the chocolate melter
“i haven’t seen the stuff up here in three years,” he chimes as he reaches blindly on top of the refrigerator. his fingers first fall upon the tiniest saucepan ever manufactured, which he recalls came in a set, and he places in the sink to be washed. next, down comes a metal cup at the end of a long handle. “it’s a chocolate melter,” he informs me as the hand that holds it travels to the garbage can at my side. what should have been a fluid motion stops abruptly before completion, and his hand hovers over the can, still gripping the handle. “isn’t it funny how that happens,” he says “i haven’t seen this in three years”. he trails off. his inner turmoil continues for a moment, before the chocolate melter rings out a distinctive thump at the bottom of the can.