After my shower, I went straight to the kitchen. It was still early, but my stomach was starting to rumble, and my routine was my routine. I opened the pantry, my hand reaching for the familiar stack of instant noodle packages. Sa brand, sa flavor. It was easy, and it was food.
I pulled a package out and was about to rip it open when I just... stopped.
I looked down at the colorful plastic wrapper. I ate this yesterday. And the day before that. And probably for lunch and dinner last weekend.
’Man, this is kind of sad,’ I thought.
The haircut, talking to Nina, even just the decision to not be a complete loner anymore... it felt like I was trying to change things. But here I was, about to slurp down the sa sad, salty soup I’d been eating for years. It was loner food.
I put the noodle package back on the shelf.
’Ti for a change, I guess.’
I walked over to the fridge and opened it, hoping to find so inspiration. The bright light ca on, illuminating the entire contents of my refrigerator: a half-empty bottle of water, a jar of pickles that was probably older than my last real conversation, and so questionable mustard. That was it.
I sighed and shut the door. Okay, so if I wanted to eat sothing else, I was going to have to actually buy it. And then cook it.
"How hard can it be?" I muttered to myself.
I grabbed my phone to make a list. The first problem was, I had no idea what to even buy. I didn’t know how to cook anything that didn’t involve a microwave and a three-minute tir.
’Alright, new plan.’
I added ’cookbook’ to the list on my phone. Sothing basic. ’Cooking for People Who Burn Water,’ probably.
I walked back through the apartnt, grabbing my wallet and keys. On the way out, I passed the bathroom and rembered the soap situation. The bar in the shower was down to a sad little sliver. I added ’soap’ to the list.
It felt weirdly adult, making a shopping list with actual necessities on it. Usually, the only thing I bought for myself was the occasional video ga or manga.
’Thank god for that mission money,’ I thought as I pulled on my shoes. I wouldn’t have to worry about the cost. I could just buy what I needed. It was a nice feeling.
I walked out of my apartnt and the sunlight hit . It felt good. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, went straight to my playlist, and put my earbuds in. The opening the from a magic high school ani started playing—the one with the ridiculously upbeat chorus.
It was exactly what I wanted to hear.
My body was still sore. My ribs made sure I knew they were there with every other step, and my limp wasn’t completely gone yet, but I didn’t even care. For the first ti in forever, I actually felt good. I felt alive.
I started humming along to the music as I walked, my head bobbing a little. A couple of people on the sidewalk gave a weird look, but I just ignored them. I was in my own world. The song got to the big, epic guitar solo part, and without even thinking, I tried to do a little air guitar.
Bad idea.
A sharp ache shot through my side and I had to stop, leaning against a streetlamp for a second.
’Okay,’ I thought, taking a slow breath. ’Definitely not healed enough for that.’
I felt kind of stupid, but then I just started laughing to myself. Even the pain couldn’t ruin my mood. I was the guy who just got out of the hospital, limping down the street and failing at air guitar to a cartoon the song.
It was ridiculous
This was what it felt like to not be a loner all the ti, I guess. It made you do dumb things in public.
I kept walking, a little more carefully this ti. I was probably a weird sight. This kid with a slight limp, a stupid grin on his face, humming Japanese pop-rock. A week ago, I would’ve been horrified at the idea of drawing this much attention to myself. Now, it just felt good to not give a crap.
It didn’t take long to get to the mall.
The mall wasn’t as crowded as I expected for a weekday afternoon. I kept my earbuds in, but I turned the music down a little. It felt good to just be out, even if I was on a mission for soap and a cookbook.
First stop was the bookstore. It slled like it always did, like paper. I walked past the sections for new releases and bestsellers, heading straight for the back where they kept the non-fiction stuff.
I found the cooking aisle pretty easily.
I scanned the titles. ’Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day.’ Nope. ’The French Laundry Cookbook.’ Definitely not. ’Keto for Beginners.’ I wasn’t even sure what keto was.
’This is harder than I thought,’ I thought, pulling out a book with a smiling celebrity chef on the front. I flipped through it. The pictures looked way too perfect, and the ingredient lists were a mile long. I put it back.
I just needed sothing basic. Sothing that assud I had the cooking skills of a toddler.
After about ten minutes of looking, I finally found it, tucked away on the bottom shelf. The cover was plain, no fancy pictures. It was just called ’How to Cook for Yourself.’
’Nice. This one seems promising.’
I opened it up. The first Chapter was literally titled "Stocking Your Kitchen." It had pictures of different pots and pans and what they were used for. The next Chapter was about how to boil water.
"This is the one," I muttered to myself. It was exactly what I needed.
I took the book to the counter. The guy who rang up had a long, gray ponytail and didn’t even look at . He just scanned the barcode, told the price, and put the book in a bag. The whole interaction took less than thirty seconds.
It was perfect.
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