A Day in the Life of a Fork

A Day in the Life of a Fork

Look at me, clean and sparkling. And so another morning begins as it has done for more mornings than I care to remember. I imagine prison must feel something like this. The same daily routine day after day after…ach! What the hell, it’s not such a terrible existence. At least I know my tines will never go hungry. But it would be nice to experience a little variety.

The silence of the night is broken only by the sound of the kitchen wall clock. Strange that the clock continues to make a ticking sound as though waiting for something to occur.

Wait, what’s that other smell? Ah, yes, I can always smell him about the same time as I see him. I can also hear him traipsing into the room, his rancid old slippers shuffling across the carpet. And we’re off. The drawer is pulled open. A hand reaches in, and yes, folks, it’s time to participate in bisecting the egg yolk. Please, sir, just once, can’t you manage to slice open the damned thing without all that gooey yellow stuff running up my arm? I know I’m just an unthinking metal object to you, but if you could see what I look at every morning, believe me, you would have at least a modicum of sympathy for this poor, wretched metal creature.

Oh, hello, what’s this? Why, I do believe it’s my roommate. I’ll tell you, he had better not start complaining about the smell of butter just because he smears a little on some toast. I mean, it’s not as though the man shoves him in his mouth. Well, ok, I must admit I have seen him doing just that on the odd occasion.

Wow! Why has his whole body stiffened up suddenly? Of course, it’s the female of the species. They probably think we can’t hear them at night as we recline next to each other in our drawer, but they’re wrong. Oh yes, they are, they are as mistaken as can be. The fact is, we hear everything that goes on in this room. Here they go again. Raised angry voices followed by a sniffling sound from the female. Why is it whenever she sniffles in that way, he always hugs her and says he’s sorry? I guess I will never understand animate objects.

Ok, the front door has closed, the old routine follows. Go on, lady, turn the knob and listen to the noises coming out of the object attached to the knob. That’s right, now take me and the knife from the plate and put us all in the sink. It’s a good thing I don’t drown in the water; in fact, it’s a very nice feeling. After I have had a short rest under the soapy liquid surrounding me, I am given a vigorous massage that penetrates to my most private areas. Boy, when she rubs the base of my tines, it makes me want to shudder. I’m unable to do so, of course; such are the tribulations of being inanimate.

Yippee! It’s lunch time. Salad! I don’t mind when she lifts me to her mouth and scoops me up to transport a piece of lettuce or some other leafy green item into her mouth. There’s something different about this lunch time, but I can’t put my tine on it. Oh yes, now I see. The room is much darker than usual. Also, the knob that turns on the sounds they call music is playing something much softer and slower than the usual noise. Aha! I just noticed she’s not by herself. A male of the species I have never seen before has entered the house. What are they doing? I just don’t understand. When the usual male appears, they talk very loudly at each other and one of them walks out of the house. I’ve noticed recently that the woman is usually dripping a clear liquid from her eyes. This, however, is very different. The male has approached the female, and their mouths are touching. How are they going to manage to use me if their mouths stay in that position?

Hello, will the excitement ever end? The door has opened with a crash, and the male who is usually here has literally jumped into the room. The other male has also jumped, but he has exited via the window. Now, why would he do that? An old human saying about using a knife to cut the atmosphere, I’m not sure what it means, but I get the feeling that this is the sort of atmosphere that the saying speaks about. Now I’m almost positive that this is when a knife is used, so why has the male taken me out of the drawer instead?

The whole thing is a blur to me, although I am sure I have done something amazing, possibly even beautiful. I have been separated from the other cutlery and placed in a cellophane bag. I’ve always felt that a great destiny lay before me, and now it is coming to fruition. I have been handled by what I can only call reverential care. I mean me, a simple fork, an eating utensil, and nothing more. Yet here I am alone and proud in a room full of important-looking people. I can see the male who uses me every morning as an aid in consuming a couple of eggs. Wait, isn’t that the woman who also lives in the house? Why is she wearing something white to cover her left eye?

I must pay the utmost attention as I am obviously about to be honored. Ah, yes, here it is. I’m being lifted from the table and paraded around the room. It feels wonderful. I wish I knew what I had done to warrant such an honor. Shhh, the man is starting to speak.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you see before you the instrument used to gouge out Mrs. Donaldson’s eye".