Item in Transit

This is a fun little story I wrote for my creative writing course in college.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One. The shrill beep pierced the air as Cyrinna shoveled the last of her bangers and mash into her mouth before racing to the small oven. As the casserole rose through the waves of heat, it looked like a mirage in a dessert. What a beautiful sight! The cheese bubbled and popped like a mozzarella lava pit. Cyrinna's eyes closed languidly as she breathed in the rich scent. If Nathaniel's mom was anything like her son, she was going to adore this dish. This lovely, cheesy concoction had to make it to the other end of Sussex fully toasty and intact. Cyrinna went to work covering it with layers of foil and placing it in a thermal carrier. She surrounded it with towels for insulation- and good measure. She had seen babes on cold days less swaddled than her beloved casserole. This could make it all the way to the states if it had to!

Cyrinna gripped her prize with white knuckles as she hailed a cab to Nathaniel's office and ran through the building, drawing odd stares as she lugged her dish through flights of stairs, elevators, and corridors of business people chatting.

She reached the top floor and burst into Nathaniel's spacious office. Cyrinna's eyes darted at the clock on the wall and then to Nathaniel. His eyes landed on her and a tender smile softened the lines of his chiseled face.

“We will make it in time. I promise.” He rose up and placed a tender hand on Cyrinna's small waist, gently ushering her and her fragrant luggage to a small door on the South wall. He opened it and tried to lead her in, but she may as well have looked into the eyes of Medusa.

“That is not a coat closet! What on earth is that?!” she exclaimed.

“It's how I make it from Liverpool to your house for date night all in the same day.”

A ray of green light the same shade as Cyrinna's eyes showered down upon the entirely metal stall. The light danced like the legendary Northern Lights she had dreamed of seeing all her life. There were round, red buttons with the names of destinations beside them. Cyrinna could see her own shock mirrored in the cold metal panels.

“Do you trust me?” Nathaniel's warm voice whispered against her ear.

She didn't even nod, she just stepped in with the casserole and gripped his hand. He reached out to press the second button from the right and a sound like a vacuum started up followed by a low whir as the Northern Lights became strobe lights. Cyrinna sucked in air like a diver coming to the surface as her eyes snapped shut. Her body collapsed against Nathaniel as her legs gave out. Everything was dark and quiet for an instant until she heard uproarious laughter. Her eyes opened and she looked at a room almost exactly like the one they had entered. She picked up her casserole off the floor where it had landed and turned to face Nathaniel.

“You're skin matches your eyes beautiful.” he mused.

“Your eye is about to mach the color of your hair!” she said teasing the raven locks that had fallen out of place.

Nathaniel continued laughing stepped out of the transporter and into a room the size of Cyrinna's house. There was less stonework in the city of Petra and there were more paintings in here then the Louvre. A clicking noise was growing louder and louder, echoing off the archways like an amphitheater. A lovely, statuesque woman entered the room and swept them into an enormous hug. Cyrinna was silent as she smiled a smile that showed every tooth but never hit her eyes. She thrust the casserole carrier out with rigid arms, realizing how silly her swaddling efforts were in hindsight. A transporter was an amateur chef's best friend she had so recently discovered.

“I brought this for our dinner party Mrs. Chanceford.” she said shakily.

Mrs. Chanceford took the dish and dug through the layers of covering. Nathaniel watched a smile break out like daylight across the eternal London fog that was his mother's face.

'Oh!” she trilled. “A casserole. How quaint darling.”