What Simple Things Do You Take for Granted?

The steak needs to be covered while it marinates in the fridge. I go to the middle cabinet drawer left of the sink and pull out the box of cling wrap. I prefer to use foil, but I can’t use cling wrap on a pan when I run out of foil for baking, so I’m trying to get better about using it for its intended purpose. I draw out a section, close the flap, and carefully pull it against the serrated edge. The sheet cuts cleanly and barely folds over itself.

      I feel this sense of awe over pulling a sheet of cling wrap out without ruining it by pulling too hard. I never understood how to make the serrated edge work with such a flimsy piece of plastic, which is why I prefer to use foil. I usually cut the cling wrap with scissors when I have no other choice, but I didn’t have to this time. I know how to pull the cling wrap against the serrated edge, not too hard, not bunching it up. I didn’t even think about it, and something about that is kind of magical.

      As I gather what I need to make the avocado salsa, I daydream about writing some prose that asks the reader, “What simple things do you take for granted?” I remember the first time I got to use common sense. It was in college, after I got chlamydia again and was worried I didn’t clean my toys well enough. I read instructions on how to disinfect them with peroxide, but I smelled the sharpness of the chemical as I stood over the container I filled and decided to try something else. I was allowed to avoid a painful mistake for once.

      I measure the corn by eyeballing it and put gloves on to cut the avocado. After slicing it in half, I carefully carve around the very edge to push out the meat in one big chunk. The pit comes out easy, but when I first made this recipe, I was on the verge of panic, smooshing all that good green stuff with my fingers as I tried and tried to get the stupid pit out. All it takes is two or three tries to get it right now. I don’t collapse from my disappointment like I used to.

      A friend I’m not very close with didn’t want me in the kitchen with him over vacation, telling him what to do. People get terse with me when I give them advice they already know. My girlfriend tells me that she’s not stupid. I wonder if everyone would be more patient with me if I could really explain to them what it means to grow up neglected. “What simple things do you take for granted?” I want to ask. I made it to the real world only after I graduated college and everything is brand new. I’m almost thirty now and yet I am a child, not the one I grew up as, but one that is allowed to learn through curiosity and play. There is wonder in finding that I can make decisions through what I think and feel, not what the instructions say. There is wonder in finding out how to read between the lines, to figure out when and how I should break the rules. What am I supposed to do with the joy of being allowed to grow other than share it?

      The salsa looks like salsa when I finish, not halfway to guacamole like last time. It’s done long before my girlfriend gets home from work and I ask her what she thinks. The compliment clarifies that my last attempt wasn’t bad. I never felt shame about it, but the disparaging words come out of my mouth all the same. Disappointment is the drive to try again. I know I can do better.