Wednesday, I said "klaatu barada nikto" to Walter and he didn't know what I was talking about. So now it's Friday night, The Day the Earth Stood Still. In the living room, Lucy is purring on Walter's lap, eyes slitted just enough to give me that "move me and I'll barf a hairball in your slippers" look. I'm elected to make the popcorn.
I'm all for convenience and efficiency and making some small effort to eat right. But not when it comes to popcorn. No microwave or hot air contraption for me. There's ritual to be observed: pull out the battered pot, measure the oil (canola, of course -- I don't have a death wish), turn on the heat, drop in the test kernel. And wait.
I have the big bowl out waiting, the butter melting in the microwave, the salt shaker ready to hand.
"Do you need any help?" Walter calls from the other room.
"Only if the smoke alarm goes off." Which it well might. The hot oil spatters a lot and I have to be careful. Baking soda is on the back of the stove and the dish towel makes a good fan.
The single kernel pops suddenly and startles me. I pour in the rest of the popcorn carefully and put on the lid. The corn pops sporadically at first, then frantically, like a touch typist doing 70 in a 40 wpm zone. I shake and shake and shake, wincing a little when hot oil sprays my wrist.
The smoke alarm screams just as the popcorn lifts the lid and threatens to spill out. As I'm tipping out the excess, Walter comes in, wearing Lucy around his neck. He grabs the towel and flaps it briskly by the detector until the screeching stops. Then he looks at the greasy white morsels with a raised eyebrow. We both take his comment on its artery hardening properties as said. In fact, he'll eat more of it than I will.
I can't spare much attention for him now. "Take some drinks in, since you're here."
He smiles, I think, and pulls a couple Cokes out of the fridge before heading back, Lucy still curled over his shoulders.
The popping slows and I take the pot off the heat for a minute before dumping the rest of the corn into the bowl. God, it smells good. The last legal high. Now, I pour on the butter while Walter can't see. Though he'd miss it if I left it out. Lots of salt, mix it carefully. Somebody told me once the best way to stir popcorn is by tossing it, but I never manage that successfully.
All done then. I carry the bowl into the living room and step over Walter's legs to get to my spot on the couch. Then we're ready for the video, the popcorn settled between us.
There's ritual to be observed here too: Walter's complaints about my taste in movies, my complaints about his abysmal knowledge of science fiction, both of us scarfing back as much popcorn as we can, then I'll watch the movie, Walter will try to distract me, we'll move the bowl out of the way, and we'll lean against each other while I make Walter wait until the movie is over. I'm training him.
I have the remote and just before I start the tape, I look over at Walter and rub some salt and butter from my fingers onto his cheek. He glares. I grin. Lucy jumps down.
In the end, the earth will not stand still. It never does.
FINIS
I don't really get it. Is there a meaning? If there is, I'd be very interested to hear it. Your story is very odd but written well.