A Year Later
Today it was barbecue; nothing a vegetarian enjoys more. But in a weird way, when I could turn off my mind, there was something nice in the comfort of a group, even one that would mock the veggie burger in a den of ribs and sauce-slathered meat. But now my mind cannot turn off. A year ago it was heart tartar cooking in the citrus juice of truth hidden for far too long.
A year later and I still struggle between forgiving, forgetting, and hating. But I do love Mexican food, whether from the Pike on 4th street or after visiting the Getty. If I wasn’t vegetarian, heart would be my meat of choice. It must be delightful with a twist of lime. I would cook it well done, nearing burnt, allowing the heart to rest on a counter top next to the Morton’s salt and knife sharpener it must still be the juiciest of meats when sliced properly.
Once the heart has been eaten it can’t be felt still beating, can it? Sometimes there is a sudden jolt in my chest. A flame blistering the heart, perhaps. It will be sudden grabbing stealing a breath, yet forgettable.
A year later you have plans that feature a solid career, a loving wife, doting children, a trip up North. Even without a heart, I want all this for you. Find a delight in the joy that registers in your sand dune eyes. Thrill in the idea of seeing this all come to fruition, and hate you because I want this all for you, when a year later I have bruises on my wrist hidden with bangle bracelets, and cuffs, from someone who doesn’t mind the heartless.