I AM HERE NOW: Making lunch

Running my finger along the plate’s surface, feeling a thin layer of something stuck to it and thinking I’ll have to wash all the plates in the sink as the dishwasher doesn’t work.

Feeling the weight of the knife with the orange rubber handle. Noticing its hard softness, its slight crisscross pattern, the water marks on the blade from this morning when it was rinsed, not washed, after chopping my breakfast apple.

Taking the Flora out of the fridge, holding the sides of the tub as the lid has cracked and no longer clips the rim. Looking at the lid and noticing cracks in two of the corners. Pushing the cracked side down and watching it bounce back up with a spring that feels like it’s missing from my days.

Picking up the knife for the butter. Loading its tip with yellow margarine and spreading the bread, and noticing the sounds. How could I forget about sounds! The dragging, slow slurrup of margarine across bread. Spreading too hard and catching the slice so that it tears and drags, creating a hole to be backfilled.

Identifying the scrunched silver parcel in the fridge that contains the cheese. Feeling the crispness of the aluminium, the sharp folded edges, the weight of the block of cheddar. Throwing it into the air to see the sparkle. Throwing it hand to hand, first soft, then hard, so it slams into my palms. Unwrapping the silver and folding back the plastic wrapping. Slicing. Noticing the sudden clunk as the knife slips off the cheese and into the chopping board. Trying again and hearing a controlled, muffled knock as the knife connects with the chopping board, beneath the cheese.

Tessellating the four-sided shapes of yellow onto the margarine-covered bread. Adding the second slice. Cutting the sandwich in half. Hearing the knife clip the plate. Hearing the plastic of the mini Soreen pack flip back as I take a packet out. Hearing the clunk and spurt as I open a can of Diet Pepsi. Hearing the click and tap as my fingers flit across the keyboard.

Feeling the smile on my face at having discovered something that was always here to be heard.

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