It’s a warm day. Terry drops into the House of
Pancakes for a waffle with a scoop of ice cream. He’s
sitting alone at a table near the window. Nothing outside
but dusty air and not too new cars passing by like memories
of a long lost parade cavalcade. He opens a mag and looks
at the shiny new cars. Not a speck of dust.
I’m
in the freezer all compact and creamy. Marble fudge.
Some disgruntled employee takes a scoop of me and drops
me into a hot holey piece of hot waffle. Before I have
a chance to scream I begin to lose a little shape.
The air-conditioned air prevents total shock as I pass from
the kitchen to the dining room. With a tiny slam I’m
set down in front of Terry who issues a small moan
at the sight of me.
‘Enjoy,’ says the waitress.
As Terry slides my plate
a little bit closer, the soft sound of rubber soles disappear.
Even before Terry
lifts his eyes from me to see who’s watching
from the window I sense we’re being seen. Sure
enough his pal Johnny slips into the place and slides
his loose
clothinged frame into the seat opposite and goes, ‘Um.’
I
feel Terry pleased but possessive. Johnny reaches
for the mag.
‘Lookit this, will ya.’ He
points to a small red roadster that would evaporate
the likes
of me in a minute flat if I were set upon its hot
little hood.
‘You could speed on outta here
Terry, and leave your pitiful life behind.’
‘Do
me a favor and leave my life outta this.’
‘Sure,
Terry, just seeing the future is all.’
‘You
got super eyes or something?’
He does. All
deep and dark like the chocolate veins that course
through
me. Guys like him eat me alive. He’s doing
it now. He pushes the mag aside and starts in on
me. I
feel the
syrup of his stare coat me like Hershey’s.
Terry isn’t dumb. He knows there will be zero
enjoyment while his friend is sitting there. He takes
his first
bite and I thrill to the sensation of dissolving
on his eager tongue. It’s not as if we’re
having a heat wave, but the gratitude for what I
have to give
is always there. Terry’s taste buds are overshadowed
by the remark about his life. He takes his eyes off
me for a second and looks away, far away out the
window.
Johnny smiles, not a nasty smile but he knows
what
he’s
doing. He slumps back and tells Terry it’s
no big thing, everyone’s life would be greatly
improved once it was left behind. That brings Terry’s
gaze back, but not to me. As I begin to soften into
the holes
I hear him sigh, like accompaniment to my slight
transformation. Johnny feels the effect he’s
made. I’m
looking at Terry whose eyes are on him. Johnny pulls
in the waitress
with whatever kinda power comes with the kinda looks
that kill, and like in a dream she floats back over
on her soundless rubber slippers and plants a napkin
and
a spoon about a hairs width from his hand resting
on the table.
‘Thought you might be needing
this.’ She
left out honey. Sort of.
Johnny laughs and Terry
sets his spoon down with an unhappy tinkle. He slides
me
over the halfway mark of the table and picks up the
magazine.
As he buries his face behind it, his pal makes sure
he himself feels no remorse before taking his first
real
bite out of me.
I’ve been eaten so many times.
It is always a pleasure to be on the giving end.
People forget all their worries with me around; diets,
jobs,
heartaches. I’m like the perfect food. I know
it but stay humble cause I can also finish on the
floor for an animal to clean up. But on a day like
today,
with
all that dust settling over the world like sleeping
powder, and Terry all sunk in unexplained sorrow,
the beauty
of Johnny’s face mixed with the caress of his
tongue makes me feel like he’s the one doing
me a favor.
Pages slowly flip in Terry’s hand.
Piece by piece I slip into Johnny’s mouth and
get pulled down his throat. He is loving me up and
into his belly. Terry
doesn’t lift his eyes to witness one single
spoonful. I feel like me and Johnny are totally alone.
As I leave
the waffle, bite by bite, I make a dying wish for
the waitress to return with a fresh scoop of me for
Terry.
I know I could make him happy.
© 2007
Pal Shazar |
