The front door swung open with a hip bump and the little glass dish in the hallway rang as Beth tossed in her keys for the umpteen-millionth time. She couldn’t help it; she liked the sound. Off popped her shoes and she held her coffee high to balance the little bag of groceries while she worked to slide into her slippers. As usual, they were partially buried by the front door in a shoe-pile of various sizes along the wall. As she struggled to flip and wrangle on the left slipper, she noticed one small rain boot with no mate in sight.  Great.

She set the bag and coffee cup next to some forgotten homework lying on the hall table.  Someone is going to learn a life lesson at school today.  Beth hung her jacket on a hook by the front door, then immediately picked it up off the floor. After repeating the process two more times, she noted that some of the many other coats piled high on those hooks should probably go in the hall closet instead. She swept up her coffee and groceries, then headed toward the kitchen, tossing her jacket across the back of the couch and collecting a stray plate along the way.

In the kitchen, muscle memory went to work. In one smooth motion, the plate was inserted into the dishwasher, then cabinet doors shinked open and thunked closed as each item was removed from the bag and quickly placed in its new home. Beth snatched up the paper cup of coffee, tipped it back for a sip, then immediately performed a masterful sideways slide to the microwave. She popped off the plastic lid, slid in the cup, pressed the 30-second button, rolled her eyes, closed the microwave door and pressed the 30-second button again. While the coffee spun under the spotlight, Beth looked straight through the countertop and stared at a point somewhere deep in the universe. The loud BEEP snapped her back and the waiting cup stretched out little arms of steam, beckoning her for a kiss.

 “Come here, you!” she smiled. She probably burned her tongue a little.  She didn’t care.  

Beth paused and looked out through the kitchen window into the backyard for the next few sips and noticed some spots of red, suggesting tomatoes in her little garden might be ready for picking.  Also, a small rain boot taunted her from atop the swing set. Noted.

Beth set her coffee on the kitchen table and retrieved a worn three-ring binder from the hutch and slid into the kitchen chair by the wall, facing the room.  She pressed her palms to the tabletop on either side of the binder, closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.  It lingered until she released it with the kind of exhale that is typically saved for birthday candles. She tapped out a quick staccato rhythm on the table with her fingernails and flipped the binder open.

Suddenly, the kitchen door swung wide with a loud bang against the trash can. A steady flow of people pushed into the kitchen, some chatting to each other like they were continuing a conversation that had started during the wait outside. They were a wildly varied group, filling the little kitchen with every age, dress and demeanor imaginable. Some appeared to have just stepped out of the office and others, right off the job site.  One fellow sporting a bright yellow vest and white hard hat was engaged in conversation with a long-haired woman in sunglasses and driving gloves. Beth paid no attention to them, swiveled in her chair and bent down to slide a large, beautiful wooden box out from under the kitchen table.  She placed her hands on each side of the deep cherry wood lid and tilted it back. Inside sat a pristine white powdered wig with tight curls on each side and a short ponytail in the rear, tied with an exquisite red ribbon. She lifted it out with one hand and turned it slowly while smoothing a couple of stray hairs into place. Beth raised it high above her head and ceremoniously set it over her own messy morning bun.

“ORDER!” she shouted. “ORDER!  THIS COUNCIL IS NOW IN SESSION!”

The noise in the kitchen faded to a murmur, then, after a few shushes, the room went quiet.

“Looks like everyone is here,” Beth said as she scanned the kitchen. “Wait—where’s Car Insurance?”

A muffled voice from the back of the kitchen offered, “They only attend quarterly, Ma’am.”

“Oh, that’s right!  Thank you,” Beth said, relieved.

“Hold on…who are you? You’re new.”

“Oh, hi. You didn’t cancel me after the trial period, so I figured you wanted me here.”

“Aw damn.” Beth closed her eyes.

“She’s been here three months already,” came a voice from near the toaster.

“Well, enjoy your visit, madam. You will not be missed.” Beth swept a sarcastic welcoming gesture with her palm.

“Moving on,” Beth continued, “Water Bill?”

“Up a bit, Ma’am. Watering the garden and longer showers are adding up.”

