Dreams and Misconceptions, part three

She stood locked akimbo, hovering over the sink while hot water swirled down the drain. The vapor came up from the eddy in lazy circles. Barbara could feel the latent heat, but it was the frothing current spreading over the blue porcelain basin that held her hypnotized. 

 This was an old kitchen, styled after what the designer called ‘mid-century’, but Barbara didn’t know what century, or even what civilization of planet hopping mid-evolutionary monkey could have possibly wanted a setup like this. Robert’s aesthetic came from some old world mutant gene, a malady relegated to the working class hero, she supposed. His attitude and ability to put in tireless, long hours certainly spoke to his work ethic. Robert had been a champion to the community he served, always believing the best of the people in difficult circumstances. He was an excellent cop. He rarely drew his gun in the course of duty. The one time he fired it was when a rogue turkey lion crossed the eastern boundary to terrorize a rural farmstead. Mere bullets only annoyed the creature, but held it at bay until backup turned it away with an onslaught of flash laz fire.

Barbara knew Robert’s rationale. An old kitchen required preparation, thought, and above all, time – one thing she had in seeming perpetuity. While her super hero was out saving the world, Barbara could putter in the kitchen, wearing a frilly apron, making some smelly old bread and burning the soup. Well, he never complained. Now Robert was dead, and she was stuck with a fucking blue kitchen. Her neighbors had a digipost wall panel with squidge-bot servers. Good lord, the pot was boiling over.

 Broth bubbled over the sides and splattered on the burner, acrid fumes reached her nostrils, and Barbara, jolted from her funk, grabbed the pot handle. The handle scalded her hand and she swore loudly, dropping the pot and spilling dinner. Fuck, she wasn’t hungry anyway, just filling empty time with hollow gestures. What Barbara really wanted, needed, was one of Johnny’s special cigs. He was gone, too.

 She lit up a regular veggie stick. Here in Kenetica even run of the mill mood dinks were against the law. The contraband carton Barbara had hid in her suitcase over their last vacation to Waterfalville was long gone. Now the best she could hope for was store bought mundania. That and ice cream. She opened the freezer for that, and grabbed up one of the big spoons.

 On the couch, her arm hung over the cushion and thawed strawberry ice cream had dribbled onto the faux wood floor. Dreams infiltrated her sleep, in which friends and family gathered in familiar places, exchanging gossip and drinks. They were at a bar, maybe it was an electronic's game floor, having food and getting buzzed. Johnny had just come up the glass stairs and shook Robert’s hand. They were grinning. It hadn’t mattered that Robert roughly arrested Johnny the night before, or that Johnny had his arm in a sling. He wouldn’t be throwing the stone tonight, or sweeping. Just bending his elbow, and that suited Barbara.

"John, you scamp! How's the arm?" asked Robert, throwing a fake punch at Johnny's bad bicep.

"Whoa there. Who knew the job could be so painful, huh? I'm going to file for some work comp first thing Monday. What are you drinking there?"

Robert waved at a passing waitress and put two fingers up, pointing at his glass. "Let's play some ping pong and talk. Are you seeing anybody? You should bring her over next week. Barbara would love some company."

"Oh, no. Not into the dating thing right now," said Johnny.

"Ooh, how about that one?" Robert nodded at a woman, judging from her outfit, who was coming in the door.

"That man is the ugliest woman I've ever seen. Anyway, work is keeping me pretty busy. You know how it is," said Johnny. He stole a glance toward Barbara. Barbara felt funny seeing herself from Johnny's eyes. She started sweating, which also felt funny, in a detached, dreamy sort of way. Go figure. Then Johnny and Barbara were screwing in the women's restroom while her husband shot pool with someone with two good arms "Ouch, shit. Easy on the arm. Man, I need a week off!" The overhead light crackled with energy.

  Arrests,  bruises, paperwork, a night sleeping one off on a hard floor… that was all just business as usual. It was work, and this was the weekend. A buzzing fly annoyed her, it bombarded her, made her flail and throw the spoon, and sit up too quick to a pounding in her skull.

 No, the doorbell was ringing. “Oh shit, hold up a second.” Barbara rose unsteadily and crept like a hunchback to the door. “What time is it? I’m coming.” She opened the door.

 It was the Monday evening after a long day, and Mayor Angela leaned against the porch rail tiredly, a bunch of flowers and a jug of wine in the crook of her arm. She had that disapproving look on her face; gods know what her eyes were doing behind those sunglasses. Barbara squinted against the fading light and waved Angela in.

 “Good lord, Barbara, you look like shit.” Angela held out the flowers. "I'm sorry about Robert."

 “And a good howdy fuck to you too, sister.”