We spent all of yesterday (July 4th) in the pool at our friends’ house, which was wonderful. All four of us are exhausted and a little bit sunburnt and made up of 90% watermelon at this point—basically exactly what you expect from a July 4th celebration.
H is the only girl out of the four kids, and the youngest, and she used to kind of sit off to the side and make confused faces at the three boys while they ran around and made a lot of noise. Now she’s more likely to be leading the running-and-noise-making charges.
I took her into the bedroom to change into her swimsuit, and she took off her shirt—laid it neatly on a chair. Took off her skirt—laid it neatly on the shirt. Took off her underwear—and carefully tucked them in between the shirt and skirt. Then put on her swimsuit.
I said, “Did you just hide your underwear in between your other clothes?” And she said, “Yes.” I said, “Why?” And she said, “…I don’t know.” I’ve never consciously hidden her underwear or told her to do that. (I mean, other than when they’re on her body.) It was just such a classic doctor’s appointment move? Where you hide your underwear in the middle of your other clothes? Even though you’re about to have, like, a pap smear?
So I don’t know. When I’m making lists of things I hope I ingrain in my kids, it’s like, 1. Kindness. 2. A healthy relationship to their bodies. 3. A healthy relationship to food. Etc. So hiding your underwear is fine, as long as it doesn’t imply anything else. (It definitely stood out against the other kids, who were all basically changing into their swim trunks in the foyer.)
There’s a lot to say about distance learning, and a lot of that can be negative. But as I gaze peacefully glare at my children learning calmly and effectively as best they possibly can at their chromebooks, I’m struck by the fact that there are a few things that I absolutely do not miss about sending them to school.
Packing lunches. Historically these kids have been picky eaters, and packing lunches is hard when you can’t send anything with nuts, it has to be healthy so teachers won’t judge you, and ideally really shelf-stable so when they bring it home at the end of the day, you can send it out again. (I see you, bananas.) Packing lunches was one of my nemeses.
Dressing them appropriately. Long gone are the days of selecting an outfit and putting it on my child’s body, which is great, except they pick out the weirdest clothes. We often had to tell H that she couldn’t wear a sundress in January, or tell B that that was a pajama shirt and he had to change it. But now…H puts together weird outfits every day and I’m just like, you do you! B wore a long-sleeved shirt and pj pants today…basically the outfit I’ve been rocking every day for the last 10 months.
Drop off. H was at a preschool that offered drive-through drop-off for most of the year, which is GENIUS. But dropping off B could get hectic, especially if we were one minute after 8pm and the parking lot was full and then I couldn’t make a left turn out onto the street afterward…this year he would have technically been old enough to get dropped off at the entrance and walk himself into the school, but H would have been at that school with him, so we would have been walking in regardless. I don’t miss drop off.
Ten months, y’all. With no immediate end in sight. Whew.
So what had happened was, for B’s eighth birthday, my bff asked if they could give him a fish. It would be his first pet, and something he would remember, and we were all home all the time anyway, so we figured, why not. I got the equipment from Petco so we would be ready, Drew and I assembled it and hid it under a towel on the kitchen counter (good things our kids can be totally unobservant), and then that afternoon, Liz came by with her boys to surprise my boy with a fish and some fun tank accessories.
It was an angelfish, said to be a hardy breed, and B named it Professor Fishey. We called him The Professor, and he seemed happy for a bit. Then he started getting slower and just hanging out in the corner of the tank. I got worried and pinned a lot of pressure to keeping The Professor alive. So I went back to Petco and talked to a guy there, and came back with a bunch of other stuff: a heater, a couple different water cleansers, some test strips, a new appreciation of the nitrogen cycle, and two more fish to be The Professor’s friends—the Petco guy said angelfish are social fish and so maybe he was lonely.
So that maybe worked for a couple days? But then one day Drew and I saw The Professor swimming and then he flipped upside down, and we were like, that’s not a good sign. And shortly after he had passed on. We took him out of the tank and told B the truth, and he seemed like, bummed, but not traumatized, which is probably the best you can hope for.
A couple days later fish #2 (Fifi, a moonrise pink tetra) also died, and we were like, Wow, fish really don’t last that long. I thought we had goldfish the whole time I was a kid, but when I asked my mom, she said they lasted like, a week or two each. So okay, I guess this is what we signed up for. Again, the kids were bummed about Fifi but not super traumatized.
