The New Grapefruit: Part 1
Alright, so, a brief explanation before we begin. I was going to write a piece of flash fiction (ie. very very short) about a man who ate only grapefruit. I told this to my mom, who responded with, "That doesn't sound like you could keep it going any longer than 500 words."
So I set out to prove her wrong. This thing will be EPIC, and I will post it in increments on my blog, and you will love it, the end. (And, if you do not love it, please leave constructive criticism! Thank you!!) And now, without further ado...
It was on a bright March morning that Harold first discovered his one true love.
He was out to brunch with his mother, a raisin of a woman, when the miraculous event occurred. The steps leading up to the discovery were unremarkable, at best. His mother was chattering, and he half-listened whilst perusing the menu.
“You’re no risk-taker!” his mother was saying. “That’s what you need to do more! Take risks!”
Oatmeal, Harold decided, nodding along. That was what he would be having.
“How can you expect to live an enriched life?” his mother continued. “You have no sense of adventure, Harold! No spine!”
The oatmeal was Harold’s favorite. He had it every time he came to this restaurant. It was decidedly so-so, but Harold liked it all the more for this.
“For goodness’ sake, Harold!” his mother proclaimed. “You’re a data entry specialist! You live next door to your mother! Have an adventure, Harold!”
Harold paused. Maybe not the oatmeal, after all. But he always got the oatmeal. It was certainly a dilemma.
It was then that the waitress arrived.
“Oatmeal,” Harold’s mother barked.
Harold stared at her, then at the waitress, then at the menu, then at the waitress again.
“Grapefruit,” he said decisively, then added a meek, “Please.”
What followed next could be described only as magic, or perhaps fate. Harold had never experienced such a thing as grapefruit. The color, the taste, the sweetness, the acidity! He felt like a newborn catching his first glimpse of the world-that is, if a newborn could eat grapefruit, which he was pretty sure they couldn’t. It felt like crackling fireworks in every shade of pink and orange, or like a river of flavor that wrapped all around the world and ended in this half-dome before him, sprinkled with sugar and topped with a maraschino cherry. Harold couldn’t imagine ever eating anything else.
He decided then that grapefruit was all he would eat, except for his seven daily vitamins, which were important to keep healthy. Harold had grapefruit for breakfast, grapefruit for lunch, grapefruit for mid-afternoon snack, and grapefruit for dinner. Harold loved grapefruit.
Coincidentally, it was on another bright March morning two years later that, at Harold’s annual physical, Dr. Abramowitz told Harold that if he ate another grapefruit, his head might very well explode.
“Well, not explode, per say,” Dr. Abramowitz clarified hastily. “But it will react negatively with your headache medication, and, in some cases, this resulted in a cerebral hemorrhage. Which is almost like your head exploding.”
Harold drove home, drooping with despondency as he considered this new quandary. He briefly entertained the notion of forgoing his medication, but was certain his mother would never allow him to. He knew in his heart that he must bid farewell to grapefruit.
His life became gray after that, no longer colored with those familiar pinks and oranges, no longer tasting of sweet acidity. Every morning, he woke up, longing for grapefruit, and every night, he dreamt of it.
Days went by, then weeks.
Harold could no longer stand it. He needed a new grapefruit. He realized this would be a challenge. He needed something as wonderful as a grapefruit, without the unfortunate side effects. Unfortunately for Harold, he didn’t know where to start.
So he started at his mother’s house.
His mother had recently purchased a new reclining chair, puffed with stuffing and accented with giant gold buttons. Harold was not allowed to sit in this chair. This was his mother’s chair, and she was sitting in it when Harold passed through the doorway into her house.
“Harold!” his mother crowed. “It’s rude to just come into a poor woman’s house without knocking!”
“I did knock,” Harold replied. “You just didn’t hear me.”
Harold’s mother watched television a lot. She watched it with the volume turned up very, very high, so high that she couldn’t hear loud things like car alarms and oven timers and her son knocking on the door.
When Harold came in, she was watching one of her favorite shows, “Around the World With Henri N. Ree.” Harold didn’t care for Henri N. Ree, but his mother was fond of his moustache, so Harold was always forced to not only watch, but listen to his mother coo about Henri N. Ree and that moustache.
Today, Henri N. Ree was in the Pyrenees, as part of a “Travel the World from A to Z” special. This gave Harold an idea.
“Mother,” he said. “I need to buy a plane ticket.”
“But Harold,” said his mother, barely pulling her eyes from Henri N. Ree’s moustache. “Where on earth are you going?”
Harold thought this was a good question.
“Everywhere, I suppose,” he told her, standing.
“But Harold,” his mother said. “You can’t go everywhere.”
“I suppose not,” agreed Harold. He would have to skip a few places, to make it back by his mother’s next birthday. She would be angry if he missed it.
“But why, Harold?” his mother asked, finally looking away from the television to stare at her son. Harold supposed that this was because the commercial break had begun.
“Because, Mother,” said Harold, “if I don’t, I will never have a new grapefruit.”
