Every time he reached over for the cheese, his hand seemed to have left something behind on its previous trip. And again this happened. His hand made a swaying motion over the food as through he was trying to cast some kind of spell on it. He was moving in so many different directions, but his body seemed to stay stationary. He could do all of his work from that one spot in the kitchen. He grabbed to his right, and without looking retrieved a tortilla shell. With his left hand, he reached down and flipped the stove burner onto low. Moments later, he gently placed the tortilla on the flame. It was as if he was handling his new born for the first time; so careful and gentle. Air pockets formed on the skin of the tortilla. He then picked it up with his pointer and thumb and flipped it. It landed a little less gracefully this time because the unfamiliar amount of heat that touched his skin left him a little shocked, as if the tortilla was a traitor. After a few short moments, he turned off the burner and waited a few seconds for it to cool. While the tortilla was still sitting on the unlit burner, he used his right foot to open the bottom draw.
He bent down and pulled out a green plastic plate. He placed the tortilla on the plate and the plate on the counter and slowly turned and grabbed his cheese. He didn’t mind that he was using his dirty hands to touch the shredded cheese he was going to use on his meal to eat. He was back to his graceful mode, laying the cheese onto the tortilla. He shuffled over to the microwave with his plate in hand. He turned the microwave to thirty seconds, and waited. As he finished up with his makings, an idea seemed to pop into his mind. He left his mess behind him and picked up his plate with the cheese quesadilla on it. There was still cheese on it that looked slightly wet and gooey from being heated in the microwave. He seemed confused while walking to the door of the porch, reaching for the door knob, until he remembered once again, that he forgot something. He then turned around and walked, with his feet dragging heavily on the floor. His socks made contact with the floor and made a sweeping noise as he strode back into the kitchen.
This time, he didn’t return to his mess of his earlier makings of the cheese quesadilla. He reached for the fridge, determined, grabbing out extra hot salsa. He held the glass salsa jar in his hand while he used his free hand to open the pantry. To no surprise, he pulled out a bag of tortilla chips.