Fall pumpkin pasta

In this episode, Liv eats pasta! Pedestrian, maybe, but, such is the life of a single, working person. What’s for lunch? Whatever I can make and eat in ten minutes. Been there.

I took the opportunity to experiment with pasta sauce. Marinara doesn’t always cut it as an adult.

I also took advantage of the day after Halloween. I had an extra pumpkin that I was planning on drunkenly throwing at a row of plastic bottles, ala bowling. True Story. Instead, on the morning after, I looked at it sideways and thought: This is food.

So I decided to cook it. Butternut Squash is kind of my favorite food. So pumpkin might be a close second.

After much googling, I chopped it in half and put it in the oven.

After an hour or so, I took it out and thought that maybe I left it in too long, because it looked like this:

Turns out, that was the PERFECT way of doing it, because the “meat” slid right out of the skin, and I had already cooked some of the juices out.

The next step was pureeing. The puree setting on my fancy blender did not do the trick, so enter scene: food processor.

I put on Stranger Things with subtitles and whirred my food processor for...two episodes? One and a half episodes? That’s actually a really long time to be pureeing pumpkin for. Luckily, the next step is INSANELY EASY.

Step one: sautee some onions and garlic.

(Oh I forgot, I chopped these up for half an episode...still)

Step two, add pumpkin puree, half and half and spices.

Step three: Look for parsley in your fridge. Don’t find it. Question your sanity, your existence, life itself. Repeat. Mourn the dollar you spent on it and eat your damn pasta.

The pasta was delicious. Not overly pumpkin as promised, not overly dairy like...cream...sauce.

Alfredo. That’s it.

This episode is not my favorite, but it has some of my favorite moments from season one.

First fave: Liv’s line to Dylan at the end of the episode---shivers down my spine. (hope your SIDS episode has killer ratings.)

Ravi meeting Goth Jonas Brother...why can't I remember his name? Anyway, he's probably my favorite of Liv's boyfriends who is not Major. Because right about now, Major is becoming the best character and will only get better.

I wrote a Halloween themed story. I'm going to be doing that for awhile. Fall is too short in my opinion.

The water washed over his hands, flushed down the drain. He looked at his dirty face in the mirror, noticed a smudge. He splashed the water upwards, over his five o’clock shadow.

The smudge stayed. He peered closer---his face ever-so obscured by the fog of the faded mirror. Like whatever was on his cheek right now, the agedness of the glass was difficult to wash off. He rubbed the smudge with a washcloth til his cheek was red and tender. The cloth, too, was pinkened, and he noticed he had been scrubbing away at scratches. They clawed down his cheek in four straight lines, starting at his eye. So that’s why his eye hurt.

Shit, he thought, Did I do that in my sleep again?

He taped a squared tissue over the scratches and sighed at the ugliness of it. He wasn’t sure if he should leave the house.

His thought process was interrupted by the BEEEP of the washing machine. He exited the bathroom to approach the washer at the end of the hall. He opened it to find his damp shirt. The sleeve torn. Why did he bother washing it if the sleeve was torn? Perhaps he intended to get it fixed.

He tossed it into the dryer and turned the knob.

He usually talked to his mom at this time. Had she not called today? Did he already talk to her? That was the worst part about these black-outs---he could never remember any conversations. Well if she called, he’d answer, but he wasn’t about to worry her with his troubles.

He dressed for work and left the house.

At work he was met with stares. He must have looked like he crawled out of a grave. He felt like he hadn’t slept in days, and maybe he hadn’t. He found his way to his tiny cubicle in the center of the room. He booted up his telemarketing computer. He didn’t recognize the man sitting next to him. Must be new. The turnover rate was so high at such a company. Hell, he was probably the longest staffed employee here. One of them, anyway.

The girl who used to sit next to him was so pretty. What was her name? Rochelle? Rachel? Whatever, she’d never talked to him. Flat out ignored him sometimes. Probably got a job at Avon or something like that. Was that still a thing? He hadn’t seen one of those girls in years, maybe not even as an adult. His mom used to love those visits, though. That he remembered.