So then we pinned all our hopes on Tiger, a tiger barb, to see how he would do. He was speedy, darting around the tank, but seemed friendly. One day, H noticed he had turned red on his nose and fins, and Drew and I nodded like fish experts, like, Okay, here comes the end. And then I googled tiger barbs, and it’s just what happens to them when they come into maturity.
What’s kind of funny is that when I got Tiger and Fifi, as I was leaving the Petco parking lot, they were in their bags on the passenger seat next to me, and then a car in front of me in the parking lot stopped inexplicably, and I slammed on my brakes, and both fish bags went flying into the footwell. (Oops…) And then when we were putting them into the tank, Tiger escaped and jumped into the back part of the tank where the filter is, and I had to scoop him out with my hand, and I almost crushed him against the filter. So like, maybe this fish is invincible. Three months later, he’s still going strong. So strong, in fact, that we sometimes wonder if he might have bullied the other two into dying. Tiger barbs are aggressive…
Anyway, while dealing with The Professor’s death (but NOT in the way described below), I had this super intense flashback to college, when my roommate had a betta fish that she kept in a vase on our kitchen table, and to this piece I wrote sometime that year. I’m pretty sure this was published in one of the campus lit mags, because college lit mags love a meandering piece that pretends to have a deeper meaning.
I had to track it down on a backup external hard drive, in a folder called “old computer stuff > transfer > writing > old computer.” Just a fantastic filing method. So intuitive. Also I had to take out all the double spaces between sentences, that’s how old this is. Also, yes, I did remove a few phrases that made me wince. But I left in others that also make me wince. So. Enjoy!
Are stars really clearer when it’s cold?
Warmth seems to blur them into submissive lines, but in the cold they’re sharper, crisper. It’s the same feeling as when I get new contact lens subscriptions, and I realize that things have been getting progressively less distinct for the last four months.
It’s fifty-two degrees Fahrenheit, and they want to go in the hot tub.
“Yeah, so I can die of hypothermia? I don’t think that’s what I want to do tonight.”
“It’ll be warm in the water! And then you get out, wrap yourself in a towel, and walk back to the apartment. You’ll be cold for a total of 45 seconds…Will you at least come sit with us? You can bring a book.”
“I’ll come sit with you, yeah, but I’m not getting in the water.”
Outside, the house lights from the apartments and townhouses positioned around the pool area made little skating figures on the surface of the water. Steam rose out of the hot tub, making it look like something meant for cooking.
I’d gone upstairs to change into pj pants so that when peer pressure got the better of me, I could roll up the legs and put my feet in the water. This delay meant that by the time I got outside everyone else was already in, and looking at me with that semi-uncomfortable-I-know-I’m-going-to-get-used-to-this-water-really-soon-any-time-now look on his or her face.
Sitting cross-legged on the deck of the hot tub, I pulled my sleeves down around my hands and stuffed them in my jacket pockets. Their skin looked shiny and warm, glistening from the chlorine in the water, steam rising from their hair, and when the jets broke off after fifteen minutes, they asked me to run over to the controls and twist the knob to send more bubbles into the tub. When they started splashing each other, I moved back on the cement, leaving behind the patch of warmth I’d created, trying to stay out of the way of the drops of water that they sent through the air.
One by one, the three boys dared each other to swim a lap in the pool. The first one stood on the edge of the pool, contemplating the water, plié-ing to dip his toe in, fingering the drawstring on his swim trunks. The other two watched, knowing he held the power in this situation…if he didn’t do it, they wouldn’t either.
I was looking away when I heard the splash. He surfaced and began swimming, pausing every so often to swear. I knew he was probably dying in the water, but it was a matter of masculinity now, and of dignity, and of being able to look the other two in the eye. K and I laughed, and the other two boys also dove into the pool, unable to resist the call of competition.
They swam like huge shivering fish, across the surface of the pool, breaking up the moonlight into slivers that floated away in their wakes. K and I paced the side of the pool, laughing, sympathizing.
The huge boyfish, having proven their ruggedness and strength, sank down once more into the hot tub, leaving only their wet footprints on the deck, and the dying waves in the surface of the water in the pool. The steam rose over everything and turned the darkness white. The ghost traces of the boys in the water reminded me of Jynx.
