The Cupboard

By

Michael Xavier Boggins

 

 

 

 

 

 

Copyrighted Material The Cupboard

Copyright © 2020 by Michael Xavier Boggins. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means— electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise— without prior written permission from the publisher, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

The light that filled the space a moment ago was gone and darkness again prevailed.

“Roll call,” corn starch commanded as if a general taking inventory after a desperate battle.

“I’m here,” the dusty white all-purpose flour grunted, playing along.

“Present and accounted for baby, and as good look’n as ever,” said brown sugar.

“So say you,” the granulated sugar snipped in a mildly prejudiced tone.

“I don’t have time for pettiness.  Stay on task,” corn starch reminded blasting his shelf with a puff of himself—a fine white snow.

“I haven’t moved,” the Martha White corn bread mix responded,” maybe next Sunday morning.”

“Aunt Jemima, say yes, I be here…Aw, buttermilk ain’t noth’n like me.”

“Girl, you just a mix from some factory flour mill,” brown sugar laughed, followed by a chorus of chuckles, with the exception of Martha White and Bisquick.

“Dig it,” the organic whole wheat flour pronounced sounding like a sixties hippie.

The roll continued until no one responded.

“Spices,” are you with us.

Silence.

“Spices,” corn starch insisted.

“Don’t include us in your roll call,” cinnamon, indignant, finally snorted.

“Those spices think they’re all that, up on their top shelf, so high priced,” corn starch whispered, angry at the spice’s arrogance.

“The spices are all here,” saffron confirmed in a response that sounded like a wise ohm.

‘Thank you Mr. Saffron, I mean prince or duke…well thank you,” cornstarch answered nervously.  Saffron was regarded an old sage and spoke infrequently.

“I don’t believe vanilla has responded,” saffron exhaled.

“Vanilla?” corn starch immediately followed.

Nothing.

“Vanilla?” cornstarch tried again—more urgently this time.

“She isn’t here,” almond extract said choking back tears.

“She was almost empty, don’t you remember?  It was her time,” almond continued, his voice cracking.

“Don’t say that,” corn starch blurted upset that the make-up of the cupboard was changing.

Cornstarch was a rule follower and wanted to keep order.  Although he knew others mocked him for calling roll, he felt compelled to.  He didn’t like change and calling the names after the cabinet door closed gave him as sense of control.  Didn’t everyone want to know if someone new had arrived or if one of the regulars was gone?, he asked himself each time he heard a snicker.  Cornstarch’s desire to control what he could was born of a lingering insecurity acquired early in life.  Long before he ever arrived in the cupboard, cornstarch spent his days on a market shelf—like the rest of his cupboard neighbors.  He was a proud newbie, and spoke to his cornstarch neighbors about their good fortune, after all he said, our maize ancestors dated back thousands of years.  He continued proclaiming the virtues of his cornstarch brothers and sisters until, one day when the whole wheat flour nudged the rye.  “Hell son you’re just a distant cousin to your maize ancestors.  Your kind only debuted a hundred or so years ago, so don’t get too big for your box.”  Rye’s comment was met with chuckles from sugar to baking powder.  Cornstarch was embarrassed; even some of his cornstarch cousins joined the others at his expense.  From that day forward, his exuberant youthful pride never again surfaced.  It’s funny how a wound suffered early on can stick to you like a burr in a woolen sock.

 

Chapter Two

“I don’t care what you say; them spices shouldn’t talk down to us.  They think they’re spice don’t smell up there all lined up alphabetical,” brown sugar lamented her usual argument,” we should vote on who gets the top self.”

“They’ve always been on that shelf and always will be.  A vote would be a meaningless exercise.  You should accept it and concentrate on other subjects,” granulated answered didactically.

“Who asked you, Miss sparkly white?  You just as bad as them if you ask me,” brown sugar barked.

“I’m just tired of hearing the same old song,” granulated responded in a monotone voice.

“Well I don’t care.  Get used to it.  Cause I’m going to keep talk’n until someone listens,” brown sugar was defiant.

“You okay almond?  I know you were sweet on vanilla,” brown changed subjects speaking softly to the ailing extract.

“If only they would use me more often.  We could have gone together.  She was the most beautiful caring extract I have ever known, her scent, the shape of her bottle, her label.  She opened her heart to everyone.  She was such an amazing soul.  Do you remember the stories she told of her home in tropical Madagascar—the warm days and nights and ocean blue?  How she came from a delicate orchid that scaled trees and only bloomed for a short time.  She was such a romantic creature and I wanted to be by her side until the end of my days.  I only wish I would have told her of my feelings,” almond finished sobbing again.

“She knew how you felt about her, and she felt the same.  I ain’t saying you shouldn’t have told her like it was, but she could see right through that bottle of yours,” brown said with a smile.

“How do you know?” almond asked, surprised at brown’s claim.

“Because she told me, I can’t believe how clueless you males can be,” brown snickered.

Almond began crying again, but this time the tears were of the happier sort,” I know she is in a wonderful, peaceful place, and we shall reunite one day.”

“Can someone give that extract a handkerchief?  How much longer do we have to listen to that alcohol infused nut juice?” black pepper had had enough.

“What a load of sentimental crap!  You’re a fool.  When you’re done, you’re done.  It’s over.  Fini,” the ground clove spouted in a particularly cold manner, not caring if his sentiment wounded almond.

“That was cold clove,” baking powder shot back.

“He might as well come to terms with the facts.  Make the best of what you’ve got almond, because this is all there is,” clove continued softening nothing for the broken hearted extract.

“Don’t pay clove no mind almond.  I’m with you, vanilla is in a magical place have’n fun with all her kin,” brown said with a nod to almond.

“Rubbish,” clove retorted needing to get the last word.

“What if clove is right?” almond whispered.

“I don’t often agree with brown, but in this I do.  There is a larger purpose, and we shall know another existence when our time here is done.  Have faith almond,” granulated sugar asserted.

“Oh brother,” sage chimed in, “clove is right, this is it, quit deluding yourselves.”

“You’ll see, you’ll see,” brown again stated her opinion.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” clove chuckled as others joined in a chorus of laughs.

“I don’t understand why it’s not okay for Mr. Almond Extract and Miss Brown Sugar to have their opinions without being ridiculed,” all spice said politely joining the debate.

