Autumn in the City of Angels by Kirby Howell Page A

also a very blunt happiness from feeling near him again.  I didn’t feel alone.  I was warm and safe in those dreams.
    Music echoed into the kitchen and around the mess I’d made as I sifted through both the food on the counter and my thoughts of the boy.  I sighed again, feeling the emptiness of the apartment press on me like Southern humidity.  The honey was nowhere to be found.
    The collection of miscellaneous boxes, cans and jars didn’t add up to much: a couple packets of Ramen noodles, a box of instant oatmeal packets, a miniature tin of anchovies, a can of tomato paste and a nearly full jar of roasted sesame seeds.  Half of the box of crackers was left and also some random baking products I’d already tasted to check if they were at all edible.  I had nearly choked on the baking powder.  It burned the tip of my tongue, and I spat it out quickly.  The cream of tartar wasn’t bad; it had a tangy flavor.  I knew enough to not try to eat flour or baking soda.  I did like carrying the small square tin of cinnamon around with me.  Smelling it made me think of coffee shops and Christmas.
    I decided to save the noodles, oatmeal and crackers for a treat and grabbed the jar of sesame seeds.  I opened the fridge and grabbed a full water bottle from the empty cavern, cool and white.  The refrigerator was bare now except for my water bottles.  When the plumbing quit working, I started using water from the pool to wash myself, clothes and dishes, and limited myself to two bottles of drinking water a day from the stash of Sparkletts jugs in our laundry room. But now there was only a jug and a half left. I would have to find a way to get more soon.
    Carrying my lunch back to the living room, I sat down on the couch.  I pinched several seeds between my thumb and forefinger, sprinkled them onto my tongue and then crushed them between my teeth.  They had a pleasant earthy flavor.
    I let my mind wander back to three days ago when I splurged and ate an entire six-ounce jar of maraschino cherries as a reward for finishing my first big project: watching every single movie we owned.  I watched them in release date order.  My mother’s films were sprinkled into the lineup.  I’d enjoyed watching her, her curly red Irish hair always featured almost as a character separate from herself, her kind, deep green eyes and that smile I knew so well.  She always smiled more with the left side of her mouth to hide a slightly crooked incisor on her right side.  I liked it most when she laughed and forgot about hiding her crooked tooth, her one flaw, perfect.
    A smile stretched across my face as I thought about her.  My mind wasn’t strong enough to hold on to the happiness, though, and my face immediately began to crumple.  Tears welled up and overflowed down my cheeks, and I took a gigantic deep breath to calm myself.  Keep busy, I mentally repeated, like a parent telling a child on a carousel to hold on tighter.
    I decided to refill the water bottles.  I swiped the back of my hand across my wet cheeks as I stood up and slid in my socks over the floor I had spent yesterday polishing.  Unable to stop skating across the floor in time, I crashed into the partially closed laundry room door and caught myself on the doorjamb when it didn’t open.  Confused, I pushed on the door again.  It seemed to be blocked.  I poked my head around to see what was blocking it.  My mouth fell open, and prickles streamed across my back like cool water.
    Two full Sparkletts jugs were wedged behind the door.  I slid into the laundry room and stared at them, then looked behind me at the other two jugs sitting in their usual spot; one full, the wax safety seal still in place and the other, just under half full, the water slightly trembling from the vibrations of the clothes dryer running next to it.
    I looked back and forth at the two teams of water jugs as if they were playing ping-pong.  I tried to sort out how I could have forgotten