nautideux

His fridge was always jam packed with all kinds of stuff. I even noticed that incredibly fresh-looking bundle of carrots on the bottom shelf next to all those yogurts and things. I had honestly noticed the carrots when I was more or less just standing there, in front of the fridge, with both doors flung wide open, staring as I had done many times before, my mouth hanging open, kind of wide-eyed, just marveling really, at all the food and crap in there and how full and cheerful looking it all seemed. I had wandered out earlier to get HAP(NYC) something and just couldnt help but notice and be kind of struck again by all the wonderful stuff in there. And admittedly, as soon as I got the chance, I more or less snuck back out there, to the kitchen, pretending, by the way I stopped, all of the sudden, talking to everyone and lightly tapped my forehead with the heel of my hand, and added a tsk and even a small, barely noticeable head shake to further emphasize that I had, honestly, just recalled something out of the blue that I had forgotten back out there, in the kitchen and most importantly, the fridge, and sort of hustled through the house, having to check to be absolutely positive of what I caught a glimpse of again, was, in fact, the real deal. Food. Right there. In the goddam refrigerator. And after waiting around for the kitchen to be completely empty and pretending to wash my hands over and over and over in the massive, serious, no-nonsense-looking steel sink and, given the circumstances, waiting somewhat patiently for the moment when no one was wandering in or going to the cabinets or opening a bottle or some other fucking nonsense, so that I was able, for a few minutes at a time, at least, to dart over to the incredible refrigerator and open it, and just kind of stand there, staring in, with wonder and awe and try to take it all in. It was just so crazy. Anyone would have been literally dumbstruck by the fucking thing. Anyone. Every possible food and snack and little treat you could possibly imagine was tucked in there. There was so much and I literally needed so much time to just stand and take it all in that every once in a while, annoyingly, when someone would eventually wander in, I would have to snap out of my admittedly deep food and snack and treat-induced trance and force, with all my might, my gaze away from all the sodas and colorful fruity little jellos and yogurts and cheese and crap and actually grab a beer from the middle shelf and very deliberately and very, very normally and casually looking, walk over to the sink, set it down next to the seven or eight bottles that were starting to honestly pile up, and again, start washing my hands and leave the water running and secretly just watch in the reflection, in the window, for them to just get their fucking beer or whatever and finally go back out to the party. From all the reflections and shadows in the brass pots and stuff hanging above the fridge I usually could, with a fair degree of certainty, tell and kind of predict if someone was coming but a few times I might have jumped when someone put their hand on my shoulder to gently push me aside or something. But, for the most part, I usually was able to, thankfully, just sensing they were behind me, shoot my arm out and grab a beer bottle and slowly head casually over to the sink area. My refrigerator at home, predictably, never had shit in it. Jaxs had some shit, way, way more than mine, but his was just unbelievable. It was honestly a crazy amount of stuff. Again, my houses fridge had absolutely nothing in it. Oh sure, granted, it had things in there. Just nothing even remotely edible in and of itself and nothing that could even be combined into something like a little meal or snack or anything. Let alone the mustard-colored cabinets. All you might find in those fucking hideous things were some crumbs or bits of paper labels or wire coat hangers or something. But my fridge, forget it. All that was in there was a half-empty jar of watery generic, sad-looking, mayonnaise with its rusty metal lid and a skinny little paper quart of milk with just a splash of milk cleverly left in it so we could accurately, though misleadingly, state that there was at least milk in the house. You just cannot imagine my shock and disbelief as I stood there, pretending to wash my hands, realizing that if I just made it look like I had pumped the neat, floral, ceramic soap dispenser his mom had thoughtfully placed next to the sink, instead of really using it, I wouldnt have to actually rinse my hands and everything when the room was finally empty. I thankfully realized it was much, much quicker to just pretend to pump the soap into my hand, letting it fall instead into the sink, and then able to shut off the water at a moments notice and not have to rinse off any soap at all and instead just dart back over to the fridge and just kind of stand there, gazing at it all, up and down, lovingly almost. My parents fridge, I swear, if it was quiet enough and the fucking T.V. coming from the living room wasnt that loud, had cricket sounds coming from it. If you stopped and really listened for them when you opened it, I literally swear, a few times, I heard crickets. It was just so sad looking and so empty and so forlorn, I honestly heard crickets. Well maybe I just thought I did, but still. It was that grim and empty and dirty looking and bare. But I do know that Jax must have been probably kind of awestruck by his fridge too.