by Paula Guran
“Sure,” said Matt, thinking about her Christmas Eve dream, cocoa and other peoples’ memories.
“Uh—what would you like me to call you?”
“Matt,” said Matt.
“Matt,” he said, and nodded. “Kitchen’s through there.” He gestured toward the dining nook. “I make instant cocoa, but it’s pretty good.”
Matt looked at him a moment, then headed for the kitchen.
“Be there in a sec,” said Jim, heading toward a dark hallway to the right.
—Cocoa?— she thought in the kitchen. Honey-pale wooden cupboard doors wore carved wooden handles in the shape of fancy goldfish, with inlaid gem eyes. White tiles with a lavender border covered the counters; white linoleum tiles inset with random squares of sky blue, rose, and violet surfaced the floor. A pale spring green refrigerator stood by the window, and a small green card table sat near it, with three yellow-cushioned chairs around it. Just looking at the room made Matt smile.
—Who are you?— asked the refrigerator as it hummed.
—A visitor.—
—Where’s the little-girl-one who stands there and holds my door open and lets my cold out?—
—I don’t think she’s coming,— Matt said. She wasn’t sure if a refrigerator had a time sense, but decided to ask. —How often is she here?—
—Every time Man puts ice cream in my coldest part. There’s ice cream there now.—
Ah ha, Matt thought. She went to the stove, found a modern aqua-enameled teakettle. —May I use you to heat water?— she thought at it.
—Yes yes yes!— Its imagination glowed with the pleasurable anticipation of heat and simmer and expansion.
She ran water into it, greeted the stove as she set the teakettle on the gas burner, then asked the kitchen about mugs. A cupboard creaked open. She patted the door and reached inside for two off-white crockery mugs. A drawer opened to offer her spoons. The whole kitchen was giggling to itself. It had never before occurred to the kitchen that it could move things through its own choice.
—Cocoa?— thought Matt. The cupboard above the refrigerator eased open, and she could see jars of instant coffee and a round tin of instant cocoa inside, but it was out of her reach. She glanced at one of the chairs. She could bring it over—
—Hey!— cried the cocoa tin. She looked up to see it balanced on the edge of the refrigerator. She held out her hands and it dropped heavily into them, the cupboard door closing behind it.
“What?” Jim’s voice sounded startled behind her.
She turned, clutching the cocoa, wondering what would happen now. Though she couldn’t be sure, she got no sense of threat from him at all, and she was still in the heightened state of awareness she thought of as Company Manners. “Cocoa,” she said, displaying the tin on her palms as though it were an award.
“Yeah, but—” He looked up at the cupboard, down at her hands. “But—”
The teakettle whistled—a warbling whistle, like a bird call. The burner turned itself off just as Jim glanced toward it. His eyes widened.
—Chill,— Matt thought at the kitchen.
—Want warmth?— A baseboard heater made clicking sounds as its knob turned clockwise and it kicked into action.
—No! I mean, stop acting on your own, please. Do you want to upset Jim?—
—But this is— !— The concept it showed her was delirious joy. —We never knew we could do this!—
Matt sucked on her lower lip. She’d never seen a room respond to her this way. Some things were wide awake when she met them, and leading secret lives when no one was around to see. Other things woke up and discovered they could choose movement when they talked to her, but never before so joyfully or actively.
“What—” Jim said again.
Matt walked over to the counter by the stove, popped the cocoa tin’s top with a spoon.
“Uh,” said Matt.
“Can you—uh, make things move around without touching them?” His voice was thin.
“No,” she said.
He blinked. Looked at the cupboard over the refrigerator, at the burner control, at the baseboard heater. He shook his head. “I’m seeing things?”
“No,” said Matt, spooning cocoa into the mugs. She reached for the teakettle, but before she could touch it, a potholder jumped off a hook above the stove, gliding to land on the handle.
“Design flaw in the kettle,” Jim said in a hollow voice. “Handle gets hot too.”
