The Tale of the Cutting Board

The cutting board never complains about the sharp knives, the excessive chemical treatments or the boiling water. It is taken for granted—for every sandwich structure it supports, for every hullabaloo of selected vegetables and fruits it sorts gracefully. 

One day, I tried to repay its countless acts of service. I rinsed it with lukewarm water, omitting the chemical treatment, carefully placing it against the kitchen counter’s back wall. Just as the sage-colored cutting board was recovering from another strenuous day of service, I accidentally pushed it against the back wall, making it disappear. For a moment, I could not comprehend what had just happened; where did the sage-colored cutting board go?

In an attempt to investigate its sudden disappearance, I noticed a slit between the back wall and the kitchen countertop, just wide enough to make the cutting board disappear. I opened the lower cabinet door, then a drawer beneath it. I was puzzled—the cutting board had disappeared into a geography my kitchen’s anatomy could not explain.

I suspended all rescue missions, realizing that the beloved sage-colored cutting board had decided to join the nirvana of miscellaneous kitchen gaps, resting peacefully amongst senior potato slices and ancient bread crumbs. 

I remembered its strange price tag from the day I bought it—2.76 euros. I could easily replace it, but a sense of uneasiness remains, knowing it is there but I cannot reach it.