When Jynx died, I think H put him down the garbage disposal instead of employing the conventional flush down the toilet, or—the suggestion made vehemently (albeit insensitively) by K and me—leaving him on one of our neighbor’s front doorsteps. She had his vase in the kitchen, and then suddenly it was empty and she was throwing the rocks out into our tiny back patio, which consisted of half torn-up cement and half torn-up rocky lawn. K looked at me and mouthed:
I looked at H, emptying rocks into rocks.
“It sounds like jingle bells!” K called, but her mortified eyes were on me. “Did she put him down the garbage disposal?”
I had to use the disposal tonight to shred potato peels before they backed up our pipes. (It’s happened once before.) When I flipped the switch, the heavy blades that lived beneath the sink roared into life and ground up whatever was down there. Potato peels…orange rinds…Jynx the fish….
I couldn’t think about it. I kept worrying that tiny fish bones would explode out of the drain and into my face.
For some reason, our culture teaches us that burial at sea is the appropriate method of disposal for Siamese fighting fish.
Halloween for me is half about escapism and half about loving that downward slope that is Halloween into Thanksgiving into Christmas into New Year’s Eve. I want an even split in October between snuggling under fuzzy blankets and also reading about haunted houses where there’s something thumping down the hallway.
That said, here’s what I’ve got on the list this year. (This may be ambitious, seeing how much my reading pace has slowed down this summer, but let’s see what happens.)
HANGSAMAN A Shirley Jackson novel I haven’t heard of before! And it’s a gothic novel from the 50s. I’m in. The Haunting of Hill House remains one of the scariest books I’ve ever read, and I think about the Netflix adaptation of it probably weekly. It was surprisingly good. Shirley Jackson is amazing.
SEED Seed is for my Book Riot Read Harder Challenge—this is “a horror book originally published by an indie press.” It’s a little bit of a cheat, since Ania Ahlborn is a pretty established writer now, but this was her first book. And she’s a new writer to me, so I’m counting it. I’ve had this one on my list all year but I’ve been saving it up for October.
SECURITY The StoryGraph description of this book says it’s “in the tradition of Edgar Allen Poe and Stephen King, and with a deep bow to Daphne du Maurier”—this book takes place at Manderley Resort, and you know how much I loved Rebecca. Honestly, I found this because I was clicking through recommendations on The StoryGraph and had filtered down to horror books under 300 pages that are fast-paced, mysterious, and tense, or something like that—and I basically clicked “want to read” on most of the recs.
Have I not already pitched The StoryGraph to you? It’s my favorite replacement for Goodreads, if you’re interested in that. It’s a new site, but has a super clean interface, gives AMAZING recommendations, and they just added content warnings as an option. It’s also not owned by Amazon, for what that’s worth. You can transport your entire Goodreads library so you don’t lose anything. They don’t have an app yet, but they have a Progressive Web App, where you save the safari page to your homescreen, and it’s basically an app. Okay. They’re amazing. I’m finishing up the year in both Goodreads and The StoryGraph, but next year I’m jumping ship.
Back to Halloween reads.
REVENGE Scary short stories, a “secret garden of dark, glorious flowers” (says Joe Hill). Another StoryGraph find. I’m down!
GHOST WALL It pains me a little to break with my single-word titles for this one, but you gotta do what you gotta do. I love this cover and the description is giving me a version of haunted house. The ebook is also available for immediate download to my kindle through the library, so I’ll probably be starting with this one.
THINGS WE LOST IN THE FIRE: STORIES A few short story collections this time around. Maybe that’s how I’m reading these days—in shorter bursts. That’s just fine by me. These take place in and around contemporary Argentina, and Enriquez is compared to Shirley Jackson and Julio Cortázar. (The translator for this book is Megan McDowell, who also translated Samanta Schweblin’s Fever Dream, which was great.)
IF IT BLEEDS The latest Stephen King collection of four novellas—I’m looking forward to making this a part of this year’s Halloween festivities. I haven’t read any King lately and haven’t actually unpacked those boxes yet. Two of my bookshelves didn’t make the move with us and so I’ve been having to unpack books based on where they’re going, and I just haven’t figure out where Stephen King books live here. So maybe I’ll see where I set this one down when I finish with it, and then I’ll just put everything else there too.
A KISS BEFORE DYING My Ira Levin re-read for the year. This remains, weirdly, a comfort book to me.
That brings my total ambition to…eight? Is eight too many? Probably. But there’s no harm in trying!
I am not a plant person. I have accidentally and/or neglectfully killed multiple plants, which makes me sad but it’s true. My mom has this extremely green thumb and I just didn’t get it.
