The Forgotten Taste of Home

The national anthem played from the stained speakers of a wall mounted television set as it did every night at 9pm. Marilyn quietly hummed along to the same song she had hummed for the last 50 years. Her eyes were trained on the cracked road, peeking through the window from the edge of a heavy blackout curtain.

Marilyn eventually rose from her creaking chair and hobbled to the stove where a pot simmered lightly. Her left leg didn’t always move the way that she wanted it to, and sometimes she found herself slapping it lightly, like how she sometimes slapped the speakers to make them play in sync.

The scent of oregano and tomatoes wafted from the pot. Marilyn lifted the spoon and gave it a taste. She grimaced. Too salty. It was always too salty. She couldn’t help but think that Aaron would hate it this time too. With a heave, she dumped the contents of the pot into the disposal chute. She then turned to her cabinet and selected her last can of tomatoes, beginning again.

Over the speakers, the anthem reached its final note. The news anchor cleared his deep voice over the sound of Marilyn’s blunt knife smashing tomatoes across her cutting sheets.

“Continued spread of Lupa's Disease afflicts all four zones in the West Division. Commanding inspectors are advising the residents of the West Division to stay inside after dark. Do not approach anyone with symptoms. Common reports of initial symptoms include wild howling, the inability to speak coherently, and inexplicable hysteria. Victims can be treated in the City Center…….”

Outside, the distant constant glow of City Center shone against the pitch black night. Marilyn would be certain to cook this dinner perfectly. So focused she was that she nearly missed the trumpet tune from the speakers, declaring a new orator.

“There is glorious work being done by the pleasant enforcers of this nation. As the leader of this prosperous land, I want to personally assure each and every citizen that the end of our crusade is within reach. Monumental strides have been made to ensure the containment of the Fall Out, and radiation in drinking water is at an all time low. Enforcers working on our project have been compensated with shelter and food at the city’s finest capitol. That concludes our updates for the night. Please join our pastor in a moment of prayer to the prosperity of our country…….”

Marilyn closed her eyes and smiled at the pleasant news. She imagined Aaron at the capitol, enjoying the city’s finest spaghetti, his oversized uniform lined with silver and gold badges for each year of his honorable service.

The transmission ended at a quarter past 10 as it did every day, and Marilyn climbed the crooked stairs to her room, and took to her bed.

By the next morning, Marilyn had discarded another pot of stewed tomatoes. Her rations would have likely been better spent on more edible concoctions, but she would have no imperfections on the dinner table if it was for her boy. Marylin looked outside of her living room window to the still and regular scene that she had practically ingrained in her mind. The sparse, yellowing grass unkempt sprouting weakly from the cracked concrete. Her eyes glazed for a second, and she saw the green lawn and the pansies and the baseball passed between man and child. For a moment, the stale leftovers on the dining table became fresh jam and muffins, and tap water into hot coffee. She heard a knock at the door, and turning, rushed to get it. The door creaked in warning, and Marylin stepped out into a world of dust and memories. She paused, smiling dumbly at the horizon, where she could still hear the sounds of the giggles and the sweet waft of pansies.

From her feet, Marilyn heard a soft noise. She looked down, and the lush lawn vanished. Perched over the cracks of the concrete, a black and white spotted mass and clear yellow eyes peered at Marilyn. She yelped and staggered back, holding on to her door frame for support.

"Cat," She whispered, not daring to startle her new intruder.

The cat looked back at her, walking forward and finding itself comfortable on the dilapidated porch. Marilyn remained at a loss. So rare were visitors to Marilyn’s home, and even fewer came by uninvited. The cat looked well, neither emaciated nor diseased. She noticed the metallic jingle as a silver heart shaped locket clipped to the cat's worn collar shifted with the cat’s movements. Marilyn thought of her neighbors, but no possible owner could come to her mind.

Marilyn only left the house on Tuesdays to attend the Distribution Market for rations. She committed to asking around during that gathering regarding the ownership of the cat. Surely, it must be a precious companion to be carrying such a thoughtful memento.

Marilyn went back inside and downed her water, preparing to leave for the day. She winced as a familiar metallic aftertaste stained her tongue. Perhaps today they might have coffee at the market. Marilyn strode past the cat, certain that by the time she would return, it would have already found its way back home.

At the market, Marilyn saw the usual familiar faces of her town. A craggly man hobbled over to her, eyes lit up with excitement as he waved his cane in wild gestures.

“Marilyn!” He cried. “Ya wouldn’t believe it! The transmission last night told of our nation's great scientists. We can expect that radiation vaccine any day now!”

Behind him, a middle aged woman followed closely behind, a bright smile on her face. “Marilyn!” She exclaimed. “Did you hear? There are botanists working on a new strain of tulip, one that can be grown without water nor sunshine!”

