[Jimbalaya]

It's not every day you get to experience the wash cycle. I'm here to tell you, it's quite enjoyable. Maybe for you it would equal a hot, sudsy bath, or water that is on the verge of being entirely too hot flooding over you for an hour.

There is a couple that lives here. I see them from time to time. They need me, but I promise you, they rarely think of me. I'm pulled from the drawer on occasion, away from my friends, and out into the blinding light of the kitchen.

There is a black metal basket hanger hanging to the left of the sink from the ceiling, three tiers from top to bottom, each larger than the next. The top, and smallest basket, holds a large bushel of fat purple grapes, here and there overflowing and seeming to try for an escape through the kitchen sink if only they could find the will to jump. It's impossible for them to know that at the bottom of the drain lays certain doom in the form of a garbage disposal. The next basket, the one in the middle, is loaded with a heaping pile of gleaming red plumbs. They seem content to sit, as they are, immobile, for all eternity as long as the sun continues to rise every day. The bottom, and largest, basket holds seven large grapefruits. Their sheer size alone could convince the biggest, meanest grape that he was nothing more than a mere kitten. Maybe that's why the bushel of grapes doesn't try their escape. Fear of being nabbed and eaten by a giant grapefruit on their long fall.

The kitchen appliances are protected by a shiny black polished surface. The Fridge, the Stove, the Microwave, the Sink and the Dishwasher (oh, the sweet Dishwasher) are all gleaming black, winking back shiny spots of light. In contrast to the black appliances, the cupboards are all a flat, bright white color, with gleaming silver knobs. Above Dishwasher is a thick, polished granite counter in the shade of gray that brings to mind the almost blue color of an elephant's skin. The walls are painted a pale yellow-brown color and instead of offsetting the kitchen equipment, it accents it perfectly.

On the other side of the island-bar that Dishwasher resides there is a great, open space. In this space sits Dining Table. It’s a giant of a thing built of what can only be oak and though the surface has been polished to a smooth, fine finish, the piece somehow looks forbidding to me. Not to the Man and Woman who live here, though. They seem to enjoy spending time in their respective chairs at that table.

Lying in my tray, the only light is a thin crack at the front of the drawer. Here is where I spend most of my time. Though it is dark (and sometimes cramped) in here, it is not uncomfortable. I have many friends that occupy my time and the conversation is endless. If the drawer smells of anything, I couldn't tell you. I have no nose. Sometimes I wish I did, though, because some of the food that is prepared for me looks absolutely heavenly.

The crack of light at the front of the drawer widens and I am filled with excitement…and worry. I'm excited for the chance to be utilized, of having all of the wonderful sights and colors of the kitchen spilled on me once again. Of being fed. I am worried that I will not be chosen this time. I'm selfish, I must admit, and I want to be the one every time.

Luck is with me this night and I am plucked from my comfortable tray and birthed into the lighted world. The Woman has me. She is a skinny thing, though she is a monument of hugeness to me, with shoulder length blonde hair. She takes me across the kitchen to the dining table and sets me on a padded napkin next to my friend, Knife and another good friend, Fork. What will the entrée be tonight? The suspense is numbing.

The Man enters; he is even more monumentally huge than the Woman, with short-cropped black hair and a Fu-Manchu moustache. He looks powerful and, to be honest, I dread being held by him. I feel so small and weak when I am in his hand. I feel that at any moment he might press too hard on me, or in a moment of unexplained rage, twist me into tight knot. Lucky for me I don't have to worry about that tonight. Tonight I am the Woman's.

The Man and Woman sit down at Table and engage in what I guess must be small talk about their day's. I can't be sure, though, because I don't understand a word they say. I can't understand their language. They laugh and I know that they must be happy, because a laugh in any language can only mean one thing.

Above me, a distant relative, Ladle hovers and drips with a steaming brown gravy-like substance. It looks wonderful. Ladle dumps its heavy load into what must be a bowl. I can see the stacked ridges of the white bowl curving up and away from me. After a moment, Ladle hovers away from my line of sight and I feel the soft touch of the woman as she grips me. I'm lifted into the air, creating the faintest stirring of a wind in my wake. The time has come for me to be fed and in an instant I prepare myself. Above the bowl now, my vision locks like a vise on the contents held therein.

Stew!

Below me a vast ocean of onions, mushrooms, carrots, potatoes, corn, peas and meat float in thick, simmering gravy. I dart for the heart of the savory stew and all thought leaves my mind, save one: Food!

I am plunged into the searing heat of the stew and my head collides gently with the bottom of the bowl. I am lifted once again, but this time I reach blindly into the succulent muck. I reach, frantic to consume as much as I can before I break the surface of the steaming, chunky lake. I shatter the surface and potatoes part for me as if I was Moses parting the sea. But I don't come alone. For I hold as much as I can hold and I know as I watch a fat blob of gravy drip away from me and splatter far below on the surface of the meaty pond, that this is what I was made for. I seem to reach my destination and a giant pair of lips part. When I leave this space, the treasures that I hold have been stripped away from me. Empty once again, I dive for the heart of the bowl. Again and again I am driven deep into the hearty stew until there is nothing left for me to grab. I have had my fill and it was wonderful. It was complete ecstasy.

I am familiar with the routine, because it is a routine. After I am fed I get bathed. I am left for a few minutes in the bottom of empty Bowl and the Man and Woman talk. Soon, Bowl is transported with me inside, to the sink, where warm water is dumped on me in a great streaming shower. The remnants of the delicious stew are rinsed from me and I am filled with a deep sorrow for a moment. I know it may be a long time before I have a stew like that again. Then I am lowered into a plastic basket in the bottom tray of Dishwasher. This is my favorite part of this daily ritual: The bath. Several of my friends and acquaintances are placed in the basket along with much larger and possibly more important items: Plates, Bowls, Pans, and Cups litter the tray beside me and above me.

The man is at the door of Dishwasher and he squirts a pink substance into its tiny mouth. I see the Woman walk up and stand next to him; they appear to be bickering over something. Maybe the way the Man slopped the pink substance all over the face of Dishwasher. Who is to say? The door closes and I am plunged into the blackness of a thousand nights once again. But I am not afraid; I've been here before and I'll be here again, I know.

The air is thick with the anticipation of all of my friends, as well as myself, about what is about to come. It's like this every time. I hear the muffled beep of Dishwasher's acceptance as the Man or Woman pushes its button. Then the water comes.

There is a deep rushing roar from the bowels of Dishwasher and in an instant a hot jet stream of water spews forth from its many ports. I am hit with searing hot water and drenched in the blink of an eye. The heat does not bother me, for I have the strongest of skins. Instead, I seem to expand ever so slightly as the extreme heat from the water massages me. I settle into my little cage and enjoy this steamy bath. The air quickly changes form anticipation charged, to a thick charge of satisfaction and relaxation. The water drums on me for what seems like hours and if it lasted forever, I wouldn't have a care about it in the world. It is the closest thing to heaven the likes of me will ever know.

After a while, the water stops and an even hotter degree of steam is jetted into the belly of Dishwasher. It's like a sauna but instead of making me sweat, it dries me off completely. The end of the bath has come now and I know that soon I will find myself back in my cozy drawer, nestled in among my friends once again. From there, the anticipation will again build to frenzy until my skills are called for. I can't wait for tomorrow.