“Oh. Thanks,” she said, gripping the potholder and the kettle and pouring hot water into the mugs. The spoon she had left in one mug lifted itself and started to stir. “Hey,” she said, grabbing it.
—Let me. Let me!—
She let it go, feeling fatalistic, and the other spoon lying on the counter rattled against the tiles until she picked it up and put it in the other mug. The sight of both of them stirring in unison was almost hypnotic.
“I’ve been reading science fiction for years,” Jim said, his voice still coming out warped, “maybe to prepare myself for this day. Telekinesis?”
“Huh?” said Matt as she set the teakettle back on the stove and hung up the pot holder.
“You move things with mind power?”
“No,” she said.
“But—” The spoons still danced, crushing lumps of cocoa against the sides of the mugs, making a metal and ceramic clatter.
“I’m not doing it. They are.”
“What?”
“Your kitchen,” she said, “is very happy.”
Cupboards clapped and drawers opened and shut. Somehow the sound of it all resembled laughter.
After a moment, Jim said, “I don’t understand. I’m starting to think I must be asleep on the couch and I’m dreaming all this.”
—Done,— said the spoons. Matt fished them out of the cocoa and rinsed them off.
“Okay,” she said to Jim, handing him a mug.
“Okay what?”
“It’s only a dream.” —Thanks,— she thought to the kitchen, and headed out to the living room.
Jim followed her. She found coasters stacked on a side table and laid a couple on the coffee table, set her cocoa on one, then shrugged out of her coat and sat on the couch.
“It’s only a dream?” Jim said, settling beside her.
“If that makes it easier.”
He sipped cocoa. “I don’t want easy. I want the truth.”
“On Christmas Eve?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Are you one of Santa’s elves, or something?”
She laughed.
“For an elf, you look like you could use a shower,” he said.
“Even for a human I could.”
He fished the toothbrush out of his breast pocket and handed it to her. “Magic wand,” he said.
“Thanks.” She laid it on the table and drank some cocoa. She was so full from dinner that she wasn’t hungry anymore, but the chocolate was enticing.
“All those things were really moving around in the kitchen, weren’t they?” he said
“Yes,” she said.
“Is the kitchen haunted?”
“Kind of.”
“I never noticed it before.”
She drank more cocoa. Didn’t need other peoples’ memories at the moment; making one of her own. She wasn’t sure yet whether she’d want to keep this one or not.
Jim said, “Can you point to something and make it do what you want?”
“No.”
“Just try it. I dare you. Point to that cane and make it dance.” He waved toward a tall vase standing by the front door. It held several umbrellas and a wooden cane carved with a serpent twisting along its length.
“That’s silly,” she said.
“I’ve always, always wished I could move things around with my mind. It’s been my secret dream since I was ten. Please do it.”
“But I—” Frustrated, she set her mug on the table, but not before the coaster slid beneath it.
“See, look!” He lifted hi
s mug, put it down somewhere else. His coaster didn’t seem to care.
“But I— Oh, what the hell.” —Cane? Do you want to dance?—
The cane quivered in the vase. Then it leapt up out of the vase and spun in the air like a propeller. It landed on the welcome mat, did some staggering spirals, flipped, then lay on the ground and rolled back and forth.
“That’s so—that’s so—”
She looked at him. His face was pale; his eyes sparkled.
“It’s doing it because it wants to,” she said.
“But it never wanted to before.”
“Maybe it did, but it just didn’t know it could.”
He looked at the cane. It lifted itself and did some flips, then started tapdancing on the hardwood, somewhat muted by its rubber tip. “If everything knew what it could do—” he said. “Does everything want to do stuff like this?”
“I don’t know,” said Matt. “I’ve never seen things act like your things.” She cocked her head and looked at him sideways.
With one loud tap from its head, the cane jumped back into the big vase and settled quietly among the umbrellas.
“I was wondering how you get things to stop,” he whispered.
“Me too,” she whispered back. “Usually things act mostly like things when I talk to them. They just act thing ways. Doors open, but they do that anyway. You know?”
