Dreams and Nightmares 13: Burnt Spatula


13 Burnt Spatula


We were standing in my kitchen one summer evening. Paul and Jimmy had flown out from Cincinnati for a short visit. I remember it was dark, but we were just getting to the point of making dinner. We were having a stir-fried something, and I was using a wooden spatula.
It’s a wonder we ever got anything done, really. The three of us would spend most of our time teasing each other, commenting on movie stars or singers or other gay idols, and making constant jokes about whatever we were doing that would keep us laughing and snorting until our cheeks hurt.
As we were standing there chuckling, The house began to shake. Paul screamed. Jimmy stared at me, wide-eyed. And I began to howl with laughter even as I continue to stir. “It’s just an earthquake,” I told them. “It’s nothing to be concerned about.” I was trying to calm them. And just as I said that there was another jolt! We all three screamed and then held our sides as we laughed. 
It wasn’t until I straightened up that I noticed that the spatula got burned. I had left it in the wok. I still keep it in the drawer to the left of the stove. When I see the burn marks, I remember that night, the earthquake, my friends Jimmy and Paul—now gone, how much we loved each other and how happy we were together.

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