The Foil
The box of foil was empty. Nearly empty. There was a scrap of foil, glued somehow to a paper tube. Three inches wide, and torn in one corner.
“Louise?”
No answer.
“Louise?!”
No answer.
“Louise, there’s no foil.”
No answer.
“Louise, can you hear me?”
There was a thumping from the direction of the bedroom.
Rayburn looked at the scrap of foil He pulled the paper tube from the box and carefully separated the foil from it. He spread the foil out on the counter, using the back of his thumbnail to nudge the shredded parts out of their little scrunched insect lumps back into the gaps they’d deserted.
There was not enough foil.
Rayburn looked at his sandwich.
He needed foil.
“Louise, is there another box of foil somewhere?”
No answer.
Rayburn opened the drawer below the foil drawer. It contained napkins. The one below that, plastic containers. The bottom drawer was full of scraps of things. Rayburn found the sock he’d missed six months ago, the purple argyle. There was a hole in the heel. He put the sock in his back pocket.
“Louise? There’s no foil in the drawers.”
No answer.
He opened the cabinet under the sink. There were products there, and a waste basket.
“Louise?”
In the wastebasket was a ball of foil. Grease, or perhaps frosting, filled the niches and crinkles of the foil.
“Louise?”
Rayburn got a napkin from the napkin drawer, a green one, that had initials on it, and used it to protect his hand from whatever the stuff was on the ball of foil. He placed the napkin wrapped ball on the counter and unwrapped it carefully.
“Louise?”
There was another thud from the bedroom, and maybe the sound of the bathroom door closing, Rayburn couldn’t be sure. He turned the water on in the sink, to see if the flow would change, indicating Louise was in the bathroom doing something with water. The flow remained steady for two minutes and Rayburn turned it off.
Rayburn returned to the foil.
Rayburn tried to find where, in the ball, was the main fold or crumple. That would be where he’d have to start. You couldn’t start with a corner or edge or something, because what if it disappeared down into the depths, then you’d have to smash it back again while your were opening the main fold.
“Louise?”
With a fork and a knife from the silverware drawer Rayburn began probing the foil. The fork was too sharp. Rayburn reversed it, using the handle as the probe instead. Grease, or frosting, that had gotten on the tines, smeared Rayburn’s fingers.
“Louise?”
He put down the silverware. He used his elbow to turn the water back on, and picked up a bit of detergent from the back edge of the sink, where it had dripped off the side of the detergent bottle, and washed his hands.
There was another sound from the bedroom.
Rayburn dried his hands on the dishtowel hanging from the handle of the refrigerator. The door of the bedroom opened. Rayburn stood looking at his ball of foil. Louise walked into the kitchen.
“Louise?”
No answer.
“Louise, is there another box of foil?”
No answer.
Rayburn watched as Louise poured herself a cup of coffee, then went to the column of drawers. She opened the top drawer, the foil drawer. She reached into the back of the drawer and pulled out an unopened box of foil. She handed it to him.