I am struck by how everything seems stale. Then I realize 'stale' is probably the wrong word. Putrid is more like it.

“What the hell is that smell?!” I grab my nose and step backward.

Red is moving quickly to get some windows open. “Smells like something went bad in the fridge.”

“Lord help me! That is awful. C'mon lets get some gloves and bleach water made.”

“I'm miles ahead of you!” Red hands me a pair of latex gloves from under the sink.

We both pull our t-shirts up over our noses. Then we carefully approach the refrigerator and slowly open the door. We jump backwards and grab onto each other like something might jump out. Nothing does, thankfully. I notice there are some leftovers containers that are growing science projects. Really. All these people looking after me and no one wanted to come check my house. I shake my head at the thought.

“I'm not washing that. I'm not even opening it long enough to scrape it out so the dishwasher can wash it.” Red looks ill, like she is about to gag.

“Toss it. Toss all of it. I'll get new containers.” I shake my head, again. Seems like that’s all I’ve got. She and I are in full agreement on that one.


A Place to Stand