Marilyn laughed. She loved to hear the great news of her comrades. “I also heard last night,” she added, “that the President has awarded my son with another high honor for his work. I hear all of our enforcers are receiving three times the rations in celebration.”

The woman clapped enthusiastically, and a few other townsfolk gathered around to tell more beautiful tales. Marilyn smiled, raising her hand to her heart. “Long live this beautiful nation,” she declared, and several others followed suit. Tuesdays were her favorite days. She walked to the enforcer in charge of distributing rations and received a small cardboard box with 12 cans and a loaf of bread. She hoped to ask the man for more news regarding Aaron’s success, but the line moved too quickly, and before she knew it, Marilyn was on her way home.

Marilyn shuffled through the door of her worn house, her hands full of the rations which would last her the next week. While she stood at her counter counting her new tomato rations, she became aware of a soft pawing at the door. She had forgotten about the cat and was surprised that it found itself back to her porch. She ignored it at first, hoping it would go back to where it came from, but it only took an afternoon for the creature’s incessant pawing to wear her down. Marilyn opened the door to admonish it, but the cat slithered through the doorway crack in an instant. She was stunned, unsure if she should try to catch it or not. What if it bit her? She thought she should chase it out, but she lost track of it in a matter of seconds. No matter where she looked under tables or around chairs, she couldn’t see the cat.

Marilyn was upset at the unknown creature wandering now in her home. If she caught the cat, she could look within the locket and surely find its owner. She considered screaming or calling a neighbor or reporting to an enforcer. She thought about looking for a long pole, or an old shoe or a bag somewhere. And while she was thinking, she fell back into her routine of opening the canned rations and pouring the tomatoes into her pot.

“Meeiiaooow”

The cat peered at her expectantly from beside her leg. It rubbed its forehead on Marilyn’s exposed shin.

Marilyn let out a silent scream and jumped backwards. For a moment, she reached towards the counter trying to find a weapon or a bag. She felt the soft fur touch her leg again. Marilyn stood still and stared down at the creature. With uncertain hands, she reached down for the locket. Her hand briefly stroked the cat’s small face and she paused. The cat’s eyes closed in content bliss, and Marilyn felt a warmth that she had not felt in many years. The cat pressed itself into her and vibrated gently. On the kitchen floor the two remained, the silver locket around the cat’s neck barely visible in the dim evening light.

The summertime came and went, and with it, the cat’s dinnertime visits became a routine that melded with the rest of Marilyn's daily life. Every night, she listened for more good news from the speakers. Every Tuesday, she shared good news and heard even better. Cans of tomatoes came and went.

It was a Tuesday, and Marilyn had just come home from sharing good prospects with the townsfolk at the Distribution Market. Her recent meals had come closer and closer to what she envisioned Aaron might have at a fine capitol restaurant. Aaron would come home and tell her that her spaghetti was the best he ever had. Like always, she set up the cans on her kitchen table and began to open them.

It was a Tuesday, but something didn’t taste right in her dish. Perhaps it was missing salt, or contained a little too many tomatoes. By the end of the night the entire thing tasted wrong. Marilyn tsked in visible frustration and threw the meal down the chute. Why was it going so wrong?

The next day saw similar failures. Her routine was falling apart. It wasn’t until the third day that she realized the feline was no longer sitting with her. On the following Tuesday, Marilyn did not go to the market. She stood by the porch, holding an empty can of tomatoes in her hands.The cloudy sky became darker and still, Marilyn found herself fixated at her post.

Marilyn felt a growing weight on her shoulders at around 9pm. All too soon, she was reminded of her old age, her lame leg, her dry hands. She was suddenly aware of the rhythm of her heart, every beat sounding louder than the last. Incessantly, Marilyn's heart beat. Marilyn stood on the empty porch, trying to hear the echoes of laughter and smell the pansies from the light behind the grey, stormy clouds. But the glowing City Center provided no solace, and Marilyn felt an earthquake rattling her organs. She tried to grasp onto air, but each inhale was like knives to her stomach and each exhale became a wheeze, until finally Marilyn could hold it in no longer, and released a guttural, animal cry. She could form no words, and a madness overtook her mind. Liquid fell from her eyes like hot coal, burning a map of her past, present, and future into her dry face.

Someone in the neighborhood must have called the enforcers at the sound of Marylin's wails, for the rhythmic siren and flashing lights were upon her house in a matter of minutes. But by then, the house had already fallen silent. Authorities entered past the crooked porch steps, through the half open door, and into Marylin's disheveled home. Dirt and dust coated the stairs and countertops. Cracked wallpaper twitched slightly as the enforcers passed. In the kitchen, several open cans of tomatoes next to the stove, and the steady static from the speakers of a television set -- the only evidence that anyone had lived here at all.