You could have a big dipper   

First Time Tasting by Frank Jackson



For breakfast, I take a bite of oatmeal and let it sit in the corner of my cheek. I try to swallow on my own but nothing happens. I take a drink of water and gush it down. The pain of nausea is sharp and sits momentarily but eventually it passes.


I read the morning paper. Something I did once upon a time. Fighting with my dad over where the Sports page was and who had it last. Today the paper is saying the Browns actually have a shot at the playoffs. I read up on the players. The new coach. The hot young quarterback. The bright future ahead.


For dinner, my wife makes a sweet-smelling ginger flavored chicken soup but I’m halfway through eating it when I have to run to the bathroom. I turn the shower on to drown out the sound of heaves.


I walk out and try my best attempt at a casual return. She is sympathetic. She is always sympathetic and puts a soft hand on my shoulder rubbing it gently.


Later, we watch a rom-com, one of the latest put on Netflix and recommended for us.


“What’s that you’re eating?” I ask.

“This?”

She shows it to me. “It’s key lime pie.”

“Is it good?”

“You’ve never had key lime pie?”

“One of the things I never got around to.”

She smiles and cuts a little piece off and feeds it to me.


It’s my first time tasting it so I take my time and explore every bit of it.


“That is delicious,” I say.

“You really like it?”

“It’s amazing. We’re a key lime pie couple now.”


It was the type of thing we used to say when we wanted to remember something.


We’re a Saturday matinee couple now.

We’re a mezcal-cocktail couple now.

We’re a Washington Square Park couple now.

We’re a Frank’s Hot Sauce couple now.

We’re a loaded nachos couple now.

We’re a Rockaway beach couple now.

We’re a Sunday morning coffee couple now.

We’re a two different types of gelato and you share half with the other couple now.

We’re a key lime pie couple now.


She fed me another bite and I took it. The pleasure of her smile as I enjoyed it was giving me life.



Frank Jackson is a writer living in Brooklyn, with stories published in journals including X-R-A-Y, Shabby Doll House, The Bookends Review, and Metatron. He is the recipient of the Montgomery Culver Award from the University of Pittsburgh and nominated for a Pushcart Prize by Four Chamber Press. Twitter: @Frankerson

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