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by Nick Callanan
It's dinner time. All you've eaten all day is leftover nachos. You're hungry.
But, you have no food.
Worse, you have no money.
You open the fridge and the prospects are grim: pickles in an open jar, 1 ½ hot dogs, plenty of condiments, squashed hamburger buns, rotten broccoli, Processed American Cheese Food slices, 3 PBR tallboys.
You close the fridge and consider your other options… can you go to a restaurant and get a meal on credit? No. Too embarrassing, and besides - no one's going to let a raft guide run a tab? … Are there any friends you can hit up for a free meal? No, because, unlike you, they all got tipped and headed to the Skowhegan Fair to watch the Demolition Derby… Can you take the bottles back? Nope, you did that yesterday to buy PBR tallboys and nachos…
You open the fridge. You shut your eyes. You count to "13 Mississippi." You say "Abracadabra." You open your eyes … You close the fridge. Magic is broken today (again).
You open the cupboard and the prospects are meager: an open bag of Nutter Butters, a package of Ramen, a can of condensed Cream of Celery soup, a dust bunny, an empty PBR.
You close the cupboard and go to water your plants. Can you eat geraniums, you wonder.
It is hot. You sweat. Your body is wasting energy! You take off your shirt. You sit down.
You turn on the radio. It's the news. There's a man from the government saying, “We are number one.” You wonder if he's ever tried to eat geraniums. You laugh and close your eyes.
You dream about Brazilian women and cheeseburgers.
You open your eyes and see the sun is going down.
You stand up and remember something. You find your dry bag and grab granola bars intended for rafting customers. You eat four of them. You drink a PBR tallboy.
The voice on the radio sounds like it is coming through a forced smile. It knows “exactly what you want in a brand new car.” Pathetic.
You walk to the river and you swim. Some children arrive on bikes. They test out swear words on each other. They circle. They spit. They jump over roots. They swear. They ride away.
You swim back to land. Your stomach sort of hurts.
You walk home and say hello to the people you meet in the street. Even the kids on bikes.
You brush your teeth. You read your book. You fall asleep. Tomorrow: pay day.
Email nick [at] noumbrella [dot] com with your questions, comments and concerns.
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