“Noted and paid.” Beth slid a paper to the left side of the table and flipped over the next from the pile.

“Alright, Telephone Company…” Beth reviewed a document. “…this isn’t so bad, but…why exactly do we have you again?”

“Madam, I am an important utility,” Telephone Company declared with upturned palms. It was more of a proclamation for the room than for Beth.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” Cellular heckled from the back of the room.

Telephone Company turned sharply. “Hey!  Show some respect!”

“C’mon, you don’t even do text messages…” Cellular said with a smirk.

“I do faxing, sir!”

“Hehe, right man, ‘cause people be faxing all the time now. C’mon you don’t do streaming…”

“You know what else I don’t do?” Telephone Company interrupted. “I don’t give people screen addictions and brain cancer!” He jabbed his finger in the air toward Cellular.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! You know damn well that whole brain cancer thing is unproven!”

“Order! Order in this chamber!” shouted Beth and the room went quiet except for a few apologetic whispers.

“Telephone Company—paid, but you and your landline are on notice, sir.”

Telephone Company began to protest but a single finger held up by Beth closed the matter.

An elderly woman leaned forward out of the crowd. “Beth, dear, you haven’t called me in days.”

“Mom, it’s not Tuesday yet and honestly, I’m just not ready for another hour of stories about Gina’s cat. Nobody cares about Gina’s cat.”

“Well!” Beth’s mother said. Obviously offended, she slid back behind the others.

Beth continued, “Let’s see now, where were we… Mortgage—paid.”

The nicely dressed banker leaning against the refrigerator commented in a low voice, “You know, I should have been first, right?”

Things proceeded smoothly as Beth continued to address the petitioners until she faced her strongest adversary. Immediately, she questioned the necessity of the Cable/Internet Company, but they countered with all the benefits of the entertainment and educational content they provide. Beth rallied by pointing out increased fees, but the Cable/Internet Company pushed back with a threat to bring her family into the council chambers as witnesses.  Knowing when she’d been bested, Beth relented and they agreed to consider bundling services next month. Telephone Company called a point of order but was outvoted. Beth continued.

“Electric Company, why are you so much this month?”

The basement door creaked open and a basket of laundry peeked through the crack.

“Yes, I see you there.  I’ll be down shortly!”

The basement door closed.

“Now…Electric Company, why are you so much this month?”

The burly, hard-hat-clad man in work boots only replied with a shrug and a sheepish smile.

Beth sighed and shook her head at the table. “Alright, but you’re going to have to wait until next payday.”

“That will be late,” the lineman cautioned her.

“Yes, but before the penalty,” said Beth with a tilted head and wry smile.

“I can help with that,” offered Credit Card from the back of the room.

“No!” shouted Beth, then repeated softly and matter-of-factly, “no.”

She took a moment to reorganize the papers shuffled across the table, then gave the room another scan.

“Well, I believe that covers it. Hold on… You there! You in the corner—what the hell do you want?”

Tucked into the corner behind the crowd sat a young woman with worn slippers on her feet and hair tied into a messy bun. In one hand, she held a cold cup of coffee and in a soft, shaky voice she said, “I just want a damn minute for myself.”

The sternness drained from Beth’s face, and she quickly looked away to avoid the exhausted eyes fixed on her.

A few houses down, a neighbor’s dog barked its contempt at a busy squirrel.

“I’m sorry, we just can’t do that.” Beth turned to face the tired petitioner.  “You know we can’t do that.”

The petitioner nodded in agreement, then turned to face the wall. Beth tightened her lips and looked down the hall.

“Well, then… I hope you’re all happy.”

The kitchen fell silent as Beth placed the newly shuffled papers back into the binder. A few shared awkward glances, but no one looked at the council leader.

“Alright,” Beth conceded as she pulled the wig from her head and placed it back into its box, “I believe this meeting is adjourn—”

The kitchen door slowly swung open.

“Knock, knock!  Sorry I’m late!” said the cheery young woman in the doorway. “I’m just here to remind you about the school class party and field trip.”

Beth reached for the wig but froze with her hands hovering above, then turned to face the teacher instead.

“Sure, but you know what?  I think I’m just gonna need one minute first.”