The Fridge

The Fridge

When I walked into the flat; I past several things quickly trying to take in as much as I could. Analyzing. Inspecting. Almost interrogating each piece of furniture in order to inhabit this new place called home. The first thing that caught my eye was the fridge. Tall, slim, and of the standard white color; this refrigerator stood out from the rest of the expected furnishing, because it was covered in a collage of photos.

I made my way over to it, already scurrying through them all, and trying to count how many of them had my face captured. 4. 4 pictures included my presence. A substantial amount, I thought. Not too many to freak me out, and not to few that would no doubt spoil my mood, and have me on edge, and snappy the rest of the day. I wondered how long ago he added these pictures, and if before yesterday there were any there at all.

"Do you want some coffee...or tea? A beer?"

"A beer." I needed one. "I'll get it"

As I opened the fridge door for the first time. I tried to look everywhere the beer wouldn't be. Cheese. Butter. Humus. I love that he loves humus too. I don't think I could live with anyone that doesn't consider it a staple. Turkey...or ham - can't tell from this angle. Jam. Leftover something in a small glass bowl covered in cling film. Bacon. You shouldn't eat bacon, my head reminds me. Only on road trips, or hung over mornings, or of course up north in a cabin or camping in a tent. Eggs. Carrots. I thought he doesn't like carrots...or is it celery? And the beer. Stella. Always Stella. Or Carona. I grab 2 knowing that he'll probably not want one if I simply assume that he does.

I close the fridge door, and see a picture of him, and an unfamiliar girl. They are arm locked with their backs facing, and are both in hysterics. The picture is in black, and white, and is a nice piece of photography. I don't ask who she is. I'd rather make my brain jump to wild conclusions, and suffer the consequences of my over dramatic, and creatively jealous mind.

"You want a beer?" I ask handing it to him.

"No; I think I'll have some tea." He says predictably.

I open the door again, and catch another glimpse of the picture. She has long blonde hair, and simple features. She looks Norwegian. She's a friend from work I conclude, and the extent of their relationship will haunt me for weeks. I put the beer back in the fridge, and notice how uncomfortable it is to have the door open opposite a wall that forces you into a cubicle every time you need something. Annoyed; I slam the door shut.

"Be careful with that door." He warns. "It came right off the other day, and fell onto my shoulder."

I automatically re-evaluate the height of the fridge. Being 5'3" creates this illusion that everything taller then me is pretty much the same height. Now; looking properly I can see that if the fridge door had fallen off on me, it would have hit me on the head. I lean on the counter next to the newly labeled killing machine, and pretend I am not scared of it. I run the situation through my head like a private screening. The door falls onto my head. I collapse with a severe concussion. Probably leaving the bottle of beer to fall, and slowly drain out onto my jeans. By the time he had rushed over to make sure I was ok, and removed the fridge door from on top of me, and checked to see if I was still breathing; he would think I'd of wet myself from the shock. He would find this amusing, and probably laugh just as I was coming to..."This is funny to you!!!???"

I smirk. Content with my imagination, and convinced nobody does this as well as I do. I make a mental note to write a screenplay about us. It would be so easy...and fun...and would probably win some kind of kitchen sink comedy award.

"Pass us a beer." He says playfully.

"I thought you were having tea?"

"I have to keep up with you, and I have a feeling it's going to be an early night."

Why is he saying that? What does he mean? Does he think I'm drunk already? Do I look drunk? I did drink a lot on the plane. Red wine. 6 wee bottles. I do feel drunk, but a sneaky sort of guilty drunk. It's 11a.m., I'm not supposed to be drunk. Or maybe he just said that because he wants an early night. Maybe he wants to come home early, and hang out with me - alone. ...I bank on the fact that I look drunk, and down my beer.