His thoughts were jostled by the sound of throat-clearing.

He looked up to see his boss looming over him. This was his third boss since he’d been here. Yes, he had many years wasted on the phone with strangers.

“Henry, can you come with me, please?”

He got up from his desk and followed the burly man to his office. His boss shut the door behind them and then took a seat at his large desk. There was a pregnant pause, then he drew in a sharp breath.

“I’m going to have to record these absences as unexcused.”

Absences? Unexcused? Shit, how long was he out?

His boss rubbed his temples with irritation. “That’s not all. There’s no delicate way of saying this, but you’ve been weirding everybody out. I thought maybe you were getting it together. Taking some time off to take care of yourself. But Jesus, Henry, you look like you got in a fight with an animal.”

He didn’t respond. Only yawned.

His boss shook his head. “For goodness sake, get some sleep. Take a shower. Then we can discuss whether it’s fit to keep you in this position.”

He nodded. There wasn’t really much to say to that. He’d pack up his things, but he didn’t have any. Not a single thing to distinguish his desk from anyone else’s. Like he was invisible.

He decided to stop by his mother’s house instead of going straight home. She’d make him some tea, let him curl up and take a nap. He used to sleep in her bed when he was scared of the dark, there was still something comforting about that.

Nothing happened when he rang the doorbell. Unusual, but sometimes she forgot to wear her hearing aid. He sighed and got back in his car.

The liquor store was the next logical stop for someone who may have just lost his job. As he browsed the 40s, the thought that this may be the explanation of his blackouts crossed his mind. He pushed it out as quick as it had entered his mind.

He made quite a selection. His mother had always told him he had no impulse control. And here he was filling brown bags with liquor and beer---a kid in a candy store.

The cashier eyed him up and down. Perhaps he did look unusual.

“You driving?”

“Driving. Then drinking” He assured the cashier.

“Put it in your trunk. We’ve had some trouble around here lately. Some of it warranted, some of it bull shit.”

Henry nodded. “I’ll be careful.”

He left the store, in a slightly better mood. The prospect of beer waking him up. And right there in the liquor store parking lot, he opened his trunk.

He squinted. The sunlight reflected off the bag, leaving a temporary glare in his eye sight. When it settled, he could see the large black trash bag more clearly. It was giant and bursting. Whatever he had put inside was almost too large for it. What the hell did he need such a big bag for? He pushed the bag (Jesus it was heavy) aside, to set the liquor down, then froze. The bag caught on something as he moved it and ripped slightly. Something congealed dripped out of the seam like syrup. The weight of it ripped the bag more and he saw it.

Pale skin. Bloated and purple in some parts. Blood soaked the clothes, the blonde hair.

Brenda. That was her name. Not Rochelle or Rachel. How had he been so off?

He threw the liquor in. Shut the trunk quickly. Got in and drove, not even sure where he was driving to. Miles out of town, he pulled off the deserted highway on to the shoulder, next to a copse of trees. Had he been here before?

He exited his vehicle, walked between the trees. Leaves covered the ground in a thick blanket. He kicked up some leaves. They stirred in the air, added some crinkle to the otherwise quiet. He dug a small trench in the leaves with his foot. As he stepped forward to add another foot, he heard a snap. His foot felt something something bulbous...something too---well---fleshy to be a twig. So he had been here before.

He went back to his trunk, took her body into his arms. He dragged her to the leaves and laid her to rest. Covered her with leaves.

He sighed and got back in his car.

Back home, he removed his shirt and pants, threw them in the washer. He went to the bathroom sink, washed his hands. Dirt and water flushed down the drain. He studied his face in the aged, foggy mirror. The scratches were less noticeable now.

The phone rang. What would his mother be complaining about this time?

He picked up the phone.

“Henry Jeffries?”

“Yes?”

“This is Detective Chambers from Springfield PD.”

His throat dropped into his stomach and he could not speak.

“I’m calling about your mom.”

His breath echoed through the phone, his mind a mixture of relief and confusion. Then he realized what the detective was about to say.

“She’s dead.”