Standing On Edge

Downstairs, breakfast was already in full motion. Well…Technically, there wasn’t much motion involved at all- animate objects concerned. Besides that- the smell was overpowering. Breaking through the before perfect, crystal powder scent that dusts the top of your mouth like sifted tablets and sugar- was something stronger, more recognisable- delectable- stomach churning; yellow. Yellow? As my fingers brushed the wall on the final steps to landing, I caught on. Cheese, tomato purée, and burning. Just that nasty, dark, charred kind of burning.
With my left hand I pulled back a swaying mass of curls from my face. That was when I realised what my hair had been shielding me from. It was hard not to splutter the smell was so strong. Yanking my cotton top a bit over my mouth I winced slightly through the wavering, smoky hazes that furled and twisted around, in and out between pristine white mugs, arms that glistened with muscle, and a few silver, glinting items here and there on the polished sideboard. One of these had to be the culprit.

Toast. The Toaster. They had frikkin’ toasted it. Even though out of curiosity I would have stumbled forward to take closer inspection, something- other than the curdling charred scent around me- told me to stay put. Against the flooring, my bare feet began to feel a little awkward. The feeling you get that makes it out as if there’s a layer of soft cold, powdery something or other between the two that shouldn’t be there. In that moment, the back of my thigh seemed a better resting place, and so I let my foot travel there.
‘Hey! It’s you!’- I’m not quite sure what this meant; but to be fair I couldn’t be sure of his name either- the black shoe-polish hair streaking over his somewhat darkly friendly frame of a face. He seemed pleased. Couldn’t argue. Now waving frantically, a smile widening on his face, little grey whisps occasionally entangling with it- he called out to me- as if in a 999 situation: ‘Could you, uhh, grab me those, uhh, pizza slices- please?!!’ My eyes were stinging.

By the time I got over there, it actually smelt quite good. Flipping the pieces out; though- their hard, brittle texture really didn’t appeal to me. All warmth was practically lost- however, curdles of grey stuff persisted on seeping out. Like a person who has lost all body heat but is still managing to breathe out a substance that makes little white billows tumble into the frosted air. To me- the two previous occupants seemed a little tipsy, despite it being th- oh, whatever.

The guy, pressed his feet up against the chair in front of him, sending it forward a little- screeching in a mellow shadow of a noise. …I forgot to mention the noise. Beyond this was a jumble of things:
Something continuously beeping- (assumingly the smoke alarm)-.
Up above; a really smooth Flat TV Screen (that both Devon and his dark haired companion were craning at, working their way through cold, hard, burnt slices of cheese and tomato) that was blabbering away with pops and bangs and shouts and talking and music and ad breaks. Unmistakably, Devon and his friend every so often made an input to this with shouting remarks and oh-my-god-that’s-so-funny-just-cos-it-is laughing.
In the opposite room, a game soundtrack continued to play out in repetition, alongside someone’s personal stereo headphones turned up too loud -fuzzing away with the static of guitars and crashy drums.
And also, something else was whirring. Just whirring.

Briefly, the two receptionists nodded their approval- Devon’s shirt clinging to him with sweat, ridges forming over his shoulders. It made me think that the white and grey skull pattern fitted in quite aesthetically with the smoke. Core, barely made it across the room as he half lunged, half went through the cycle of evolution to get to his seat on the far side of the table. Once there, he looked up to the ceiling for a bit, only to crash back down to the table with more effect. His hands, beautiful, perfectly edged and tapered, stretched out before him and he turned his face as if in anguish due to lack of control- to Devon on his left. Good tactic: in the way of the TV.
Then I realised no matter how ‘In the way of the TV’ you were- to Devon, you were not in the way of the TV. Not at all.

‘Devonnnn, I told her...…’
In his morning voice- Core wailed through a drawl. I flinched. I was still here. Was I not? Devon took another rather carnivorous rip at his pizza. The shoe-polish hair guy laughed abruptly at the screen, and I realised he was wearing a little silver star in his hair.