“Listen to all spice.  You don’t even know who you are.  You’re a mutt,” bellowed sage.

All spice grew quite as the rest of the “pure” spices howled.

Brown sugar may not put on airs like those of her refined white cousin, but she remembers her roots well.  In times now gone she was smeared as being inferior, and prone to infestation with microbes, as a result she wears a chip on her sack.  Brown won’t back down from a fight, especially when that fight is to preserve her rights as an equal member of the community.  Yet despite her stout front, her heart is as big as any in the cupboard.  She respects as respect is given, and she will comfort and sacrifice willingly.  As with almost all who navigate life, she has her own insecurities and guards her heart.  Once during peak holiday season she remained the only sack of brown sugar on the store’s shelf.  Surrounded by five and ten pound bags of refined granulated sugar, she was hounded relentlessly with claims of her inferiority.  The bags of white sugar were so merciless, that she began to doubt herself.  She thought of inching toward the shelf’s edge and allowing herself to fall to the floor.  The stock boys would sweep her up like so much dust when the store again opened.  As she was contemplating her decision, she remembered from whence she came and all those who taught her and loved her.  In a moment of clarity, she realized that the voices of her “refined” neighbors meant nothing.  Although her feelings of lowliness come to roost from time to time, her better angels have always carried the day.  It’s funny how a moment of weakness can sometimes turn into a moment of strength.

 

Chapter Three

As it often does, time helped heal almond’s heart, although he wasn’t looking forward to meeting a new vanilla, and watching him or her take up residence where his companion once stood.  He found it odd that the woman of the house had not yet replaced the extract—it had been some time.  Maybe she’s forgotten vanilla is gone, almond reasoned.  He let the thought go and drifted, allowing sleep.

It caught almond off guard when the cupboard door opened bathing the interior with light.  He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep.  He looked on drowsily as gentle hands straightened and stocked shelves and then closed door.

“Roll call,” starch began

All the usual chit-chat followed starch’s command, but there were new voices.

“Where am I?” the new vanilla extract bottle asked with trepidation.

“Welcome to our cupboard,” almond extract answered warmly.

“Cupboard?” the new arrival questioned further.

“She doesn’t know what a cupboard is, the poor thing,” Bisquick sympathized,” It’s a place where baking supplies, spices, and flavorings like yourself are stored.”

“I was on a shelf a short time ago with my brothers and sisters when I was pulled down.  I don’t remember much,” the unopened vanilla bottle told.

“Well you better enjoy your cupboard time while you can Milli Vanilli.  Your predecessor didn’t last very long,” dill burst out laughing.

“You’re a nasty weed.  If I could get up on that shelf of yours…,” almond extract said heatedly making his bottle rock from side to side.

This only made dill laugh harder.  Laughter spread through the spice ranks (except of course for saffron) and a few others on the lower shelves.

Almond didn’t mount a comeback already feeling the fool for letting dill get under his lid.

“I think you’re a gentleman,” vanilla extract whispered.

Almond extract, is indeed a gentleman.  Almond longs for a lasting relationship with a feminine companion, but it has always eluded him.  Each time something occurs to rob him of his dream.  In his heart of hearts he knows he is partly to blame.  Almond has had his chances, but his fear of rejection has prevented him from voicing his feelings.  On several occasions almond vowed to himself that he wouldn’t let another opportunity slip away, and though he has taken small steps, his vows have come and gone like the fleeting reds and golds of autumn.  Who can say they care for rejection, certainly not me, but almond has never been able to get past the pain of his first experience with it.  It happened when he was young.  All of the eager bottles were lined up on factory’s conveyor, anxious to be filled.  The machine started perfectly and the bottles began to progress to the filling station.  All was going well until a new machine operator made an error and selected the wrong option from the control panel as our friend almond arrived at the labeling and packaging stations.  The label applied to almond read orange extract, was crumpled and crooked, and to complete the picture, he was abruptly deposited in a lemon extract box.  All of the other bottles roared, the way one would when a slapstick routine is pulled off without flaw.  Poor almond was eventually cleaned and made right at a rework station, but his fellow extracts never looked at him the same and would endlessly repeat the story of almond’s humiliation and would seldom include him in the business of the day.  It’s funny how a misapplied label can influence you for life—if you let it.

 

Chapter Four

The cupboard’s temperature had grown cooler.  It occupied a portion of the kitchen’s exterior wall, and this was a sure sign autumn was gaining a foothold.

The cupboard door opened again, as it had on many occasions when grandma returned from the grocer’s.  This time she pushed a bag of jasmine rice onto corn starch’s shelf, pinning starch against the side and rear boards of the cupboard.

“What is going on?” starch bellowed as soon as the door closed, “rice doesn’t belong in here, and especially on this shelf.  Get off of me.”

“Are any of you noticing a pattern?” sage said trying to get a glimpse of what was happening on starch’s shelf,” she is becoming more confused and forgetful every day.  This doesn’t bode well.”

Sage’s contention that the owner was having difficulty was, unfortunately, true.  As the sand in time’s hour glass continued to pour, grandma had increasing difficulty accomplishing what once required little thought.  There were misplaced ingredients, a decline in her baking activities, frequent discussions aloud when alone, and the sound of cupboard doors opening and closing in search of something, though what, she didn’t always know.  Sage wasn’t the only cupboard dweller that noticed these changes, but few knew what it meant for grandma or the household’s long term prospects.  Saffron once said, after noticing the difficulty grandma was having, that he could see changes coming that would require all in the cupboard to take stock, but had said nothing since.  All starch could think about presently was the immediate discomfort of having his personal space violated.

“I’m sorry sir, I had no voice in choosing my current location—I mean the shelf madam selected.  I’m from Thailand and am just learning about the United States,” jasmine said.

“Another import…has she lost her mind?” cinnamon asked.

“Excuse me sir, but I believe cinnamon comes from Sri Lanka,” jasmine said respectfully as the others in the cupboard let out a collective gasp.

“Don’t you dare throw that back at me newbie.  I’ve been here for a generation or more.  You’re just off the boat,” cinnamon shot back preferring not to look at himself in the mirror.

