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Tinned salmon

     Judith stared out of the kitchen window and her mind
emptied with an ease which put Chinese meditations to shame.
It wasn't that the window looked out on a brick wall or a tatty
garden, but that three years had rendered the scene familiar. If
she had scrutinized the scene then it would have been apparent
that through the oily rain, perched on a nearby fence, was a
tiny sparrow. The sparrow was indistinguishable from the
thousands of sparrows which visited Kidderminster each year,
but this individual sparrow eyed Judith with interest before
flying off to find a drier spot to rest.
     The scene framed in the window was typical, rows of
roofs from which an occasional spire  or block of flats would
burst. Beyond the rooftops a silhouette of tree covered hills
could be distinguished, but Judith's eyes were focusing on an
empty space approximately seven foot from the window.
     The kitchen was warm from the gas stove, which was
heating a cottage pie from the freezer. The faintest smell of
burning potato brought Judith back from her reverie. She
cursed faintly, flung the oven door open and retrieved her
lunch with daisy patterned oven gloves. The foil container was
flicked deftly onto a plate. The microwave beeped and she
removed a steaming bowl of baked beans from its steamy
interior.
     Armed with her lunch she meandered over to the pine
table. As she picked up her knife  and fork a strange lack of
appetite swept through her body. The thought that this might
be the beginnings of anorexia (a modern plague) sent stomach
tightening alarm across her mind. Thus repulsed she consigned
the meal to the dustbin and sat down at the table once more.
Her fingers moved in neat circles at her temples as she rested
her forehead on the tablecloth.

     On the door of Judith's fridge freezer she kept an
assortment of photographs which brought together her friends
from school, university and work; twenty-four years of
acquaintance mapped out in a square metre. In the night she'd
woke from a dream that she was at a party where the guests
were all the friends on the fridge. They were laughing and
joking and all knew each other very well. What had been
disorientating was that in real life these people had never met.
The friends from university were particularly unwelcome,
three years of living in close proximity had turned up such
peculiar personal traits and too much unseemly rivalry.
     But she had woken to find herself in bed alone. The
feeling reminded her in a general sort of way of the boyfriends
and one night stands who left before daybreak. It wasn't a
feeling of regret or relief, not even of abandonment, but one
of tiredness coupled with an inability to sleep. The months
since she had last shared her double bed were adding up, and
although it was probably just a manifestation of the human
need to procreate definite signs of frustration were
accumulating. The difficulty was that there was no sign of
relief on the horizon, the group of friends she kept were all
happily coupled off or just repulsive. She was close friends
with Mark and she knew that mutual friends suspected they
were sleeping together. The mere idea of Mark naked turned
her stomach. It wasn't that he was repulsive (no more so than
any man unclothed) but that their friendship allowed no room
for sexuality. She was also of the opinion that Mark's oft
mentioned celibacy was more of an excuse than a chosen way
of life.
     Her twenty-fifth birthday was looming, and her mum
seemed particularly worried that no eligible bachelors were
sniffing around, but despite feeling terribly old she did not feel
in the least bit desperate (that was once she'd reached 26).
Her two years working as an estate agent had proved
particularly frustrating, she was reaching a stage where in
order to gain promotion she needed to move to a different
area of the country. She loathed the idea of being uprooted
now that she felt really settled in her first home. The constant
moving between digs at University had turned a house or flat
of her own into somewhat of a holy grail, a place where she
could leave her books and CDS, a place for which she could
buy ornaments.
     The thought that if she changed jobs, Mr. Right (or at
least Mr. Not-bad) would come along, had felt compelling.
Logically, she reasoned, there was no earthly reason why that
should be the case. She would find herself in strange
surroundings, without her friends and still alone. It wasn't
being single that was so frustrating, but the excruciating
boredom.
     The rain was so light that it barely made a sound as it
hit the ground and the window, but it masked the sun and cast
a shadow over the landscape. Judith pulled the cord in the
kitchen and a neon light flickered on. An energy conscious
student had once told her that it took as much electricity to
turn a neon light on as it did to run it constantly for the next
four hours.
     She quickly counted on her fingers the elements of
which her life consisted: work, sleep, TV, pub, tennis (in the
summer). Her sense of despair deepened as she tried to think
of enough things to take the list onto two hands, but she gave
up despondently after all she could come up with was time
spent in the bathroom and time spend eating.
     In the back of one of her kitchen units she found a
packet of Worcester sauce flavoured crisps and she attacked
them ravenously. She wondered idly if the word ravenous had
stemmed from raven, then she tipped back her head and sent
the crumbs down her throat. Having regained her appetite the
hunt was now on for something snack-like. The fridge yielded
a banana yogurt and a stick of stringy cheese. She retreated
with her spoils to the lounge where she set to work on the
cheese, pulling pieces from it with a long and expert motion.
     The phone rang sharply and as she stood up the banana
yogurt spilled on the carpet. She set the pot the right way up
and then ran to the phone.
     "Hello Kidderminter 562248." she sang, in a voice not
quite her own. "Oh, hello!"
     There was a long pause, she mumbled gently in
agreement a few times and wiped a crumb of cheese from her
chin.
     "Yes, that sounds great. So I'll meet you all there at
seven. Okay? Does anyone need a lift? No? Alright, I'll see
you then. Bye."

     She placed the phone down gently and then ran
upstairs to get ready for the theatre.

©1998 Mark Sexton