Eggplant rolls

I absolutely hate cutting garlic and onions, the smell clings to my hands for days after I've come in contact with it. No matter how much I scrub the scent lingers. It may just be in my head, or maybe not. I have tried the rubbing my hands on steel trick, scrubbing with salt and baking soda hack. I have even succumbed to the notion that peanut butter would do the trick. Nothing ever works, and now I'm out a spoonful of peanut butter. Yet, I cut them anyways, I do not really have much choice in the matter here. She asked for me to prepare a recipe that involves fried onions garlic, I will make her fried onions and garlic. The mist coming off the onions as I chop causes me to tear up. This is good, its been a while since I have had a concrete reason to burst into tears. She is in the other room, hopefully she can't hear. The crying proves cathartic. It's been a few months already this partnership of ours, I shop, cook, and clean; she pays me enough that I can go home without the fear of an empty pocket and hungry stomach. She is a sweet woman, kind blue-gray eyes, white silky hair, a smile that lets you in on the secret to her joy. She talks a little wild sometimes, about her past, her plans for the future. She is creative, I'll give her that. Today she asked me to prepare for her the eggplant concoction she taught me to make not so long ago. There is no recipe, just ingredients and a sensible head. It starts with frying the onions and garlic and mushroom, mushroom last as it cooks the quickest. This was something she taught me at the outset. Then we methodically slice the eggplants into thin, thin sheets, something I have yet to master and am not sure I ever will. Depending on her mood the amount of pesto spread onto these eggplant sheets is either too much or too little. I am convinced that the amount I use has remained consistent. The vegetables are piled on, but not too much to overstuff, yet not too little to cause a waste of food, as that would be awfully dreadful. Yes, dreadful indeed. Breadcrumbs are spiced to an exactness not even I know how to measure. She prepares the breadcrumbs to their specifications beforehand. They are then sprinkled just so, with ones wrist bent at the correct angle to cover the eggplants in an even layer of spiced breadcrumb snow. The sheets are then rolled into pinwheels, and according to her version of the recipe these rolls are meant to stay together on their own due to their sheer willingness to obey their creator's desire. Mine never do. I spear them with a toothpick and call it a day. If you can't beat 'em spear 'em, as I always say. Into the oven they go, covered for most of the time with an extra aluminum pan that is probably older than me and definitely worth the ten cents spent to acquire it. Talk about getting your moneys worth. In the past I have gotten a little carried away as to let these precious eggplant rolls burn while preoccupied with other necessary tasks, but not today. Today they have to be perfect. I do not know the next time I will be making them again. I get to work cleaning the pile of dishes that this little dish has amassed. Since heaven forbid we cross-contaminate a pan. Better to use three bowls and eight spoons to accomplish the job of one if it means our food remains pure and sacred. She likes things her way and that is ok, I am not paid to have an opinion, I am paid to do what needs to be done. The dishes are washed, the counters wiped to an immaculate sparkle. You could lick them if it wasn't for all the poisons contemporary cleaning products contain. This is all pointless as I know in but an hour there will alas be more crumbs smattered on the floor, crumbs have become my greatest foe. The floor is swept, I inform her that the kitchen is clean. She comes to check, I am mistaken, there of course is still dirt on the floor I must mop, yet I am convinced that's just the coloring of the tile. The garbage is taken out, the living room vacuumed, her medicines for the week sorted, the laundry folded. The eggplants are ready. They are removed from the oven with extreme caution, I did not work so hard for things to go awry now. I tell her they are ready and cooling on the counter, I start to gather my things to leave. She comes out holding the crisp bills, she hands them to me with a smile.

"Thank you, I do not know what I would do without you, you have been a great help." she always says this, I am not sure when I will start believing it. Her smile is tired as it always gets by this time of day, her pain medication is wearing off.

"Please take some eggplant with you."

She always offers me food but I don't accept, little does she know I had swiped some almonds and crackers from the cabinet throughout the day. Additionally I do not like eggplants.

"When will I see you again?"

"I don't know" I reply "Hopefully in two weeks."

I'll be going home to visit my family, its been over a year since I've seen them. When I return I am not sure if I will still be living in this city, my rental contract is up and I am unsure of my next move.

"Ok, have a safe trip."

I leave wishing her a good night, she watches me go and gently closes the door.

I hope she likes how the eggplants came out.