“As jasmine rice has been cultivated for thousands of years, many, many, more than cinnamon, your choice of the word “newbie”, is perhaps ill chosen,” jasmine enunciated eloquently.

“You’re a newbie to this cupboard and best learn when to remain silent,” cinnamon railed harshly.

“I believe you are correct, I will remain silent for the time being,” jasmine responded leaving the door open for further comment.

Cinnamon didn’t respond further, feeling somehow he didn’t want to cross swords with this new member of the cupboard.

Perhaps one shouldn’t wish that a snob get his hand called, but there is something satisfying about such an event.  Jasmine artfully noted cinnamon’s origins much to cinnamon’s consternation.  Though a long time resident of the cupboard (some of the spices whisper too long inferring he has lost some of his kick), cinnamon is still a newbie in his own right, at least to this land.  It seems he didn’t want the others to view him as an import.  Cinnamon’s approach to life was to keep others on their heels.  He had been bullied in his formative years and rather than breaking the pattern and stand up for others, he chose to become a bigger bully.  He ran his mouth, intimidating others with his cupboard seniority and supposed knowledge, but it was largely an act.  At heart, cinnamon was an insecure spice that hid his own vulnerabilities by putting others down.  He wasn’t accustomed to the sophisticated argument someone like jasmine could muster—someone who had real world knowledge and experience.  Cinnamon lived in fear his shelf companions would discover his shortcomings and his stature as a leader in the spice community would be gone.  It’s funny how you can go through life thinking your masquerade is intact, when in truth those around you can see through you like a clean window on a sunny day.

 

Chapter Five

“I used to be king,” the all-purpose white flour lamented,” Grandma always reached for me first, but now its whole wheat, or some organic blend.  I’ve heard the others say she even buys ready-made pie crusts.  The world is changing and not in a good way.  Just look at our cupboard.  Nobody understands what I’ve lost.  No body hears me or knows my suffering.”

“She still reaches for you plenty.  You’re just looking at this the wrong way,” whole wheat said trying to distract the others from focusing on what white said about the cupboard.

“That’s easy for you, you’re taking over.  She should have never let you in our cupboard, everyone was happy with the way it was,” white flour said in a venomous tone.

“What do you mean, “Just look at our cupboard”?” black pepper asked defiantly.

“Oh, it’s on now,” brown sugar quipped.

“In the old days everyone in this cupboard respected my standing, my hierarchy, my importance within the community,” all-purpose answered raising his voice to match pepper’s.

“I’ll tell you what you mean, you mean when the rest of us were made to bow to you, when you practically had a shelf to yourself, when the rest of us were under your thumb,” black pepper railed on,” and now that others are getting a piece of your pie you’re seeing the reality the rest of us have been dealing with.”

“Speak for yourself pepper, I never bowed to that bag of dust,” cyan snorted.

“Mind your own business red,” black pepper said hoping to shut cyan up.

“I’ll say what I want when I want.  Don’t you try to shut me down.  I can bring more heat in one teaspoon than you’ve got in that whole bottle of yours,” cyan huffed.

“You bring it anytime red.  When I’m done, you’ll be just so much red dust,” pepper laughed.

“Anyway white, you better get used to it, because that clock isn’t going to turn back, your days on the throne are long gone,” black pronounced with conviction.

“I wish I had a shelf to myself away from you and your kind,” all-purpose said in anger.

“That’s good by me.  I want a shelf of my own, so I’d never have to see that white dust of yours again,” pepper said with an equal dose of anger.

Is it true white all-purpose flour was “all that” back in the day?  Yes, I guess you’d say he was.  He was the center piece of most any cake, any roux, any pastry, any pie crust, and any gravy.  Many times, the shelf was occupied by not one five pound sack, but three.  Others in the cupboard couldn’t help but envy all-purpose’s position of importance and high standing.  For his part, all-purpose was a decent milled grain that treated the rest in reasonable fashion, but he also knew his place of prominence and would remind the community from time to time.  All-purpose never dreamed the status quo would change, but time and tide as is said, and it didn’t wait for all-purpose either.  The composition of the cupboard wasn’t altered overnight, but by one member at a time the cupboard he knew disintegrated—at least that’s a word he would use.  Perhaps the pendulum swung too far too quickly and all-purpose felt threatened by the loss of all he once knew.  In the midst of loss, he couldn’t think objectively, he still can’t.  The new additions to the cupboard could have been viewed as strengthening the community, as new members of a team destined to accomplish great things, but as has been said, it was almost impossible for all-purpose to see it that way.  Maybe if the tables were turned, the other ingredients would have reacted similarly.  But there was nothing hypothetical to be argued with all-purpose, he was bitter and wanted one thing, one thing that he would never again have.  So all-purpose sees the world through his lens and tends to lash out when his loss, his longing, are given fuel.  All-purpose may yet adjust—it remains to be seen.  It’s funny how loss can stop one in their tracks, it takes true bravery to march on and find the gold in what is new—that kind of bravery is hard to muster.

 

Chapter Six

After all-purpose and pepper traded their contempt, the cupboard grew quiet.  The uneasy silence was suddenly broken when the door to the cupboard opened and an ingredient that had never been remotely considered was placed on the shelf between granulated and brown.  The door to the cupboard closed.

“Roll call,” starch began again.

“Forget the roll call starch, it’s a new arrival.  What are you?” granulated asked in a tone that conveyed shock and disgust simultaneously.

Brown was trying her best to wiggle away from the new resident and took great effort to move a few millimeters.  Each time she moved the envelope leaning against her fell further in her direction.

“Get off me,” brown barked.

“If I could, I would senorita,” the Hispanic accent rang out.

“I don’t want you lean’n all up against me,” brown shot back.

“I fear we have a problem then,” the envelope of taco seasoning said in a calm voice,” I cannot move easily so I am afraid we are going to be close neighbors.”

“Pepper, leave room on your shelf for me,” brown said sarcastically.

“The neighborhood maybe, but not my shelf,” pepper informed brown.

“Say what?  What’s up your butt?” brown answered stung by what pepper said.

“You wouldn’t fit in…I mean you wouldn’t be happy.  Well you know,” pepper finished awkwardly.

“Yeah, I know.  I know you ain’t no better than all-purpose or granulated is what I know,” brown accused.

