment  of  ingredients  sits  between  a  careful  arrangement  of  gourds  to  be  tended  to.