The Kitchen - 0.30 siemans 2011
He had no memory of how he got there or what had come before. As he came to, he tried to place a recent memory, to anchor himself in his present situation. His hand was on something cold and metallic and without opening his eyes, he drew his fingers over its surface and back towards his body. Faint interruptions in the brushed steel stopped him and blinking slowly he made out that the subtle change in texture was black lettering, embossed or inlaid, he wasn't sure which, in the face of the unit by his side.
He raised himself up awkwardly onto his elbows. The bright white light was flooding in through a glass door which seemed to take up most of the wall in front of him. He was lying on his back on the kitchen floor with.
The supple coat of a dalmatian rose and fell under the light which fell in through the patio doors. The mottled pattern was stretched across its back, around its ribs and over the sharp incline of its heel as it kicked the sheepskin rug beneath it. Hypnotised by the gentle whirring of the spin dryer, both the dog and its owner lay dreaming of the clothes inside, ties tangled with tights, nylon slowly working the whole contents into a tight dense bundle behind the closed door. His mind drifted as he reflected on the interlocking system within the door, programmed to release only when the full cycle had completed. So much disturbance, so well contained.
The scene before him was bleached out by the sun, and if X squinted his eyes the only discernible contrast before him were the black spots of the dogs coat, sparse in places, densely clustered in others, like an aerial night view of a city in reverse.
He heard her enter the kitchen and start to move things around, keys grated against the marble worktop and her jacket fell in a pile to the floor before she deftly swooped down and returned it to the back of the chair, shoulder into shoulder. A small travel case sat on the kitchen table already packed.
The back of her blouse was open, and she turned her back to him so that he could see her pale back in between the cream of the shirt and the white of the decor beyond her outline. He pulled himself to his feet and worked buttons into their corresponding holes, travelling up to where her blonde hair was swept over one shoulder to clear his way. As he finished, she reached her hand and touched his briefly, a moment of contact, over quickly. When the front door closed behind her he relaxed back and listened for the car starting in the driveway, and the noise of the engine as it became fainter and then was finally drowned out by the machine making its final revolutions.
Uninterrupted he now turned his full attention to the room. He pulled against the vacuum of the fridge door and it gave way with a pleasing jolt. With both hands he pulled against the lower draw and brought it out to expose the fresh salad and vegetables. The movement appealed so much that he closed the drawer and started over, drawing it towards him along the rollers, watching the lettuce leaves unfurl as they were given more room. He sunk back down to the stone floor and stretched out on his front, feeling as far as he could with his hands and bare feet across the cold stone beneath him. They had a lot of space in here, between the fridge and the island of units and he revelled in its flat expanse. If he closed his eyes he could feel the edges of the large tiles, the grouting between them. This spoilt the sensation and irritated he finally lay still and opened his eyes.
The dog growled lazily beside him and he turned and looked up. A white seabird that had been resting on the balcony now gave flight, startled. He breathed in the cold air. The doorbell sounded and he started. She was early. He got to his feet too quickly and steadied himself on the kitchen surface as grey static rushed in front of his vision and took a few seconds to fade.
She came in and he pointed her in the direction of the coffee maker. She admired the fitted machine, flush with its surround, and inspected the brushed steel control panel jealously. She found the coloured pods and picked two at random, their coded system meaning nothing to her. She noted that despite its design there was nowhere to catch the drips of brown liquid that fell from the nozzle and they left a small dirty puddle on the floor. She looked uncertainly at the two expresso cups in her hands until the dog padded over, and licked the floor at the foot of the machine.
Afterwards she was tired, he got up off the bed and turned out the light beside her. She pretended to sleep until she heard the door close behind him and she rose and parted the curtains. The blue morning had clouded over and she wondered what the time was as it was now raining heavily. She felt protected behind the double glazing as trees shook outside and rain flew in at the glass. She couldn't hear a thing, her interior world muffled by a thick pile carpet, great insulation and sound structural engineering. She gave an imperceptible smile and watched a single drop work its way shuddering down the pane.
She turned away and entered the en suite, bringing the chrome tap round so that a gentle stream of warm water ran out and filled the basin. She could hear him trying to get in but she stayed where she was, until she was able to appreciate fully the shortcomings of the anti-steam mirror in front of her.
While he was in the shower she knelt down beside the media system. A blue light emanated from around every button to inform her that the player was alert, standing by, anticipating her touch. She put on his favourite record and got up. The music blared suddenly and deafeningly through the apartment. She fumbled with the touch control and brought the volume right down. Enthralled by the round buttons encircled with their blue halo she gently pressed the play button again and again and the music progressed in stops and starts though the first song. She laughed to herself, and realised she needed to eat.
Under the soothing music she moved through the house as if in a dream. She opened a fresh pack of wooden skewers and stood with the plastic wrapper, turning it over and over in her hands. It wasn't as pliable as cellophane, it was crisp and had black printed writing on it in a language she couldn't decipher. No matter, she knew what they were for. Holding the pointed end of a skewer up she pushed the pre cubed vegetables and meat onto its tip and down. The face of the new hob was shiny and clean and she looked over it seeing her own face reflected. Disappointed with her reflection, she quickly covered it with the skewered meat and turned the heat up. It took a while but the fleshy chicken soon started to sizzle and stick to the surface. Not wanting to scratch the cooker she left it to stick and went over to the patio doors. Seeing it had stopped raining she pulled the door across and sunk into the designer chair on the decking. It was still quite cold and the chair was sodden but it was refreshing. She stayed where she was. On the table beside her sat the papers that the installation team had left. How to care for your kitchen and how to let your kitchen care for you. She could smell burning now from inside but sat, already engrossed in the contents page. The dog at her side whimpered and without taking her eyes from the page she impatiently patted the animal away.
He stepped out of the stone lined wet room and drying off was greeted by black smoke throughout the house. He cursed under his breath and shielding his smarting eyes called her name without response. He turned off the hob and threw some water from the sink over the blackened lumps stuck to the chromed surface. Steam rushed up and he swore loudly again as it scolded his hand. The extractor fan whirred into action somewhere overhead and he opened the door behind which his companion sat staring at the paper manual in her hands. He took a deep breath, turned and drew the screen door closed behind him. He shut her out for now and set to preparing something with what was left in the fridge.
Concentrating on the hob in front of him, he didn't notice his approach. She gently put her cold hands around his waist and he looked over her shoulder at her pale serene face. She ran a finger deftly over the marble and then up over his hand rested there. The movement was smooth, seamless, as if she hadn't noticed where the marble ended and his skin had begun.