I think there’s a secret in my refrigerator. I don’t know what it is, but almost every night I feel compelled to open the door and stare inside. I know exactly what is stored in there. That part is no secret. Tonight there are salad greens, cheeses, a pesto sauce, deviled eggs, aloe vera juice, limes, zucchini, cod liver oil, yogurt and cherries. The contents don’t vary a whole lot, but something in me expects a surprise or a fulfillment of mysterious origin.
This frig has a life of its own. It’s taken to making random staccato forte sounds at the least appropriate times, which escalate in manic fashion, then die completely away. I’ve never heard anything like it. Could it be possessed? Is that why the adjoining microwave has decided to go on and off whenever it feels like it? Is that why I’m under this spell?
I walk over, open the door, look inside and watch with full attention. I gaze off into middle space.
What is this relationship with my refrigerator? I would be no less captivated by the sway of the wide winged head of a cobra.
I have noticed that I am not the only person to do this ritualized search. My best friend, Susan does it, and my husband did as well, only his path included the cupboards, particularly the shelf that stored the baking chocolate. But I am not drawn to the cupboards; they hold no mystery for me.
I don’t care about breakfast and feel indifferent at lunch, so dinner finds me ravenous. I eat too late, then boomerang back to the refrigerator – again and again. I pull open the door and study each shelf as if something new might have sprung up inside, as if the lighted interior might have birthed a full-dished banana split complete with whipping cream and sprinkled walnuts, the kind I could eat without gaining weight, feeling bloated or getting a raging headache afterwards. Or maybe I’ll discover a ticket to the Bahamas hiding in the lettuce crisper, or a perfect and eager lover waiting to materialize behind the raspberry lemonade.
Specks of dust motes glow against the interior light as I close the door once again…closing the door…walking away. Didn’t find it tonight, maybe tomorrow.