But I guess I’ve been nesting, because I went to Lowe’s and bought some succulents for my zoom background space, and a calathea for my bedroom, because I thought it was pretty. I didn’t even know what it was. I had to send a picture to my sister-in-law (also green thumbed) and say, “What is this?”
She responded quickly and thoroughly with the name and some details about what it likes, and also what kind of plants I would be less likely to harm. She said this one is a prayer plant, because it will open its leaves for the sun and then fold them up at night.
So I spent the next day staring at this plant, trying to see it move. And when it didn’t look like it was moving, I started wondering if I had bought a plastic plant thinking it was real. Those pieces along the base of the stems—they kind of look like they were made in a plastic mold, right? The leaves feel real…or do they feel like fabric? But I mean, you wouldn’t craft fabric leaves and then put a hole in one of them, right? So a vote for real. But then why do the stems feel so rigid?
Also, do I even deserve a plant if I literally can’t tell the difference between a real one and a fake one?
So the next morning I put it down in the patch of sunlight on the floor, and left it there all day. And when I came back upstairs at the end of the day, as the light was moving out of the room…
THOSE LEAVES HAVE FOLDED UP! Am I right??
What a thrilling moment! I’m not an idiot.
I named this plant Lydia. I’m thinking of getting some more plants.
Recently* I got this little tune stuck in my head and was singing it at Drew (doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot etc). Then I said, “What is that? Do you know that?”
He remembered it, but couldn’t remember what it was.
“Is it like a video game?”
He said no.
I still thought it was like, Centipede or something. (But now I’m searching for Centipede videos on YouTube and maybe it doesn’t have a song? Did I just make that up? Did it get a song in the 90s and I just quit googling before I found it?)
My mystery song doesn’t have lyrics so like, how am I ever going to search for this online?
So I did what anyone does when they’re trying to remember something, and I went to sleep. And I had a dream that I was listening to the song, and in the dream I remembered it had to do with popcorn, and I used that to look it up.
Then I woke up, and googled “popcorn techno song,” and discovered this:
So I’ve never seen this…..very incredible dance video before, but this is absolutely the song that I was singing and that I remember from high school, from the time period that I was following around friends who liked techno and dance music, and so I have a bunch of mix CDs with random songs on them, including some created by those same friends (shout out Mandolin Bill). And now I can also be haunted by this dance. As can you.
This is just a fun story about all the things you have buried in your memory that you don’t have immediate access to, and how sometimes you have to just walk away and let the little chickadee in your brain rifle through the files for a few hours until they finally find it and send it down to you in a dream.
*This happened like. Two months ago. And I’ve had “blog popcorn” in my notes app since then. You’re welcome!
I like to go through my phone and clean out photos. You know how you take 10 pictures to get the good one where both kids are looking at the camera? I like the delete the ones I won’t ever need. I keep some of the outtakes, but generally I like to try to save space by cleaning things up. I also have two kids who like to take my phone and take a bunch of photos of their feet. I delete those also.
It occurred to me I haven’t done a purge in a while, so I went back to see how long it had been. Answer: Feb 7 is the last time it looks like I’ve cleaned up my photos folder. That means I had to go through all the photos from our Tahoe trip in February, when things were basically totally normal, as far as we knew.
As we go forward in time, you start to see things creep in. Like this photo from the bathroom at work, when we were totally still doing The Rocky Horror Show in April/May, but everyone should wash their hands to stay healthy. This is from early March. Things were getting a little scary, but not super real yet.
That first weekend of March, B had a birthday party on Saturday, and H had a playdate at a park on Sunday. The birthday party was the first drop-off party B has ever gone to. It’s a friend of his from school, we’ve met his parents, they live nearby us, and it seemed pretty low-risk. I dropped him off, came home for like, an hour, and then went back for the end of the party. It was Mario themed and all the kids were dressed up, and it was super cute. B and I took a picture with two of the other moms and their kids, who we’ve cultivated relationships with, and I was so excited that we were moving into this part of life, where B is making friends at school and we have this local network of people.
On Sunday, this was H’s first one-on-one playdate with a friend of hers from school. We met up at a park, the girls played together, they were adorable. The other mom and I talked about how stores were being mobbed for toilet paper, and how the lines to get into the Costco parking lot were crazy. We all went to Starbucks and the girls drank hot chocolate and sat in one big armchair together and touched everything. We bought drinks for our husbands, all hugged goodbye, and promised to do it again soon. Later that day I went to the grocery store, and afterward I texted the mom and joked that I had bought toilet paper, even though we didn’t really need it at the time, and she wrote back and said she’d done the same thing.
