Thursday, Dec. 10.

The wooden spoon scraped against the onions and the bottom of the pan as he looked up, smiling proudly 

"Ken taught me a few things about cooking," he said, "how to caramelize onions by cooking them for a long time on low." Bending over, he softened the flame so it barely produced heat

The fire, soft, like the sound of a humming bird or a tide on a windless morning 

His back bent like the shape of a capital L

I poked at the onion on the table with my finger like you would poke a jellyfish in the sand 

Earlier this week, he explained to me, I cut off the rotten half of that onion. Then he carefully showed me how he would go about dissecting the rest of it and where to make the incision to remove the brown off the other leaves to still preserve the good white flesh. 

I hugged him in the kitchen later that day crying that I wanted him to just be free... He hugged me back, comforting and stiff like an L, confused as to what parts of him there were left to cut off to get there.