“Doors open?” he said. His eyebrows rose.
She could almost see his thoughts. So: that’s how this kid gets along. Doors open. She met his gaze without wavering. It had been a long time since she’d told anyone about talking to things, and other times she’d revealed it hadn’t always worked out well.
“Doors open, and locks unlock,” she said.
“Wow,” he said.
“So,” she said, “second thoughts about having me stay the night?”
“No! This is like the best Christmas wish I ever had, barring having Linda here.”
Matt felt something melt in her chest, sending warmth all through her. She laughed.
He stared at her. “You’re a girl,” he said after a moment.
She grinned at him and set her mug on the coaster. “Could you loan me some soap and towels and stuff? I sure could use a shower now.”
“You’re a girl?”
“Mmm. How old do you have to be not to be a girl?”
“Eighteen,” he said.
“I’m beyond girl.”
“You’re an elf,” he said.
She grinned. “Could I borrow something clean to sleep in?”
He blinked, shook his head. “Linda’s got clothes here, in her old room. She’s actually a little bigger than you now.” He put his mug down and stood up. “I’ll show you,” he said.
She grabbed her new toothbrush and followed him down the little hall. He opened a linen closet, loaded her arms with a big fluffy towel and a washcloth, then led her into a bedroom.
—Hello,— she thought to the room. It smelled faintly of vanished perfume, a flowery teen scent. All the furniture was soft varnished honey wood. The built-in bed against the far wall had wide dresser drawers below it and a mini-blind-covered window above. A desk held a small portable typewriter; bookshelves cradled staggering rows of paperbacks, and a big wooden dresser with chartreuse drawers supported about twenty stuffed animals in various stages of being loved to pieces. On the wall hung a framed photographic poster of pink ballerina shoes with ribbons; another framed poster showed different kinds of owls. Ice green wall-to-wall deep pile carpet covered the floor.
—You’re not the one,— said the room.
—No, I’m not. The one isn’t coming tonight. May I stay here instead? I won’t hurt anything.—
—You can’t have his heart,— said the room.
—All right,— said Matt. This room was not happy like the kitchen.
It relaxed, though.
—Thanks,— Matt thought.
Jim walked to the dresser and opened a drawer. “How do you feel about flannel?” he said, lifting out a nightgown. The drawer slammed shut, almost catching his hand, and successfully gripping the hem of the nightgown. “Hey!” he said.
—Our things,— said the room.
Matt thought about the sullen teenager she had seen in the photo in Jim’s wallet. Afraid of losing things, holding them tight; Matt had learned instead to let go.
“Maybe you better put that back,” she said. “I can rinse out my T-shirt.”
Jim touched the drawer and it opened. He dropped the nightgown back in and the drawer snapped shut again. “I’ve got pajamas you can use. Actually, my girlfriend left some women’s things in my closet . . . ”
“Pajamas would be good,” Matt said.
He showed her the bathroom, which was spacious and handsome and spotless, black, white, and red tile, fluffy white carpet, combination whirlpool tub and shower, and a small stacked washer-dryer combination. “Wait a sec, I’ll get you some pajamas. You want to do laundry?”
“Yeah,” she said. “That’d be great.” She wished she had the rest of her clothes with her, but they were still in the basement of that suburban house, two miles away. Oh well. You did what you could when the opportunity arrived.
He disappeared, returned with red satin pajamas and a black terrycloth robe.
“Thanks,” she said, wondering what else he had in his closet. She hadn’t figured him for a red satin kind of guy. She took a long hot shower without talking to anything in the bathroom, using soap and shampoo liberally and several times. The soap smelled clean; the shampoo smelled like apples. His pajamas and robe were huge on her. She hitched everything up and bound it with the robe’s belt so she could walk without tripping on the pantlegs or the robe’s hem. She brushed her teeth, then started a load of laundry, all her layers, except the coat, which she had left in the living room: T-shirt, long johns top and bottom, work shirt, acrylic sweater, jeans, two pair of socks, even the wide Ace bandages she bound her chest with. Leaving the mirror steamed behind her, she emerged, flushed and clean and feeling very tired but contented.
