I whipped the twice-baked potatoes out of the oven and slung them as hard as I could at the cold tile wall above the kitchen sink. I watched them stick, cheese glued, to the riveted grout, and then slide, like lazy slugs , down the wall, and plop into the stainless steel sink.
I hit the button.
The disposal devoured them like a pit bull on a pile of baby rattle snakes.
He freaked. Had never seen me so volatile. So Alive, really. Had never seen me so…“So what?”
It was raining, summer sleet….the sliding glass doors were covered in a hard-water stained film, the rain pounding on the other side….steam rising off the concrete patio. From the kitchen, where I stood, Michelob in hand, he was just a shadow on the other side of a dirty shower curtain…..
I watched, cat-eyed, as he mounted the bike and rode off into torrents, the rain pelting his face….
“God, I hope he’s okay…he makes it home safe”
I glanced at the sink. Little dribbles of bacon, aged Wisconsin cheddar, and remnants of potatoes tattooed the stainless steel.
“I’ll worry about it tomorrow”
I plunked my skinny little fanny onto the corduroy couch and finished my beer. “There!” I waited for the tears to come, the wailing, the flailing, the “Oh my God, I just called off a wedding" blues to come……
I drank another beer. And looked at the clock. Got up and looked at the sink again.
It’s twenty years later, and I’m still hungry for those twice-baked potatoes……