Created by: [Tyler]
Hi, I'm [Tyler], and this is all about trying to get along with my roommate!
Edit: It isn't going well. This is the only place that keeps everything up to date in real-time. My phone may be compromised, so this is the best way to keep track of everything. In case he comes back.
Ice and Fire
Sam is out this morning. Not sure where.
I’m supposed to keep an eye out for anything weird.
I’m busy working at home. In the apartment. I never know if I make myself as clear as I think I do.
Not like I can do much outside anymore.
I’m thirsty. I can’t turn the thermostat any lower or else we pay extra. A fan sits still in the living room. I can’t find the right batteries for it. The sink water is gross, too. I keep some in the fridge, and that only helps a little with the plastic taste.
I pour a glass and look for ice in the freezer.
Sam doesn’t think ice could melt from in here. There’s enough ice that I can’t see the frozen food tucked in the back. If even some of this ice melts, water would end up everywhere.
I drop a few cubes into my cup. The water rises.
Sam keeps mentioning the water in our apartment. I wish he would let this go. If he’s upset because I left to go get takeout, this is too long to hold a grudge over food. And his food was gross. And that’s not why I got the takeout.
Sam comes to the kitchen a lot. We don’t talk here. We make food. At least that pact doesn’t extend to the couch. I don’t ask for anything else. But even when he’s not here, he’s here.
I make eggs for breakfast, with a crack on the flat counter and a flat pull. The whites of the egg connect the otherwise jagged shell. Food’s here. I make the food here. I do this. Sam would do this. The smell would pull me out of bed with a flop on my face. I would hear the pan.
Instead, breakfast is one quiet plate and some salt and a glass of water.
Or not so quiet. The ice rumbles in the freezer. Not just falls. I can hear all the ice.
A crunching rhythm. One to another. Footsteps. Where?
I yank open the freezer and gaze at stagnant ice.
More footsteps. Ice underfoot. Where is the sound? Outside?
I open the door and check the hallway. I see nothing. Nothing can get in. everything is fine.
I turn back into the room.
Sam is at the stove. He jostles some bacon in a frying pan. His neon-blue athletic shirt gets all my attention. I get none of his. He scratches his chin when I say hello.
I snatch my plate of eggs and end up at the table. Far enough for now.
Sam brings up the water in the apartment. Ice cube.
I wish he would let this go. I ask him how he feels.
“Better. Guess I heal fast.”
I’m not sure he noticed the first aid from last night. And his concussion a few days ago.
I check my phone. Three voicemails, asking where I am from the bridge. A crumb from the pan drops into the fire.