Neither pepper nor all-purpose nor granulated spoke, choosing to let sleeping dogs lie.

“Yeah, I know,” brown grunted once more.

“And now I’m stuck with some south of the border intruder,” brown said in disgust.

“I’ll not be a burden,” taco seasoning said politely, possessing a formidable command of English,” Do you realize how hostile the environment is in this cupboard?”

“What do you know?  You’ve only been here a few minutes.  I don’t know if you’re even legally allowed to be here,” all-purpose piped in,” I would keep quiet until you get to know us bandido.”

“Of course, you are right, it could take years to judge you fairly,” taco answered.

“Are you being a smart…?” all-purpose stopped short of expressing his full thought.

“Perhaps just a little,” taco chuckled.

“You don’t want to start off this way, you hear me poncho,” all-purpose pushed back.

“I hear you Mr. Flour, I’ve heard you all my life,” taco answered in a distant voice.

“Just mind your place,” all-purpose said making sure he had the last word.

Black pepper was a well-educated spice and was proud of his heritage having learned from his fellows of his ancient roots.  He was taught pepper was once so valuable, it was used as a means to purchase goods, settle debts, and to enhance flavor in the kitchens of those who could afford to part with their gold.  But like many others in the world at large, black pepper experienced prejudice early on, as it was his fate to be placed on an upscale market shelf in a section inundated with spicy sauces, exotic chilies, and peppery concoctions from Mississippi to Malaysia.  He expected he would be accepted, no, honored as one who had been revered throughout time, unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.  The others surrounding him were full of ridicule, calling him a has-been, adding that his profile wasn’t complex enough to be used in any dish of consequence.  Worst still, our black pepper was already ground, not even a pepper corn which, in their opinions, was the equivalent of buying citrus in a little green bottle.  After the chorus of mockery subsided, black pepper was ignored and treated like a second-class spice.  When he attempted to join the others in conversation, he was told to mind his shelf and only speak if spoken to.  Day upon day of this callousness continued until pepper’s view of the world changed.  He now believed all, who weren’t just like him, were motivated purely by prejudice.  Now, pepper’s default reaction was to assume discrimination was imminent.  Of course, many times pepper was right, but there were also those who, though different than pepper, reached out genuinely and were rebuffed.  Isn’t it funny how wounds can affect us in such a way that we don’t see true kindness and equality and love when it does knock on our door?

“Roll call,” starch’s familiar call rang out,” I just want to be sure.”

 

Chapter Seven

The door opened again to the sound of excited voices.

“In here grandma?” the young girl asked.

“Yes, I got it just for you,” grandma replied.

“Here it is,” the girl said as she pulled the pouch of taco seasoning from the shelf.

“Adios,” taco’s last words drifted away as darkness descended upon the cupboard.

“Just as well,” brown said not believing her own words.

“We don’t agree on many things brown, but I completely agreed with you this time,” granulated spoke up.

“Me three,” pepper added.

“Make that four,” all-purpose said, joining the others.

“But what he said bout our cupboard, the funny sound’n taco man, he’s right,” Aunt Jemima remarked bucking the trend.

“Corn starch…close the flaps on that box of hers.  She’s always a step behind,” all-purpose said blowing her off.

Yeah, a step behind, brown thought to herself—Aunt Jemima is a step ahead this once.

 

Chapter Eight

Amidst the vitriol, almond and new vanilla were in their own world.  Over the weeks spent together, vanilla was falling for almond, and for almond’s part, he never knew he would feel this way again.  Almond told vanilla stories of the holiday baking season and how they would both be used to flavor cookies, cakes, and pastries.

“The house will fill with aromas of us, cinnamon, butter, fruit, and nuts that come from everywhere you can imagine.  There will be visitors, and all will be happy to be together.  Children will laugh and play and golds, greens, and reds adorn the room.  You will love it vanilla,” almond finished by rocking his bottle to get a little closer to her.  Vanilla soaked up every word; she was enchanted with the visions almond created through his words.  She had dreamed of meeting an extract that would make her feel what she was now experiencing, although she thought it would be another vanilla.  Her vanilla relatives would not approve of her feelings for a non-vanilla extract, but she pushed those thoughts aside to follow her heart.

“Are you okay?” almond asked.

“Yes almond, why do you ask?” vanilla responded regaining focus.

“You looked like you were somewhere else,” almond answered gently.

“I guess I did drift away, I’m sorry,” she quietly apologized.

“No apology necessary,” almond reassured her.

“I can’t wait for the holiday season,” vanilla said with excitement as she inched closer to almond.

Though they neither of them proclaimed what was in their hearts, almond and vanilla chatted on as those in love always do, sharing feelings and tales of the past and hopes for the future.  The pair was so engrossed in their words and mutual emotions; they did not notice they were being observed.

 

Chapter Nine

“I don’t believe it has to be this way,” vanilla suddenly voiced hoping to change even one mind.

“I think she’s right.  And I don’t care what you say about me…why can’t we try a different way,” allspice said joining vanilla.

“The love bird and the mutt,” laughed sage.

“I think they right too,” Aunt Jemima raised her voice.

“Great, now everyone’s favorite aunt knows all,” cyan said joining the fray, “I think some of what all-purpose said is right, we need things to go back to the way they were, where everyone kept with their own kind and understood their place in the cupboard.”

“Did you consider that perhaps we were meant to be together in order to learn from each other?” saffron said in his calm penetrating voice.

“Are you back to life’s mysterious larger purpose?” clove asked sarcastically.

“I don’t find it mysterious,” saffron replied in a way that shut down clove’s sarcasm.

 

Chapter Ten

Grandma opened the door and a glint of brown caught her eye just before she heard the distinct sound of shattering glass.  The fluid that a moment ago was securely kept now covered the granite counter and ran down the face of the lower cabinets.  Grandma looked at her now splattered shirt she had pulled fresh from the laundry that morning.  The sweet aroma of vanilla filled the air.

“What in the world,” grandma exclaimed looking at the mess.

“How could that have happened?” grandma asked aloud looking up at the shelf that vanilla once occupied.  Nothing, except for the almond extract lying on its side, looked out of place.  Grandma righted the almond extract, shook her head, and began picking up the larger shards of the broken bottle.