Harold thought this was very dramatic, and a good line to exit on. With that, he stood, nodded to his mother, and left. How does one pack for a trip to everywhere?
Harold supposed he would need extra socks..
So I set out to prove her wrong. This thing will be EPIC, and I will post it in increments on my blog, and you will love it, the end. (And, if you do not love it, please leave constructive criticism! Thank you!!) And now, without further ado...
It was on a bright March morning that Harold first discovered his one true love.
He was out to brunch with his mother, a raisin of a woman, when the miraculous event occurred. The steps leading up to the discovery were unremarkable, at best. His mother was chattering, and he half-listened whilst perusing the menu.
“You’re no risk-taker!” his mother was saying. “That’s what you need to do more! Take risks!”
Oatmeal, Harold decided, nodding along. That was what he would be having.
“How can you expect to live an enriched life?” his mother continued. “You have no sense of adventure, Harold! No spine!”
The oatmeal was Harold’s favorite. He had it every time he came to this restaurant. It was decidedly so-so, but Harold liked it all the more for this.
“For goodness’ sake, Harold!” his mother proclaimed. “You’re a data entry specialist! You live next door to your mother! Have an adventure, Harold!”
Harold paused. Maybe not the oatmeal, after all. But he always got the oatmeal. It was certainly a dilemma.
It was then that the waitress arrived.
“Oatmeal,” Harold’s mother barked.
Harold stared at her, then at the waitress, then at the menu, then at the waitress again.
“Grapefruit,” he said decisively, then added a meek, “Please.”
What followed next could be described only as magic, or perhaps fate. Harold had never experienced such a thing as grapefruit. The color, the taste, the sweetness, the acidity! He felt like a newborn catching his first glimpse of the world-that is, if a newborn could eat grapefruit, which he was pretty sure they couldn’t. It felt like crackling fireworks in every shade of pink and orange, or like a river of flavor that wrapped all around the world and ended in this half-dome before him, sprinkled with sugar and topped with a maraschino cherry. Harold couldn’t imagine ever eating anything else.
He decided then that grapefruit was all he would eat, except for his seven daily vitamins, which were important to keep healthy. Harold had grapefruit for breakfast, grapefruit for lunch, grapefruit for mid-afternoon snack, and grapefruit for dinner. Harold loved grapefruit.
Coincidentally, it was on another bright March morning two years later that, at Harold’s annual physical, Dr. Abramowitz told Harold that if he ate another grapefruit, his head might very well explode.
“Well, not explode, per say,” Dr. Abramowitz clarified hastily. “But it will react negatively with your headache medication, and, in some cases, this resulted in a cerebral hemorrhage. Which is almost like your head exploding.”
Harold drove home, drooping with despondency as he considered this new quandary. He briefly entertained the notion of forgoing his medication, but was certain his mother would never allow him to. He knew in his heart that he must bid farewell to grapefruit.
His life became gray after that, no longer colored with those familiar pinks and oranges, no longer tasting of sweet acidity. Every morning, he woke up, longing for grapefruit, and every night, he dreamt of it.
Days went by, then weeks.
Harold could no longer stand it. He needed a new grapefruit. He realized this would be a challenge. He needed something as wonderful as a grapefruit, without the unfortunate side effects. Unfortunately for Harold, he didn’t know where to start.
So he started at his mother’s house.
His mother had recently purchased a new reclining chair, puffed with stuffing and accented with giant gold buttons. Harold was not allowed to sit in this chair. This was his mother’s chair, and she was sitting in it when Harold passed through the doorway into her house.
“Harold!” his mother crowed. “It’s rude to just come into a poor woman’s house without knocking!”
“I did knock,” Harold replied. “You just didn’t hear me.”
Harold’s mother watched television a lot. She watched it with the volume turned up very, very high, so high that she couldn’t hear loud things like car alarms and oven timers and her son knocking on the door.
When Harold came in, she was watching one of her favorite shows, “Around the World With Henri N. Ree.” Harold didn’t care for Henri N. Ree, but his mother was fond of his moustache, so Harold was always forced to not only watch, but listen to his mother coo about Henri N. Ree and that moustache.
Today, Henri N. Ree was in the Pyrenees, as part of a “Travel the World from A to Z” special. This gave Harold an idea.
“Mother,” he said. “I need to buy a plane ticket.”
“But Harold,” said his mother, barely pulling her eyes from Henri N. Ree’s moustache. “Where on earth are you going?”
Harold thought this was a good question.
“Everywhere, I suppose,” he told her, standing.
“But Harold,” his mother said. “You can’t go everywhere.”
“I suppose not,” agreed Harold. He would have to skip a few places, to make it back by his mother’s next birthday. She would be angry if he missed it.
“But why, Harold?” his mother asked, finally looking away from the television to stare at her son. Harold supposed that this was because the commercial break had begun.
“Because, Mother,” said Harold, “if I don’t, I will never have a new grapefruit.”
Harold thought this was very dramatic, and a good line to exit on. With that, he stood, nodded to his mother, and left. How does one pack for a trip to everywhere?
Harold supposed he would need extra socks..