Suddenly wide awake, I found myself sitting bolt upright in my bed, awakened from a sound sleep. And this wasn't the first time this happened to me. On two separate occasions just last week something, a sound or a movement, had reached into my peaceful, dreamy state and had me looking around my room, while an uneasy feeling settled over me. But this time was different; I was determined to find out the reason I woke up. Untangling myself from the blankets, I was just getting out of bed when I heard a sound, something like metal being dragged or rolling across wood. There it was - the sound that had been awakening me! I was going to get to the bottom of this. Opening my nightstand drawer, I took out my Glock, purchased for this specific occasion. Sliding a round into the chamber, I got up and proceeded cautiously out of my bedroom.
Knowing my way around the house in the dark has always been easy for me. I'm not a lights on at all times type of person. Maybe in another life I was a commando; I really don't know. And let it be said for the record I'm not one for confrontation. But a home invasion crosses the line of civility; I was ready to move any trespasser in my home to a much closer relationship with his Maker. After all, it was...there it was again - that scraping sound! It seemed to come from the kitchen, just a little way down the darkened hallway.
Leaving my bedroom, I proceeded slowly, acutely aware that stealth was to my advantage. Well, that and the fact that my dogs might have left rawhide chewies, toys and other encumbrances around that have been scientifically proven to gravitate toward bare feet in a darkened environment. Ten feet to go, then five, two. I was at the kitchen doorway, both hands on the gun. I leaned my head back against the wall, closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths to calm myself so I'd be ready when I entered the room. After about three seconds, it was showtime. I crouched low to present less of a target and peeked into the kitchen. And what I saw would be drawn upon my mind forever.
We live in a world that is basically predictable. The sun comes up; we commute to work along with countless other mortgage payers; shop in stores; eat in restaurants; laugh; cry; sneeze. Emerson said that reality is a sliding door and our relationship with it is steeped in mundane routine. Anything not meeting that criteria gives one pause. But in my case on this particular night, my walk down the hallway and into the kitchen left me firmly placed on the other side of that sliding door. I saw there was no intruder in my home; no one dressed in black with a ski mask covering his face; no one with nefarious intent pawing through my possessions, looking for something of value. Rather, the dim light from an outside street light revealed my kitchen cabinet doors were open. Working their way down to the counter tops were the canned goods that had previously been neatly stacked in the cabinets. They were making the sounds I had heard, but were those really small, black, stick-like arms jutting out of the cans?
Transfixed, I watched the scene in front of me; inanimate objects coming to life? Was this some kind of a modern day Edgar Allen Poe story? A flurry of activity to the left caught my eye. On the cabinet by the sink a can of peas had opened itself and was mixing itself with canned carrots. Spinach was heading out the open window, apparently headed for greener pastures. Sauerkraut searched for hot dogs, dragging a package of buns behind itself while beans looked on, practically green with envy. Cans of dehydrated onions and milk sought to reconstitute themselves. Ramen noodles were seeking citizenship; broccoli was watching an old 007 film on the small TV; salt & pepper were sprinkling themselves over everything. I noticed parsley complaining to a a box of raisins that it was sick of being used merely as a decoration, the milk was spilled but no one was crying over it and the watchful eyes of a potato saw all. While the refrigerator opened and closed its door for additional illumination, the bottom over drawer opened and pots spilled out, inviting all the cans' contents to disgorge their contents into their waiting mouths. Toward the end of the evening onions peeled themselves, bringing a tear to many an eye.
For that one, brief and memorable night, I think I knew what Alice felt like when she went through the looking glass.