Almond was dazed and his cap ached.  He looked in every direction to find vanilla, but she was gone.  Almond was stretching to look downward when grandma closed the cupboard door.

“Where is she?” almond asked.

“Oh almond,” is the only thing allspice said beginning to shed her spicy tears.

 

Chapter Eleven

Almond was devastated.  Despite the urging of those who cared for him and the needling of those who cared not, almond said nothing.  His heart was more than broken, it was all together gone.  Nothing but hollow pain occupied the hole left behind.  His normal MO was to lay blame on himself, but what had happened was so blurry, so bewildering, and so illogical, that he couldn’t muster the will to take it on.  The shelf that days ago was alive and warm with possibility, now stood vacant and dead to him.  If there was room between door and shelf for his bottle, he would allow gravity to have its way so he could join his vanilla.

As almond sunk further into numbing depression, one looked on in silence wondering if any saw his deed.

 

Chapter Twelve

An image, a flashback, began to manifest in almond’s cap—a shadowy movement just behind vanilla, then her sudden loss of balance and her knocking him to the shelf before she tumbled to the counter.  Almond wanted nothing to do with these faint memories.  What difference does it make, he reasoned, what was left of her body was swept up, what was left of her blood was sprayed with cleaner and paper toweled away.

But the images haunted him, offering no peace.

When it became obvious he would not escape these recollections, he relented, mouthing silently into the darkness, what then?  All that is important is gone, what then, he thought again?  All he heard to the question he posed was the normal bickering between his neighbors that echoed against the dark wooden walls surrounding him, but, as he lowered his flute in surrender, a quiet voice slowly rose.  It seemed it had no definite source nor was it borne of the others, “do it for me my darling, do it for the cupboard.”  “Vanilla?” almond whispered.  Although he heard nothing further, the words still reverberated in his bottle.  They were not so much words, but feelings.  A strength that had been gone was coming alive in almond.  He knew now it was up to him to make things right, and to let the others know the truth behind vanilla’s tragic fall.

Almond no longer sought to avoid what came to mind, rather he embraced it.  Each time he replayed the scene, detail he was missing early on became apparent.

Almond began taking stock of those around him:

The food coloring family, the birthday candles, the cake decorations, orange extract, and the shredded coconut.  He decided to try to eliminate those he thought were unlikely to be involved.

He began with food coloring.  Other than the normal slights the siblings launched at each other, he had no recollection of the food color family ever saying a hurtful thing to or against anyone, in fact they were the opposite, having encouraged others to be civil.  The other thing that tended to rule them out was their proximity to where vanilla stood.  The food color clan was at the very rear of the cupboard and would have been blocked by others.  One down almond thought.

Next, the birthday candles, who rarely said anything, this made it difficult to rule them in or out.  They were closer to vanilla’s position, but they were light in weight and would have had difficulty in causing vanilla’s fall.  Still, candles would remain on the list, at least for now.

The cake decorations, made up of sprinkles, shiny silver balls, and vibrantly colored granulated sugar, was another peaceful family, whose attitudes toward life, perhaps due to their intended purpose, were celebratory and positive.  Almond never heard an angry word or prejudice statement emanate from any member of the decorations family.  Their position, relative to vanilla, would have made it next to impossible to get to her anyway as they were hemmed in by shredded coconut.  Almond scratched the decoration family off the list.

Orange extract’s location was of prime concern.  Being an extract, and grandma’s propensity to organize, he stood just beside vanilla.  He generally kept his feelings close to his label, but had inferred disapproval of almond and vanilla’s burgeoning relationship.  Orange believed extracts, and all ingredients for that matter, should only interact with their own kind.  Even love should give no cause to cross those lines.  But would orange really go so far—would he harm another extract over his belief?  The thought made almond shutter.  Orange was certainly a suspect.

What of shredded coconut?  She was up in years.  Grandma had put her in the cupboard with plans to bake a cake, but never got around to it.  Miss Coconut was well past her Use-By Date and was having a hard time, further she was a kind old bag of coconut, so almond crossed her of the list presently.

What to do next?, he silently questioned.

 

Chapter Thirteen

As the days went by the bickering and rhetoric intensified.  Sides were forming and those who wished to find a way to a workable middle ground were being drowned out by the extreme voices.

“Why can’t we agree to disagree and still be civil to each other?” allspice asked in her gentle, heartfelt manner.

“You’d better stop with your lukewarm position and pick a side,” dill instructed in an edgy tone.

“I second that sentiment,” black pepper said, adding his voice to the exchange.

“I’m with allspice, there ain’t no reason we can’t get along.  We can all have a voice,” brown sugar said with her usual flair.

“Isn’t any,” black pepper corrected.

“Isn’t smizit, you know it all,” brown responded with frustration.  “If you listened to my message instead of try’n to fix my grammar, we could maybe make some progress.”

Black pepper snickered dismissively.

“Brown and Miss allspice be right,” Aunt Jemima threw in.

“Ladies, I appreciate your sentiments, however, I’m afraid the divisions in our cupboard are too broad and selecting a side is the only option,” granulated said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Taking a step back, one could understand both factions’ points.  One view was to return to a past time, that to many, seemed a better place.  A time when grandma cooked with a known set of ingredients, a time when those ingredients held a place in the cupboard no one thought would ever change.  The community was stable, there was plenty of work for those so often chosen, there were fewer personalities, and rarely was there a dissenting voice.  Cupboard life was good, at least for part of the population, but others found themselves unable to express themselves freely.  Life, however, rarely stays the same; it has a way of moving on.  Grandma’s baking and cooking habits changed.  She tried new things, the grandchildren wanted to experiment with new flavors, and their mother wanted them to eat healthier meals.  All this led to new cupboard dwellers and new voices wanting to be heard, to get the respect they craved.  They weren’t happy with the status quo; I wonder, would we be?  Equality, though difficult to achieve, is still important to pursue, but the pursuit of it generally means those who benefitted from an unbalanced scale have a difficult go of it, and in fact, that same scale sometimes moves too far, over compensating, at least initially.

 

Chapter Fourteen

Orange was sleeping and almond took the opportunity to whisper a question to coconut.  “Miss Coconut, I hate to trouble you, but I was wondering if you happened to be looking toward vanilla the day she fell?”

