Remember when we used to cook?
You had that old shack, your parent’s shack, back roads of Bigelow. Couldn’t find much more out there. Didn’t need much more, either. We had a stove and a sink and thousands of dollars. Eventually, I mean. I got rich.
Can’t say I knew much about science then or now, but I knew how to put things and things together. Cooking isn’t a science, anyhow. It’s a skill. Don’t need much, even, just some things from here and some things from there, can get it all for free if you want to. Just need to keep your wits about you.
Here’s the rules:
Don’t blow anything up.
Remember that time we went to the pharmacy and we got everything we wanted and didn’t pay a damn dime?
You had that goddamn bag, filled it right up with boxes and boxes and I can’t barely remember what I was up to. You had on a see through shirt and I thought everyone must be looking but maybe it was just me couldn’t keep my eyes off.
And back in the car you piled all those boxes on the back seat, nose cleaners, cold medicine, ingredients, ingredients. Let’s go cook, you said, and we did and a million stars exploded.
I’m fixin’ to party all night. I’m riding around and drinking beers. All the boys are out: Uncle Steve, Tubby Mayo and Tiny, ‘cepting he’s near 7 feet tall now.
Remember Tubby’s uncle’s cousin who had those corn fields and he ought’ve paid more attention to where he kept those tubs of fertilizers cause I’m quick and I’m fast and I took three one night and still made it home in half hour, running? You were waiting. Best batch we ever made.
Been drinking all night. Been thinking about you all night and can’t stop. Long legs, hip bones, eyes and tits that pop. That’s what I’m thinking about on you.
And cooking. I’m thinking about cooking. The high of making something all your own, That high, and then the one after.
Sun set quick tonight. Sat on the porch and smoked and drank and called all those fine, fresh girls I know. But –
What I mean is:
Can’t stop thinking about you. Miss the kitchen, miss you. Miss the quick fix and trips to the pharmacy and the farmers who just didn’t pay enough attention.
I know what you were: hungry. I know what I am, too.
Drink up drink up, everyone loves me.
Ari Baum-Hommes currently lives in western Massachusetts. She has been previously published in Right Hand Pointing and is a student of Flying Object’s Creative Writing Workshops.