:50
The microwave sends shock waves on a pallid, lightly seasoned chicken breast as Maureen presses power. The microwave is somewhat anachronistic among the timeworn early 1950’s decor, appliances, and formica dinette.
Maureen thumbs through a newspaper, licking the corner of her index finger, scanning the page, then flipping to the next. She sighs. It was always bad news these days.
The microwave blares and she grabs the hot plate with the corner of a dish cloth polka dotted with stains from decades of frozen dinners.
It’s February and the Christmas tree is still up. It’s coated with years of spray canned snow. The red and green ornament balls are so dusty and worn that they no longer reflect light. The string lights are going dim and the garlands sag like an old cat’s tail, like Petunia’s to be exact, the sixteen year old tabby who circles quietly in the corner. Old family photographs line the walls in hodgepodge frames. On top of the dial television set is a photograph of Maureen’s mother and father, a happy young couple on their wedding day. Maureen cuts into her chicken and billows of steam rise from the center. She impatiently takes a bite, searing the roof of her mouth. She angrily drops the fork. The dining chair squawks as she pushes herself from the table and heads to the television to catch the end of her beloved show.
The Old Timers channel plays a 1950’s sitcom starring the one and only Rick Caraway and his delicately beautiful housewife, played by Amanda May. Amanda has porcelain skin, even in black and white, her rosy cheeks are visible.1950’s TV housewives resembled dolls. They might as well have had their mouth sewn shut, forcing a gentle smile, eyes stuck open, staring at blank space, begging to be played with.
Maureen’s face softens as she watches Rick sniff and hold out a bouquet of red roses to Amanda. The show’s title “The Newlyweds” fills the screen as a cheery piano outro blares. In Remembrance of Rick Caraway. Maureen gasps. “Oh Rick….no no no no no….” The commercial break begins, and an infomercial for some kind of catheter blares through the small speakers.
She scrambles to the landline and dials Jessica, her next door neighbor. “Hi Maureen, is the music too loud again?” “No no, I just need you to look something up for me. It’s urgent!” cries Maureen. “Are you safe? Is everything okay?” Jessica asks. “No, can you use your computer to find out what happened to Rick Caraway?” “Rick what?” Jessica asks. “Caraway! He’s a celebrity, you’d know him!” Maureen responds.“Oh, looks like he died.” “When?!!” Maureen cries. “Last year,” Jessica says. Maureen is silent. “Did you know him?”
Maureen drops the corded phone and curls into a ball on the yellowed linoleum floor. “The Newlyweds” intro music fades in and Maureen throws her slipper at the TV. She misses and knocks over the framed photo of her mother and father. “Oh dear oh dear…” She struggles to her feet and picks up the photograph.
She lightly places it on the table. She grabs the fork and takes a bite, but now the chicken is cold. In a tizzy, she throws the fork and plate into the microwave. She presses “5” twice, then start. After a few seconds, the fork causes it to spark and smoke. Maureen watches in shock. She opens the microwave and is zapped into nothing. Fifty seconds are left on the microwave.
It is 1950, not much has changed. The microwave is now gone, a toaster is in its place. A piece of bread pops up and Maureen’s mother puts it on a plate while humming a song reminiscent of “The Newlyweds” theme. Maureen’s father appears in the kitchen with a bouquet of red roses and kisses her on the cheek. Maureen is a sparkle in her father’s eye.
