Who narrates the narrators?
The coffee pot runs dry after lunch and the herbal tea does not come on before 3pm, and strictly after she is done narrating the crime serial on page 4 destined for a zine in the 60s.
Which means she gets to boil the kettle, and wait.
And get to choose lemon ginger. Extra honey.
Something smoother, unlike the acrid whiteout she could smell on the other side of the manuscript; Something more unidirectional, than the new typewriter this writer got that can backspace.
Come to think of it, she is probably the one who makes the 3pm pot of tea
The narrator a booth over prefers Earl Grey, hot, but he gets to narrate Wattpad material and he can get his own tea if he wants it so bad.
She closed the studio door behind her at 5pm on Friday.
Continue on Highway 05 for another 20 kilometers
Slight right to exit
Road closure up ahead
In 200 metres, turn left.
You have arrived at your destination.
Welcome home.
CALDO VERDE, the way your grandma’s grandma used to make it, listen close.
Dice and fry a chorizo in a pot for the grease, transfer it to a plate after it’s rendered.
Then add two diced onions and cook until translucent, add minced garlic and when aromatic, add chicken stock, cubed potatoes, and salt. Boil and simmer until the fork glides in. A dash of black pepper.
Have your husband use a masher until chunks disappear. Add chopped collard greens — or whatever dark leaf you can find, and simmer until you are done slicing bread.
Serve with extra olive oil, the sausages, and two slices of bread. Turn on the TV.
Apply to intimate areas. Do not use if quality seal is broken or missing. Consult doctor before use if you are pregnant or breastfeeding, trying to conceive as this product may slow down sperm. Avoid contact with the eyes, broken skin or wounds. Keep out of reach of children. Store in a cool dry place away from direct sunlight.
Monday. 9am. The light came through the studio window at the angle it always did, catching the dust above her plywood desk and the IKEA-issue swivel chair.
She opened her manila envelope, adjusted her microphone, and sat down on her grandfather’s old mahogany piece, furnished by his hand with green velvet twice replaced by the servants since.
The fuel protested and the fireplace dulled it to a crackle, a larger crack outside, thunder, and still it was drowned out by the unceasing rain.
-- A four horse carriage pulled to the front of the manor, and the cloaked figure’s knock travelled to her study.
++ A four-horse carriage pulled to the front of the manor, and the cloaked figure’s knock was louder still.
“See what I mean? I don’t know how you handle it!” She bemoaned the backspace in the break room. Clutching the clay mug that another coworker had brought in and was maybe their kid’s kindergarten project.
“Middle school, actually.” He noted, “And it’s not that bad, like, there is a taste, there is something being mulled over, and considered, you get to see them think instead of it arriving on the paper fully formed.”
“It has notes: top, middle, and a base, and you get to be there as it ferments.”
“You are starting to even sound like her.”
“At least I don’t let a recipe narrate my weekend.”
“Please don’t read that far up,” she protested, “Plus, I needn’t mention that your packet tomorrow coined ‘Mary Sue’.”
“I cede that we are both professional casualties.”
“That’s not her voice,” she stated. “she stated plainly,” she adjusted, “You don’t have to narrate that,” she said to the narrator nursing a cup of chamomile in the break room.
“No, but she had her friend write a chapter.”
“Properly credited, I assure you.”