“I can’t believe I ever thought you were a boy,” Jim said, putting down a magazine and sitting up on the couch. Christmas carols played softly on the stereo. The mugs had disappeared.
“Very useful, that,” said Matt.
“Yes,” he said. She sat down at the other end of the couch from him. Sleep was waiting to welcome her; she wasn’t sure how long she could keep her eyes open.
After a minute he said, “I went in the kitchen and nothing moved.”
Matt frowned.
“Was it a dream?”
“Was what a dream?” she asked, before she could stop herself.
“Please,” he said, pain bright in his voice.
“Do you want things dancing? Drawers closing on you?”
He stared at her, then relaxed a little. “Yes,” he said, “at least tonight I do.”
She pulled her knees up to her chest and huddled, bare feet on the couch, all of her deep in the nightclothes he had given her. She thought about it. “What happens is I talk to things,” she said. “And things talk back. Like, I asked the kitchen where the cocoa was. Usually a thing would just say, this cupboard over here. In your kitchen, the cupboard opened itself and the cocoa came out. I don’t know why that is, or why other people don’t seem to do it.”
“Like if I said, Hey, sofa, do you wanna dance?” He patted the seat cushions next to him.
—Sofa, do you want to dance?— Matt thought.
The couch laughed and said, —I’m too heavy to get around much. Floor and I like me where I am. I could . . . — And the cushions bounced up and down, bumping Matt and Jim like a trampoline.
Jim grinned and gripped the cushion he was sitting on. The couch stopped after a couple minutes. “But you did that, didn’t you?” he said. “My saying it out loud didn’t do anything.”
“I guess not,” Matt said.
“And things actually talk back to you?”
&
nbsp; “Yeah,” she said.
“Like my wallet.”
“It kept whining about how you would die or at least be arrested without it. It really cares about you.” She yawned against the back of her hand.
He fished his wallet out of his back pocket and stared at it for a minute, then stroked it, held it between his hands. “This is very weird,” he said. “I mean, I keep this in my back pants pocket, and . . . ” He flipped his wallet open and closed. He pressed it to his chest. “I have to think about this.” He glanced at the clock on the VCR. “Let’s go to sleep. It’s already Christmas.”
Matt squinted at the glowing amber digits. Yep, after midnight.
“Will you be okay in Linda’s room?” Jim asked.
“As long as I don’t steal your heart,” Matt said and yawned again. Her eyes drifted shut.
“Steal my heart?” Jim muttered.
Matt’s breathing slowed. She was perfectly comfortable on the couch, which was adjusting its cushions to fit around her and support her; but she felt Jim’s arms lift her. She fell asleep before he ever let go.
She woke up and stared at a barred ceiling. —Where is this?— she asked. Then she rolled her head and glanced toward the door, saw the ballerina toe shoes picture, and remembered: Linda. Jim.
The mini-blinds at the window above the bed were angled to aim slitted daylight at the ceiling. Matt could tell it was morning by the quality of the light. She sat up amid a welter of blankets, sheets, and quilt, and stretched. When she reached skyward, the satin pajama sleeves slid down her arms to her shoulders. She wasn’t sure she liked being inside such slippery stuff, but she had been comfortable enough while asleep.
She reached up for the mini-blinds’ rod and twisted it until she could see out the window. Jim’s apartment was on the fifth floor. Across the street stood another apartment building, brick-faced, its windows mostly shuttered with mini-blinds and curtains, keeping its secrets.
She put her hand against the wall below the window. —Building, hello.—
—Hello, Parasite,— said the building, a deeper structure that housed all the apartments, all the rooms in the apartments, all the things in the rooms, all the common areas, and all the secret systems of wiring and plumbing, heating and cooling, the skeleton of board and girders and beams, the skin of stucco and the eyes of glass-lidded windows.
