Dry Spell: a Mercy Watts Short
“It hardly looked like a place where the unusual happened. People went to work and came home on time. Children were raised and resented their parents’ limitations. It was normal. Of course, their doors were closed, like Ellen’s with its summer wreath hanging above a welcome sign. Who knew what went on behind those doors, but it was nice to think it was all simple. I parked and went into the kitchen through the side door. The air was thick with the smell of tater tots and pork. It was the best E...llen’s kitchen had ever smelled. I peeked in the oven. Maybe not. She had what looked like pork chops on a cookie sheet. They were all curled up and grey. I didn’t know pork could do that. Other than the curly pork, everything was lovely. There were bowls of home-grown vegetables in the center of the table displayed with flair. All surfaces were scrubbed and polished and smelled of lemon. The feeling was of joy, love, and attentiveness. Ellen’s kitchen made me feel as if I were entering another version of my mother’s, one without baking.MoreLess
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