As I open the fridge again; I can feel the door sensing the fear in my hand. Using all my strength to hold it steady, preventing it from falling on my head, and making me wet myself. I grab 2 beers, and close the door carefully. I notice another picture. Another girl. This one has short, brown hair, and looks vaguely familiar. I've seen her in photos before. My memory tells me she is from Chili, worked as his assistant, and munches carpet. Egghh...I disgust myself with my inner thoughts. I don't think lesbianism is gross, just the graphic idea of "carpet munching". Going down on another woman. The insides of her. The unknown. The curiosity intrigues me, but the imagery puts me off. In the picture they are both in separate hammocks facing each other on the beach. She's tanned, and her legs are slender. I rate her as being cute with foreign features that push her towards being attractive. He's wearing a straw, cowboy hat, no shirt, and sunnies. I admire his furry belly, and confirm that is one of the features I love about him. He's smiling big, and looks happy, and relaxed. I hate seeing pictures of him being happy when I wasn't there. Not because I don't want him to be happy. I'm not that selfish, but because I just feel left out. Makes me wonder if he's happier when I'm not around.

I walk over to him, and pass him a beer. I pause awkwardly like an 8 year old kid, and then hug him as hard as I can. No eye contact. No whispering of sweet nothings. Just the security of his body close to mine. Safe. Happy. And ready for whatever this stage of our relationship brings.

"Do you want to take a shower?" He asks in a more affectionate tone then he was speaking in 2 minutes ago.

I say, "Yes" without thinking, and then wonder if he asked that because of any odor I might be giving off. 14 hours of planes, and stop overs. I must smell.

"Why? Do I smell?"

I find it funny that I can talk about these things more freely then the identity of some random girl in a photo. It's still on my mind, and have now changed my conclusion from coworker to good friend with secret intentions.

He smells me, and delivers one of my classic, Jewish sayings: "Egghh!" I laugh, and wish he wanted to take a shower with me. The thought makes me nervous, and I down the rest of my beer. I am now officially messy. I can feel the jet lag or the time difference or the 6 wee bottles of red wine. I'm tired. I want to lie down. With him. Sleep.

"We can catch the bus into town. There's this really cool pub I saw yesterday. I want to check it out."

The idea of trying to stay awake in a crowded, Scottish pub is unsettling. I need to get pissed or I'll never make it. I decide to avoid the shower, and keep drinking beer until it's time to go. I'll convince him to take a taxi. I strut back to the fridge trying to appear excited, and in control. It's tough, and the floor is looking exceptionally comfortable.

I look at all the photos more carefully now; pretending I haven't already scanned them, and ingrained them in my memory. I see the picture of me, and him, and his family in Portugal. I love that picture. I have the same one. Where is it? I think I left it with a whole bunch of other stuff waiting to be picked up in NYC. There's the picture of me when I was a baby...half naked, with my vagina sticking out, and a massive jar of Vaseline in the background.

"Why would you put this on the fridge?"

He laughs. "So everyone can see it."

"You're not supposed to put pictures like this on the fridge!"

"Why?"

"Because it's EMBARRASSING! I don't want people looking at my baby vagina!"

"I like it there."

"Ok, well; I'll just have to find some pictures of you when you were barely one, with your wee willy winkie sticking out, and display THEM on the fridge - where people come and get there FOOD out of!"

I'm over reacting. I can feel an aggressive drunk coming on, and I have to stop it. I don't want to be like this on my first day here. I take a magnet off the fridge, and stick it over my baby vagina. We both laugh, and I open the fridge door carelessly not remembering the danger. I grab only one. He's till got half. There are 5 beers left, and I estimate 2 more after this one to bring me to the state I long to be in.

I decide that this time will be different. This stage of our relationship should start honestly, and openly. I decide that I should say everything that's on my mind, and ask him to do the same. I want us to be able to talk about anything. I carefully plan my actions, and decide to re-notice the unidentified girl in the picture as I close the fridge door, and ask who she is. I slam the door in anticipation, and just as my lips created the "Wh..." formation; the fridge door suddenly falls on my head, and knocks me to the floor where luckily for me, the beer had not yet been opened.

Larah Bross
www.larahbross.com