The Panel

I had the second scoop ready when the panel fell. My black Clarks, rounded at the toe, must have knocked it out of place. My foot must have advanced too far in the direction of the oven, under which was a drawer and the panel beneath it. It fell.

When the panel struck the floor it made the sound of a twig snapping. But in the empty kitchen it sounded sharper, more percussive. I laid the spoon in the tub and knelt to adjust the panel. Before I could crouch all the way down I stood back up again.

With the same foot that had knocked the panel loose I pushed it towards the wall. When it made contact with the wall I used my toe to prop it back up. Then I knocked the panel back into place. I gave it a few extra taps, just to ensure it would not fall again.

—Fixed, I thought.

—Fixed.

I dug my spoon into the tub. It lifted up white scoops, chocolate chip.

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