The Casserole Dish That Never Came Home
In the apartment building on Alder Street, a glass casserole dish with a blue lid had mysteriously disappeared. Priya noticed the empty space in the cupboard on Monday, when her mother frowned and explained that she had lent it to Mr. Ferris upstairs three weeks earlier. Priya volunteered to retrieve it, so she climbed to the third floor and knocked on his door.
Mr. Ferris looked embarrassed. He admitted that he had filled the dish with cornbread and carried it down to Mrs. Quan, whose knee had been giving her trouble. Priya went down to the second floor, where Mrs. Quan smiled and said that she had passed the dish along with noodles for the family in 4B, who had just brought a new baby home.
At 4B a tired father held the dish and confessed that they had meant to return it, but the baby had been crying all evening. Besides, it was now full of cookies for the neighbor downstairs, who had watered their plants while they were away.
Priya counted on her fingers. The dish had visited five kitchens, and each time it had traveled with a kind note taped under the lid. She felt a little dizzy with surprise, and when she finally reached the ground floor, she did not take the dish home. Instead she wrote "Next, please" on a scrap of paper, tucked it under the lid, filled the dish with warm rice from her own kitchen, and knocked on the nearest door.
Her mother only laughed when Priya came back with empty hands. "Good," she said. "A dish like that should keep working."