Chapter 15

Frank Talbot stood in front of his harvest gold Sears stove, slowly stirring some Campbell’s soup in a small metal sauce pan on the stove-top. The metal spoon he used to stir with hit the side of the pan in a rhythmic pattern, and Frank seemed hypnotized by the sound. He wore a pair of perfectly pressed Docker khakis and a tan Munsingwear shirt. His feet were shoved into the brown oxfords he wore to work every day. Even though Frank hadn’t left his apartment or seen anyone in four days, not since the Friday before Holy Week which kicked off spring break for schools in Burnett County, he was showered, shaved and dressed as if it were a work day.

Lost in his thoughts as he moved the spoon back and forth in the pan, Frank was jolted into consciousness when some of the soup slopped over onto the hot coils and made a sizzling sound. “Damn it,” he cursed under his breadth and took the bleached dishrag that was draped and drying over the water faucet over the sink to quickly wipe the liquid off the coils so his fire alarm wouldn’t go off. He carefully rinsed the rag with hot water, wrung it out and put it back over the faucet to dry. He filled the saucepan with hot, soapy water after pouring what soup was left in the pan into a small bowl, collected a sleeve of saltine crackers and moved to the old red and white flowered TV tray that stood in front of a tan Lazyboy rocker.

The TV tray was one of four that had belonged to Frank’s parents. He snuck it out of the house when he left home for good back in the 60’s. He knew it was his dad’s favorite because he ate dinner off it every single night of his life. The other three trays sat in their stand in the corner of the living room, never used. Frank’s dad refused to let anyone eat with him. He wanted to be alone to enjoy his dinner and the evening news. Once, when Frank was 14, he used the TV tray and his dad’s chair while eating lunch one day. His dad noticed some peanut butter smeared on the tray when he ate dinner that night. Before the beatings were done, Frank had a broken arm, two broken ribs and a face filled with cuts. His mother was in the hospital for a week. His little sister was still wetting the bed when Frank took off, TV tray in hand, six months later.

Frank nestled his rear end into the Lazyboy and sat forward with his knees under the tray to slurp his soup and dip his crackers. His apartment in the Harmony Village complex in Luck was bland but roomy. Frank’s furniture was still in perfect shape, even though it was over 20 years old. The living room suite with over-sized matching brown plaid sofa and loveseat, coffee table and two end tables he had purchased from Levitt’s showroom when it went out of business in the 80’s fit nicely into the over-sized living room with its light beige walls. There was just enough room for the worn tan Lazyboy and red and white TV tray to sit comfortably in the corner that faced the 52” television that Frank had perfectly positioned in the opposite corner of the room.

In addition to the living room and kitchen, Frank had two bedrooms, one which he used as an office, a bath and a half and a dining area. Except for one small saucepan soaking in the sink, there was not one thing out of place in the apartment. The only movement was that of Frank’s arm moving a spoon or a cracker slowly from the soup bowl to his mouth.