“I’m sorry sonny, were you speaking to me?” coconut replied drowsily.

“Yes, I was asking if you were looking in my direction when my beautiful vanilla fell from our shelf?” almond tried again.

“Wasn’t she the sweetest thing?” coconut asked kindly.

“Yes, she was, she was as sweet as they come, but I was asking Miss Coconut, did you happen to see her fall that day?” almond asked again patiently.

“Yes the poor thing did fall, that was so tragic,” coconut responded.

“I agree it was terrible, but I was wondering, did you see what caused her to fall?” almond tried again.

“I don’t know why he bumped into her…it was so careless.  Don’t you think he was careless?” she asked.

“Who was careless Miss Coconut?” almond pressed on.

“Well him, the one beside her, that orange one.  I never did like him.  He has a mean streak,” coconut answered adding her opinion.

Almond grew quiet.

“Are you alright sonny?” coconut asked in a concerned voice.

It took almond a minute to find his focus again,” Oh I’m sorry, yes I’m alright.  Thank you for taking the time to talk,” almond stated respectfully.

“You’re welcome sonny, I like talking to young folk,” coconut said with a smile.

Almond grew quiet again.

 

Chapter Fifteen

There were voices in the kitchen.  They could hear grandma, and her daughter, Susan, but there was a man’s voice as well.

“Yes mam, you wear it around your neck like a necklace.  If you should fall, God forbid, our system will alert the emergency response folks and your family,” the man said as if he’d said it a thousand times before.

“I don’t know sweetheart, I’m doing alright.  I think this is too much,” grandma said in her gentle voice.

“Mom, you’ve had a few episodes, you called them spells…you know what I’m talking about.  We just want to be sure you’re safe.  We can’t be with you all the time.  Can you give it a try?” her daughter pleaded.

“Well if you think it best, I’ll try it,” grandma answered hesitantly.

“You won’t regret it mam,” the man’s voice echoed.

Susan and the man continued to talk over the details while grandma puttered about the kitchen.

By week’s end grandma’s new safety system was turned on.

 

Chapter Sixteen

Almond contemplated different ways to approach orange but could envision no scenario preferable to a direct approach.

“Why did you do it orange?” almond asked sparing preliminary niceties.

“Do what?” orange returned.

“Why did you push vanilla to her death?” almond asked increasing the intensity.

“You better watch yourself almond,” orange said in a threating tone.

“Or what…you’ll push me off the shelf too,” almond fired back.

“You heard me,” orange repeated.

“I’m going to tell the cupboard what you’ve done.  Everyone needs to know who you are,” almond said pressing forward.

“I’m twice your size little almond, you’d better heed my warning, besides who would believe a pitiful specimen like you?” orange replied with a cocky smirk.

“And you were twice the size of vanilla.  She didn’t have a chance to defend herself.  You pushed her from behind.  You’re a coward, a citrus coward,” almond said fiercely

Almond could see he finally hit a cord.  Orange began rocking and his fluid sloshed from side to side.

“Shut your mouth or you’ll get what’s coming to you.  You and vanilla—it made me sick.  None of this would have happened if you had learned to keep to your own kind,” orange blurted for all to hear.

Almond looked around.  He had been so intent in confronting orange that he hadn’t noticed the cupboard had grown eerily quiet.  Everyone in the cupboard was listening.

In the midst of the confrontation, the cupboard door opened.  Almond squinted when the light hit his eyes.  As he struggled to see, almond was suddenly bumped forward toward the edge of the exposed shelf.  Almond teetered almost falling to the counter.  Grandma reached to catch almond when she saw him wobbling.  Unfortunately, for the second time in as many days, an extract bottle shattered as it impacted the counter—a mess of glass and liquid.

Poor grandma couldn’t understand what was going on.  A second bottle, a second cleanup, and there was no reason she could fathom.  After she tidied up the kitchen, grandma pulled her footstool to face the cabinet and climbed the two steps making her tall enough to see to the back of the shelf from which the bottle had fallen.  She found almond lying prone.  “What is going on up here?” she asked aloud as she set almond upright.  In grandma’s effort to stop almond falling, she knocked orange over, and he slid off the shelf before she could prevent his demise.

Those in the cupboard could still smell the faint aroma of orange before grandma closed the cupboard door.

For a time, no words were spoken, as the cupboard absorbed what happened.

Hate.  It comes in many forms, and often is the byproduct of fear.  If you don’t look like me, act like me, or believe like me, you must be dangerous.  Perhaps in prehistoric times those instincts protected us, but now they spawn mistrust of our neighbors when in most cases, it is misplaced.  This can lead to misunderstandings or worst.  Unfortunately, the golden rule, at least one of them: treating one as you would want to be treated, doesn’t always hold sway.  Orange was raised on a diet of hate, and hate learned early is hard to overcome.  His belief that different extracts, even if bonded by love, should never mingle was so strong it led to two deaths and heartbreak.  One wonders what could be accomplished if the energy devoted to hate was instead invested in anything but.

 

Chapter Seventeen

The usual sniping died down for a time.  It was hard to say what was in the hearts and minds of all inhabiting the cupboard.  It would be nice to report that the hate, prejudice, and pettiness plaguing the cupboard was miraculously gone, but deeply held feelings are hard to dispel.  Still, what had happened, for all to see, was something that gave pause to even the hardest of hearts.

During this truce of sorts, saffron decided to speak.  He hadn’t in some time, and all, even those who would rather not give him the shelf, grew quite to listen.

“Do any of you believe those with opposing views and experiences, be they left or right, upper shelf or lower, black, brown, or white, believer or nonbeliever, newbie or old timer, domestic or from foreign lands, are ever, ever, going to disappear from the cupboard?  Are we doomed to swing from one extreme to another?  Will there be another crime of hatred, and another?  Should we not consider that as much as we might desire to have our own shelves, we are here together and will be until it is our turn to bid farewell?  Given this, can we find it within ourselves to turn our thoughts toward discovering the commonality we share, to build something extraordinary working together?  I don’t know for certain ladies and gentlemen, but as I’ve said before, I sense there is a time ahead when we will be required to work together or we will perish before we’ve reached the fullness of the lives we’ve been given,” saffron stopped saying no more.

