Harry stared into the pantry, hoping he could find something he knew how to cook. Cooking had been something of an adventure to re-discover. He didn't remember any recipes or dishes, but as he tried to put meals together, his body remembered technical skills, like using a knife, how much oil to use in the pan, how high to turn the heat. So much of his life now felt like archaeology of his past self. What does this chipped mug tell us about the man we used to be?
"What do you guys like to eat?" Harry asked, turning to the kids, who were sitting at the table. Olive had retrieved a sketchbook and was busy sketching something. She had agreed, after a brief argument, to give Louis a piece of paper as well, which he was busily coloring entirely red.
"Dinosaur eggs!" said Louis, holding up his crayon like a scepter.
"Hmm…" Harry stroked his chin. "I don't see any dinosaur eggs in the pantry."
"Papa cooks spaghetti a lot," said Olive quietly.
"Pasgetti spaghetti!" Louis said, then cackled to himself.
"I can do spaghetti," said Harry. He pulled out the necessary ingredients, dug around in the cabinets and drawers until he found the tools, and got to work.
ESPRIT DE CORPS:Patrol Officer Judit Minot arrives, panting, in the park where Satellite Officer Jean Vicquemare waits. Vicquemare runs over to her, calling her name.
"Is he here?" she asks as he approaches. She looks around the darkened park.
"No. I'm sorry, Jude." Vicquemare looks down at her, powerless.
"Okay. Okay." Minot's voice cracks. She wipes a tear from her cheek. "Let's check in with Jules, then."
"You can take a second, Judit," Vicquemare says gently.
"I can't–I keep seeing him standing on a bridge, or–or holding a bottle of pills. I know I can talk him down, I just need to find him–" She wipes away another tear.
"All right." Vicquemare wraps an arm around her shoulders and walks with her toward a nearby payphone. "Let's call Jules."
The water was nearly boiling, and Harry realized he hadn't found the salt. He rummaged through the pantry, found nothing, then pulled open the cabinet above the fridge.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY:Oh, yeah, baby…
Bottles, bottles, bottles. Rum, wine, whiskey, gin, vodka, and so much more. Harry let out a shaky breath.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY:You can taste it, can't you?
Harry swallowed. He could. He felt the burn in his mouth, his throat, the pain before the numbness. His hand twitched on the cabinet door.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY:Pick up a bottle. Just hold it. Feel the weight of it in your hand.
Harry could hear his pulse in his ears. Slowly, slowly, he reached out a hand, brushing it along the beautiful bottles. Whiskey, yes. McLean's Finest. He pulled out the bottle, the rich amber liquid lapping gently inside it like soft waves on the sea.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY:Good, now take the cap off and smell it.
PERCEPTION(HEARING):The kids are sitting still. Not moving, not talking. They're watching you.
RHETORIC:They've seen adults drink alcohol before. The bottles aren't up there for decoration.
VOLITION:Wait…maybe think about this for a minute…
HALF-LIGHT:They've seen adults drink before. They haven't seenyoudrink before.Youdrinking is a very different experience.
Harry shoved the bottle back into the cabinet and closed the door.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY:You're right, it's better this way. Wait till they're asleep, then you canreallyunwind.
Harry rubbed his face with one hand. The water was boiling. "Any idea where the salt is?" he asked, turning around. Olive silently pushed the salt cellar that was sitting on the table towards him. "Great, thanks," he said.