The next week was our last week at work and school before shelter in place landed. One morning that week I took a picture of myself on an empty BART train during rush hour. So weird. I’ve always been really diligent about not touching anything anyway, so I just doubled down on that, but it was eerie seeing how empty everything was. The train, the streets in San Francisco, the stores. There were still some people out – but not many. People were starting to wear masks. It was reminiscent of the wildfires in 2018.
^^Look at me, wearing makeup and jewelry and real clothes! Amazing!
That week, I was thinking things were going to shut down soon. We opened a show on Wednesday, and that day the mayor made a decree that gatherings of 1000 or more were banned. We thought we’d get through the weekend with the show and then decide what would happen. But it was the next day that she said gatherings of 250 or more were banned, and that opening performance ended up also being the closing performance.
My boss talked about how we might be working remotely for a week or two. I started packing up stuff from my desk. (Although if I knew then what I know now, I would have brought more stuff home. Just because.)
One of those last days, on a lunch break, I went to Macy’s and bought some makeup remover—hilarious because I haven’t opened it yet, since I haven’t been wearing makeup. I bought a lip color on a whim, which has been in my purse, also unopened. I stopped and got iced coffee on the way back to the office. I took a picture to send my friend Michelle, with a very “treat yourself!” kind of message.
(Please continue to wash your hands.)
On Friday of that week, we heard from both kids’ schools that they were going to close for a bit. My boss asked us to tell her if we were planning on working from home the following week, and I was like, “Yup.” I think there was still the idea it would just be a couple weeks until we figured things out. I said to people, “Those kids are not going back to school this year.” People scoffed at me. I went home.
That first weekend was just a weekend, but it was also the start of social distancing for us. We went on walks, took pictures of the kids in puddles, and captioned them #socialdistancing. It all felt weird, and still panicky. In those couple weeks when things ramped up so quickly here, I spent hundreds and hundreds of dollars on groceries, not knowing what was going to happen with stores. I took out a bunch of cash from the ATM and hid it in an envelope. I made an amazon fresh order that couldn’t be delivered for two weeks, and I put random weird things in my cart, because a lot of stuff was already sold out, and also I just wasn’t sure what I would want in two weeks’ time—cans of beans? or bags of chips? I bought both.
It’s been almost 11 weeks, and I think I kind of have a handle on what this new world looks like, temporarily? This is the last week of distance learning for B, although I think we’ll probably keep him doing some light schoolwork stuff through the summer, since what else are we going to do? H is not going back to her preschool…right? So she just…doesn’t get closure on that? I’m not sure what that means for the future.
We had just started going to the movies as a family. We saw Cats and Frozen II in the theater in the few months before shelter in place started, and it was great. Both kids liked it. It was pricey but it was fun. And now I don’t know when that will happen again. In the meantime we’re watching movies at home. It’s not the same.
Toilet paper is coming back into the stores. Nature is healing.
H is learning to read. B is learning multiplication. They both look and seem older to me, although I don’t know whether that’s just parenting, or if it’s related to this situation. They’re getting used to workdays being workdays for us, and that we have phone and zoom meetings, and that they’re on their own sometimes.
My alcohol (and Oreo) consumption has gone up. I’ve been cooking as therapy, and trying to make new and interesting things, using new and interesting ingredients. We’ve nailed how to hard boil the perfect egg, how to make perfect rice, and I’ve learned how to use ginger and lemongrass. Our meat consumption has gone down—not to zero, but less than before. Our bean and rice consumption has gone up.
I did eight weeks of online playwriting classes. I’m proud to have gotten through it, and feel good about the work I did, and I hope I can carry that forward.
We got into the track at the local high school this weekend, and B ran a full lap without stopping. I think he was craving it. Drew and I are thinking we should all go over there more often and run laps. You can tell when the kids haven’t been outside for a while. The energy around them is palpable.
I continue to be grateful that we’re both still employed full-time, and we have tons of entertainment options in home. I’m grateful that we live in a place where we can go on walks in nature. I’m grateful that we’re all healthy. I’m grateful that we’ve been able to stock up on the medication we need, so we don’t run out. I’m grateful that we have options for groceries, and plenty of food saved up. I’m grateful (in a weird way) that everyone is kind of settling into this new routine, and we seem to be getting through it together.