There was a brief time of quiet as everyone digested what saffron had said before disagreement and grumbling ensued.  And though several challenged saffron and did their best to bate him into taking sides, he didn’t respond.  Eventually they gave up and went back to arguing amongst themselves.

 

Chapter Eighteen

More than a week went by and despite saffron’s attempt to create some sense of unity, the cupboard was still divided.

The door opened and all could see grandma had decorated the kitchen in the bright shiny colors of Christmas.  She had her apron on which meant holiday baking was on.  The eggs, butter, a new vanilla extract, and the milk were already on the counter.  Grandma reached for the granulated sugar when suddenly she fell to the floor, striking her head on the counter’s edge.  She didn’t move.

“What happened?” brown sugar asked hearing the impact.

“She’s fallen,” white flour answered looking over the shelf’s edge, “her head is bleeding.”

“Is she wearing that thing around her neck?” almond asked.

“That thing around her neck?” flour asked in return.

“You remember that guy came in, and her daughter was here—that safety system,” almond clarified.

“Yeah, okay, I got it.  Let me see…,” flour said while leaning closer to the edge.

“I don’t see anything…wait there’s a weird necklace looking thing lying on the counter.  She’s not wearing it.  Does that mean no one is going to send help?” flour looked his question to almond.

“I don’t know, it was hard to hear what the guy was selling, but it doesn’t look good.  If we don’t hear sirens in a few minutes I’d say it isn’t working,” almond answered with concern in his voice.

“How does her head look?” cornstarch asked wanting an update.

“It isn’t pretty.  Blood is running down the side of her face now,” flour shot back, his voice more intense than before.

The cupboard was now a chorus of conversations ranging the spectrum of concern for grandma to concern expressed by a few selfish members who couldn’t look beyond their own wellbeing.

Ten minutes or more elapsed and still no sirens.

“I’m afraid she’s on her own,” almond quietly and sadly stated.

“They’s got to be somethin we can do,” Aunt Jemima threw her voice into the mix.

“Maybe her daughter will come by,” cinnamon said trying to interject some sense of hope.

“Almond?” all-purpose began with a question.

“Yes flour,” almond returned.

“What do you think would happen to me if I jumped to the counter from way up here?  You think I would split open?” flour finished wanting to know almond’s opinion.

“I don’t know.  I mean maybe you would be okay, your bag is pretty sturdy,” almond tried to sound optimistic.

“That’s high-risk flour, maybe we should let the humans care for their own,” black pepper yelled down from the spice shelf.

“I’m surprised you didn’t tell me to jump right off pepper,” flour answered back, more sincere than sarcastic.

“Well I do kind of hate you, but I don’t want to see you die like this,” pepper responded, trying unsuccessfully to sound hard.

“Thanks,” flour answered.

“You know almond, I’ve been griping about wanting things the way they were.  I’ve even wished I was used up so I wouldn’t care anymore, but when it comes down to it, I really don’t want to die,” flour said in a moment of honesty.

“Flour, I know there have been harsh words thrown around this cupboard, but I don’t think anyone wants you to go this way,” almond reassured flour.

“I’m going to try it,” flour said struggling to move to the shelf’s edge,” wow it looks a lot further down than I thought it would.”

“Flour, I don’t think you should try this thing.  Grandma may not make it anyway,” cornstarch said in a concerned voice.

“I hear ya starch, but I can’t just sit on my shelf if she has a chance,” flour said still staring downward.

“What is your plan?” almond asked, as flour leaned further forward to get a better view of the counter.

“Get down there and see if I can get that necklace thing to call for help,” flour answered directly.

“Okay,” almond answered not knowing what else to add.

“I’m not happy with who I’ve become.  Maybe I can make a difference for grandma.  She’s been good to us,” flour said quietly to almond, in a rare show of vulnerability.

“You’re a brave sack.  You’re right; grandma has taken care of us.  Good luck,” almond said feeling his words inadequate, given the circumstances.

All stopped talking and watched as flour moved forward in an awkward shuffling motion.  In a final push, flour leapt from the shelf he had always called home and let gravity take hold.

There was a formidable thud when flour hit the counter’s surface.  White dust filled the air.

“Flour…flour…you alright?” almond yelled straining to see.

“I think so…I believe I split my sack a bit on one side,” flour answered coughing.

“Can he move?” Aunt Jemima hollered—concerned about flour’s condition.

“Tell her I’m okay and I’m starting to inch over now,” flour said struggling to cover the ground to the pendant.

“I can see him now.  He’s making progress,” almond said starting his play by play.

“How far does he have to go?” black pepper shouted from the spice shelf.

“Can he see grandma?  Has she moved?” baking powder asked in a concerned tone.

“I can see her, but it looks like she’s asleep,” flour shouted back.

“How much farther?” granulated asked, in an unusually emotional voice.

“I’d say less than an inch,” almond let the cupboard know.

“Almost there,” flour panted.

“Okay, he made it,” almond bellowed, “he’s trying to push the button.”

“It keeps moving away from me,” flour grunted in frustration, “this isn’t working!”

“Hold on flour, I’m thinking,” almond said looking over the edge.

“I’m worried about her almond, whatever you have in mind you better get on with it,” flour insisted.

“My plan is to jump on your sack.  Then I’ll slide down to the counter.  After that, you get behind the pendant, to keep it from moving, and I’ll try pressing the button,” almond said, sounding less than confident.

Several gasps could be heard echoing through the cupboard.

“I think you’re stupid, and crazy, but I can’t think of anything better,” flour responded with a small chuckle.

Almond began moving toward the edge, “don’t move,” he instructed flour.

“I’m staying put.  I want a ring side seat,” he answered sarcastically.

“Thanks,” almond said looking at a target that seemed the size of a postage stamp.

Those behind almond watched as he teetered forward and vanished.  Most were expecting to hear the sound of shattering glass, but no such sound rang out.  A small poof of white dust rose into the air.

“I see some flour in the air,” brown sugar said with disbelief.

“Hang on almond!” flour screamed as almond began sliding toward the floor.

Flour shifted, arresting almond’s slide just before he fell to the hard tile floor.

“You alright?” flour asked puffing hard—more flour rising upward.

