My friend reached for the drawer

My friend reached for the drawer.

The one in the kitchen that sticks.

She needed a spatula. I said I'd get it.

But I've been avoiding this drawer for months.

I tried. Pulled the handle.

It doesn't move. It's wedged in the frame.

I've just been reaching around it.

Using the other drawers. Working around the problem.

My friend pulled harder. She heard something crack.

Wood. Splintering. The sound of something giving way.

She looked at me. I looked at the drawer.

It's crooked now. One side higher than the other.

I can see through the gap.

Bunched-up dish towels. That's what was jamming it.

The towels I shoved in there to make room.

They've been blocking it the whole time.

The drawer is open now. Broken open.

She got the spatula. Didn't say anything.

But I know what this means.

I have to fix it. Or replace it.

I keep the drawer half-open.

The splintered edge visible. A reminder.

That I was avoiding something small

and it broke anyway.