‘Wahhdo you want me to do, reward you or somethin’?’
One eye up, the other squished further down, yes- Dev mastered that expression- and, delivered it to Core. I was beginning to feel a little left out. Then the goth-haired guy enthusiastically patted the seat closest to me, in front of him, and shoved right up front-seat to the smoking toaster. Perfect. He was still smiling and now rocking it with his toes, back and forth on its pine-resembling supports, until I finally took up the courage and sat myself down.
‘Ughh…. No-‘ Now Core was muffling it into his arms.
‘Oh, right... Uh, like, uh... Melody, ‘cos, like, I thought you were d-‘
‘NO!!!’ He managed to get across insistence alright. ‘Ughh, just gimme a piece o’fackin’ pizzaaaaa!’
At this remark, Devon stopped right still, and began carefully severing the current state of his slice from his teeth which were clamping it in place, slight cracking sounds emerging where the burnt-est of the burnt places were being reluctant to his separation. Core didn’t even open half an eye on it. Before concluding, into his arm and to the table again- ‘ughhh, fackin’ realll pizza! Please!’

SOS Kristina. This was the first time operating since home. But, it was definitely still a skill I could put to practice. Using the pizza wheel, I got to work. I then carefully placed it in the toaster- pointed side down- so that the crust wouldn’t get all charred like the other guys’ did. Then I watched.
I was good with toast. I knew to get a real good piece, you actually had to sit and watch it. Not many people had the time and patience, or even knowledge to do so. But I knew, and it was definitely worth it- for to me, if it wasn’t done properly- the toast wasn’t worth eating.
And… Now! With a P-ping- of my finger on the dimpled button, I cancelled the process just in time- Pizza to Perfection; Up and Out.
‘Perfect!’ ..They all looked at me. My voice sounded so breathy and fairy like- it seemed wrong, like a spot the odd one out, oh no, you don’t even need to- it’s so obvious.

I really wanted it now. But, I gave in anyway and handed the piece over. The piece that was just warm enough, the dough soft but crisp on the edges in my hands; cheesy gloops melting off the sides… I handed it over- to what was Core. In an instant, the other guys’ eyes lit up, and their faces drew back in astonishment. It made me feel rather shameful in giving it to Core who seemed ungrateful- not even opening his eyes to look at it, let alone acknowledging where it came from, or how good it was. He just took it, and began to chew on the edge.
‘Wheeey man! Now look at that! That is some service you got there!’ He was saying this, (the guy with the black hair who’s absence of name was actually beginning to annoy me now) eyes on me and then eyes on the pizza, whilst jabbing Devon, who- in turn, was still mesmerised by my achievement. He continued, pupils glinting- ‘Now, she can make toasted pizza.’

..It’s that astounded silence you get after such compliments and found peace that seems to wrap everything up in a strange kind of ‘well, that was awkward, let’s do something else until that happens again’ way- that came next. Maybe-
‘THAT’S. FACKIN’, REAL PIZZA!’
Abrupt. Core broke the silence, shouting out in exclamation, eyes wide, a grin spreading further than ever documented before for me at the time. ‘That- is real pizza.’ I just nodded. Core walked past me, hand in back pocket and collapsed soon after in the games room, arms out against the cushions of the sofa.
‘Well, that’s him done then.’
I noticed he liked making conclusions on things- The guy with the little star in his black hair. He was stretching, and in doing so sending my chair tipping slightly. He seemed to have forgotten about me being in it.

‘Hey!’ I span around more worried and in shock than annoyed.
‘Oh… Oh, I’m aha, hahahah, I’m… No, really I am sorry.’

When he had actually finished his sentence, he was already off his seat and by my side, his hands around his face in self-despair as he crouched down. He was laughing. Then Devon was in my ear on the other side. I felt strangely surrounded. Catching me off guard, his mocking, smooth as caramel voice- but with an edge- whispered playfully in my ear-
‘Kristinaaaaaa, ‘cos you’re so very, very good at it… Could ya make me and Zack another one or two o’those Pizza Toasties?’ Then he leaned in closer, ‘Pleeeeee-eease?’ Zack. Got it.

It went on like this for days. Three days, to be exact. Me making the guys Pizza-Toasties and Fried Jellies with Melted Ice-cream... Whipping them up Tomato Soup out of a can till it was frothy- just because they liked it that way… And last but not least, cooking them poached eggs in the shape of stars, using different food colourings depending on their mood. I had to guess; of course. It was all a game. Very much a game. And, if I got it wrong- they’d make me wash the dishes- but if I got it right, that person would owe me a favour that night.
Still, every time it got to crash-zone retreat- (usually around 3am, I was dragged off to Core’s room- and not reluctantly either): Devon’s room didn’t have the balcony or such extreme sunlight, plus Devon didn’t seem to wash his sheets as often as Core did. And- Zack, well- he slept anywhere. And as Core put it: when you’ve got the perfect place to go- why sleep anywhere else?
I guess Zack didn’t really have the option...though...