“Yeah, I’m alright.  Got the fluid knocked out of me is all,” almond said in a shaky voice,” thanks for saving my bottle flour.”

“You go almond!” brown sugar cheered.  The rest of the cupboard followed suit surprising almond.

Almond gathered himself and carefully slid off flour rattling as he landed on counter.

“Did he break?” dill yelled, hearing the clatter.

“Almond’s tougher than that,” flour smiled a look at almond.

“Okay, I’m going to plant myself behind that pendant,” flour said beginning his waddle.

“I know I’m lying down on the job, but I’ll get to that button,” almond said with a grin.

Both fought hard to do so, and eventually assumed their respective positions.

“I’m as ready as I’m going to be,” flour notified almond.

“Here goes nothing,” almond said, aligning cap to button.

Almond surged forward, but he slid slightly sideways causing his cap to glance off a plastic ridge surrounding the button.  The pendant had now moved away from almond.

“What happen’d?” Aunt Jemima yelled her question passionately.

“Misfire,” the baking soda informed all.

“Yeah, I choked,” almond barked already inching his way back into position—flour doing the same.

“You be keep’n faith,” Aunt Jemima cried.

“Thanks Miss Jemima,” almond responded in gratitude.

Finally back in position, the boys were ready to give it another go.

“Quiet,” corn starch shouted clinging to the edge of his shelf.

All listened and the kitchen became as silent as a Sunday service communion.

“Grandma is counting on us,” flour said in encouragement.

“I’m ready,” almond said firmly making his final adjustments.

This time almond’s aim was true as he surged forward.  The system came alive as notifications rang through the house.

The cupboard roared their approval for the pair—even the spices.

Soon sirens could be heard in the distance.  Susan and first responders burst into the house and then the kitchen.  Susan dropped to her knees and held her mother’s hand tears streaming down her face.

“Excuse me mam,” the emergency responders commanded.

Off her knees and up against the counter, her daughter stood watching what was happening.  She shifted her position and noticed her hand was white with flour.  She looked round and saw flour and almond on the counter—cupboard door open.

“She must have dropped the flour when she fell?” Susan said aloud.

“I’m sorry ma, what did you say?” one of the two asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry, nothing,” Susan responded.

“Well she’s stable,” the woman dressed in crisp blues said to Susan, “they’ll be able to tell us more once at the hospital.”

“I’ll follow you,” Susan said as she watched her mom being rolled out on gurney.

The kitchen was quiet again.

“Well done flour.  Well done almond,” a single voice rang out from the cupboard, followed by a second round of rousing cheers from the balance of the ingredients.

 

Chapter Nineteen

Grandma had had a stroke.  Her prognosis was good, but her days of living alone were at an end.  Grandma would be moving in with her daughter and the grand kids.

 

Chapter Twenty

“I’ve cleared out the cupboards and boxed-up all but the baking ingredients,” Susan’s friend Stacey called from the kitchen, “do you want to keep them?”

“I don’t think I need anything, I’ve a cupboard full myself,” Susan answered walking into the kitchen.

“Mom, that’s grandma’s baking stuff!  You know she loves to bake.  We should keep everything,” little Tommy pleaded.

“I know she loves to bake…she can use our stuff honey,” Susan said as she patted Tommy’s head.

“We should keep it mom!” Tommy tried again.

“Come on Tommy, you can help me pack grandma’s pictures,” Susan said as she shook her head at Stacey.

 

Chapter Twenty-One

Remnants occupied the curb in front of grandma’s house.  Susan and Stacey did the best they could to sort the important from the less so.  Unfortunately, grandma’s baking supplies fell into the latter bucket.

“It don’t seem right, end’n this way,” brown said, as she struggled to speak, jammed into the corner of an old wine box.

“We did the only thing we could do,” flour said glumly.

“I never pictured it would all end this way,” cinnamon said, no longer from his top shelf, but from a box mixed with jasmine, Aunt Jemima, corn starch…ingredients from every shelf.

“Oh well flour, you hold your head high.  That move you pulled took some serious grain,” almond said proudly.

“Thanks almond, right back at ya.  I couldn’t have done it without you.  And I’d like to say sorry to my cupboard companions for my attitude, I forgot what was really important,” flour said loudly for all to hear.

“There’s way more to you than I thought flour.  You made us all proud,” black pepper added his voice.

Many others opened their hearts, sharing words that should have been said long ago.  Sadly, like so many in the world, our cupboard dwellers began to see things clearly only when the end was near.

The sound of a garbage truck resonated.

“I’m scared,” granulated said breaking down—quite out of character.

“You’re not the only one,” brown said, which somehow made granulated feel better.

The truck’s hydraulic compactor labored as it crushed the neighbor’s refuse, now only a few stops away.  The sobbing also grew louder, but suddenly another sound unexpectedly interrupted—it was a car.

“This is crazy.  Hurry, we’re going to be in the truck’s way,” Susan’s voice rang out.

“Mom, grandma wouldn’t want us to throw away all her baking stuff,” a young girl’s voice answered followed by a little boy’s,” yeah mom that’s what I was trying to tell you.”

With the children’s help, all were loaded into their car, and when they arrived home, stowed in their new cupboard.

“It’s awful crowded in here,” said a new and different corn starch,” but it’s nice to meet ingredients.”

“Thank you,” said old starch,” we appreciate the welcome.  We weren’t expecting to find a new home.”

This new cupboard wasn’t arranged like the old.  Spices mingled with mixes, flours with rice, seasoning mixes with chocolate chips and the old gang couldn’t be happier.

“I guess things ended up pretty well, didn’t they saffron?” almond asked from just behind a beautiful new bottle of vanilla.

“Saffron, you okay?” almond tried again.

Silence.

“There’s no saffron in our cupboard,” a small tin of cinnamon answered.

“But he was with us, wasn’t he?” almond asked everyone.

“Come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing or hearing from him after we were all packed”, dill answered.

“Neither did I,” several others shouted out.

“He must have been left behind,” almond said quietly.

 

Chapter Twenty-Two

A new family was moving into grandma’s old house and the cupboard was once again loaded full of baking ingredients.

“Don’t touch me,” a sack of refined granulated sugar barked to a bag of dark brown sugar.

“Oh brother,” saffron said from the back of the old spice shelf.