Exaltation

Needless to say, the entire ordeal was over very shortly before it began.

Walking through the aisles of the Supermarket, the same solitary fortress of consumption as every other day, the lights seemed a little harsher than usual. It was then that I noticed they were shining especially bright on the produce section. I scanned the area quickly, seeing no other bodies nearby and approached them apprehensively. They glared back at me, the witch of a woman wrapped in a shawl as tightly as the apple in their plastic prison. I panicked at their accusatory gazes, damning my freedom, my ability to leave these horrid confines. I could not stand it any longer and I fell to the floor. I woke up some short time later with a man asking me if I was alright. I told him to leave me alone and bought as much produce that I could fit in my cart. Fresh carrots. Juicy plums. Those terrible turnips that never tasted like anything remotely pleasant. And I left there, quickly, heading back to my own house.

My daughter sat at the table in the darkness, staring at the telephone. "Dad called. Grandma finally died." She started to cry and I walked back to the car, grabbing all of the bags of produce at once and bringing them back into the house. The entire process took about 4 and a half minutes, all while my daughter sat wailing. I forced myself to say "It will be alright, your father knew it was coming, it will be okay." I gave her 20 dollars and told her to go buy herself some new accessories at Ardene's. She left.

That night I snuck out of bed while my daughter played terrible CDs in her bedroom, knowing she was probably stoned or passed out drunk by herself. I opened the fridge and knelt down in front of it, the beautiful, warm glow them lovelier than any embrace I have known. I watched the fruits, the vegetables, as they sat on their own. It took two shelves to hold them all. I plotted their escape, my mind turning circles over and over until I finally decided I would have to relocate them. They could only last in here for so long. My daughter would get suspicious. Yes, a new location. I would drive them out to our cabin an hour away by the lake, and put them in the large, empty fridge there for the time being. I would have to do so tomorrow night, when my daughter will be gone to see her father. Any other time, I would have to provide her an explanation.

It was then that I saw them glaring back at me again, desperate in their entrapment. I reached forward, tearing apart all the bags that contained them, placing the apples next to the bundles of carrots and the plums next to the cartons of strawberries. All of them free to breathe the air of their own company.

The next morning I woke up early for my morning jog and my daughter was sitting on the couch, watching TV. We caught each others eye for a short moment and I continued to the door, dressed in my new jogging suit I purchased for myself when I reached 120 pounds. My jog was fairly enjoyable but I felt myself getting tired too soon, but forced myself on. I ran into the nasty woman Natalie Baer in the park and was forced to feign sympathy for the death of my ex mother-in-law. I ran past those people doing the yearly Cancer run, speeding past them and refusing to acknowledge their presence. I ran around the entire town and it all took about two hours and I felt wonderful.

I returned home and entered the kitchen, and viewed the carnage that had taken place. My new in-table set out in the middle, with casseroles, applesauce, various fruit trays, cooked corn, cabbage rolls, pickled beets. All of my loves, carved and cut. Bled dry and burned. All of them. Taped on the table like an eviction notice, a note: Hey mom! A bunch of the girls and I decided to get a head start on food for the reception after the funeral. We're so lucky you had all this stuff bought already! Cooking is so therapeutic. You know what? I think you're right, Mom. Everything IS gonna be okay! --Sally

I ran forward, frantically screaming and I slammed the table down hard, causing the legs to fold as the top fell to the floor. I sat down quickly, staring at the corpses as I began to devour all of it, knee-deep in smashed and mutilated fruits and vegetables. I writhed in it, eating the fruit plates all at once, crunching carrots, chewing apples. Even those terrible turnips. My tears mixing with the mess on my face as I wailed like a child. And as it all stopped and my stomach was full of them and I looked around, once again, at the horror beneath me, I suddenly didn't feel so alone.