I’m grateful for all that, but I’m still mourning the things we’ve lost, and that we’ll continue to lose over the next year or more. It goes back and forth every day as to which side is louder.
It feels like it’s been much longer and much shorter than eleven weeks. I wonder how long this will go on, and how much it will change before it’s finally over. I will continue to remind myself to count my blessings and stay positive. I will draw on the support system I have and try to be a good support system for other people. (I will break out of this overly dramatic voice I’ve drifted into here…) I will model good behavior and attitude for my children. I will give myself grace. I will bake cookies this afternoon. I will text my friends and check in. I will keep making myself write. I will drink some water. I will take us out for a walk this afternoon. I will stay home and stay safe.
I will clean up the rest of the photos on my phone! That should distract me for awhile.
The week we went into shelter in place, I was supposed to have a root canal, which was, obviously, canceled. At the time the tooth didn’t hurt, although it was annoying because it was very much broken, but I figured I would see what happened in this brave new world.
At the same time I kind of feared we would slide quickly into a dystopian wasteland and I would end up with a rotting tooth, in crazy pain, but with no hope of fixing it. So I bought some Orajel and was just like, Welp. Here we go.
I’ve been chewing on the other side for awhile, and avoiding certain crunchy/chewy foods. Last week I started having more sensitivity to cold, until it got to the point that I was drinking and brushing my teeth with lukewarm water and I couldn’t drink anything fun (iced coffee, pineapple bubly, white wine) because it was all too cold. Then I also started having some pain, so I finally called the dentist emergency line yesterday to see if I could get an appointment.
He was super responsive and so this morning I went and had a root canal that took four hours?? but ended with me having a giant temporary tooth, no cold sensitivity, and a much better outlook on this faux-pocalypse. And I got to make a very icy peach margarita tonight which makes me very happy.
For tonight’s playwriting class, we read Samuel Beckett’s Act Without Words I, which is a short (3-minute) drama with no dialogue, where a man onstage is tantalized by various objects. We wrote out all of the “rules” that Beckett had imposed on himself writing this world, and then we each chose three and wrote our own piece conforming to those rules.
So I give you my quickwrite piece from this week, following these three rules:
All objects come in from above
Every object must be addressed by the character
Character can’t leave the stage/can’t escape
ACT WITHOUT EXIT
A kitchen set, linoleum, backsplash. Clean, tidy, functional. No furniture or appliances. Morning light through the curtains in the windows. ELENA stands center, on the phone.
Yup, 10am. I’ll be there by 9:45 just to be sure. I’m just about to leave.
The fridge flies in, and ELENA goes to it. While she is there, a table flies in behind her and lands in the center of the room.
I remember how to get there—it’s off the second exit, near the bank. Right by that new car wash.
ELENA takes out eggs, milk, chives from the fridge, goes to table; chops, breaks, combines, whisks. The stove flies in behind her. ELENA reaches for it, turns on a burner.
Of course I know. This is your first apartment, you think I would miss this?
ELENA goes to the stove, looks around. A pan flies in from above. ELENA takes the pan, sets it on the burner. Takes the bowl, gives it one last stir, and then pours the mixture into the pan.
I wouldn’t say that. I’m sure he’d be happy to do it, but I really do think he was busy this weekend.
A dishwasher flies in from above.
Oh honey, you’re being dramatic. He loves you. He’s just working.
She looks at dishwasher. Is it clean or dirty? Opens and checks. Dirty. Behind her, the sink flies into place. She looks. It’s half full of dirty dishes. She considers. Does she have time to fill the dishwasher before she leaves?
Yes, leaving soon.
A clock flies in above the sink. ELENA checks it. It’s 9:30.
A towel flies in and lands near the sink. The eggs are cooked. ELENA turns off the burner, looks for a plate. A cupboard flies in.
Just eating quick breakfast. Real quick.
She opens the cupboard and takes out a plate, dumps eggs onto plate. Grabs a fork from the sink, wipes it on the towel, starts to eat.
Almost done. I’ll leave right after this. I’ll see you soon.
ELENA finishes the eggs, dumps the plate and fork in the sink. It’s time to go. She grabs her purse, starts to exit.
A broom and dustpan fly in from above and land near the fridge. ELENA looks at them and sighs. Puts her purse down. Grabs the broom and starts to sweep.