For information on #FlashMarch and what’s going on here, check out Day 1.
The intent of #FlashMarch is to get me back into the habit of writing as a HABIT and not just inspiration-driven. And, while I intend from the outset to do a post every weekday, because of my work schedule some days become difficult. The only time I had yesterday, because of other work, was late at night. And the point of this isn’t to force something out (which is something I’m learning as I go, too) but rather to help bellows the flickering flame of my own writing self-esteem and passion, while also working on putting time and effort into the actual WORK. So, I decided to not force a half-assed throwaway last night and will, instead, do a post on Saturday before I give myself the day off. This, to me, is a compromise much more in the spirit of the exercise.
TL;DR — As my cat always says, “Life is a highway and you’ve got to ride it all night long.”
Prompt from BookFox’s “50 Creative Nonfiction Prompts Guaranteed to Inspire”:
Choose a commonplace or otherwise unremarkable memory and describe it in the most dramatic and absurd way possible. For inspiration, I’m leaving you with some quotes from Douglas Adams. “The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don’t.” “He leant tensely against the corridor wall and frowned like a man trying to unbend a corkscrew by telekinesis.” “It was a deep, hollow malevolent voice which sounded like molten tar glurping out of a drum with evil on its mind.”
The knife slammed into the avocado like a carelessly-piloted grocery cart hitting a display of 2-for-1 cotton swabs. The Chipotle employee pulled the blade along the fruit like a reluctant date at a carnival—against its will, but remaining hopeful.
One whole became two halves, save for a large pit, deeply lodged and entrenched, like a preconceived notion held by a member of Congress. With a THWACK, the Chipotlemployee plunged the side of the knife deep into the pit, the sound reminiscent of the sound of a kickball bouncing off of the temple of a small gay boy in Texas. The pit removed and so too its many secrets. Secrets we will never know. Secrets we should never know. Or, I assume, I can’t ever know because—as I just said—we will never know. I hate repeating myself.
As the meaty flesh of the flesh-meat was dug free, a bowl of its compatriots was moved closer. To watch. To learn. To know. As is with human beings, so too with avocados—all will die, but few will truly live. I, myself, may never know. As I handed my credit card to the other Chiployee, my eyes gazed deeply into the pit. Its secrets so foreign to me. As Johnny Cash sang in his cover of Trent Reznor’s Hurt, “What have I become, my sweetest friend?” This is one question I may never be able to answer. I have never eaten an avocado.
I turned and walked out of the Chipotle (the fast-casual restaurant I was standing in at the time), the door closing behind me in that funny little way doors do where they return to the stasis and position they were in before you enacted force on them (F = ma). My mind instantly cleared of all thoughts of the avocado. Its green, viridescent hue. Its weird scales that no one actually addresses enough. Its gentle demeanor and the way it quietly listens to your worries, your concerns, your hopes, and your fears. No more. I had already turned my podcast back on in my earbuds. The sound of other people talking ringing through my ears much in the way I refuse to let the sound of people actually around me do.
I walked home, passing restaurants in the night, the silent screams of avocados filling the air like the very loud screams of a child falling off of his skateboard right in front of me. And, as I stepped over his body, putting my hand in my pocket to avoid human contact, I thought to myself: “Do avocados taste sweet or salty?” We’ll never know.