Rotten produce as metaphor
It happened at breakfast
Patience sent me this picture this morning. Unremarkable except that she was sitting right across from me at the breakfast table when she sent it. Between us sat the moldy strawberries in the photo.
“What does this remind you of?” she queried.
“Oh boy.”
“Seriously. I want to know what that picture symbolizes to you.”
“Okay. I’ll bite. I shouldn’t have had that omelet yesterday. If the fruit was on the verge.”
“Waste,” she countered. “Specifically, wasted opportunity.”
“Strike while the fruit is edible?”
“To a starving child they would be edible, I suppose. But let’s talk about this household, for the moment.”
“We’re not really talking about fruit here, are we?”
“We’re talking about your memoir.”
“Not a memoir,” I said. “It’s about the team. About all of us.”
“Well, it should be about the Rudiments.”
“That too.”
“And it should be more straightforward. Not so much dancing around the point. What did that book editor say? More metaphorical? Well, I say bullshit to that.”
“Not metaphorical bullshit, I presume.”
“The time for metaphor has passed. Canada is burning, Chaz. The Antarctic is melting. And you’re making jokes and writing metaphorical memoirs—”
“Not a memoir—”
“Can you at least add a preface? An appendix? Explain what the Rudiments stand for? What the Shads stand for?”
“Insult my readers? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Potential readers, Chaz. It’s not even published yet. But yes, that’s what I’m saying. Subtlety has gone the way of metaphor.”
“In this house, apparently. So, those rotten strawberries represent my work. Ten years of work, I might add. But if we’re not using metaphor….”
“Never mind. Pass the granola, would you? And by the way, I reserved a book for you at the library. It’s not a fantasy. You should go check it out.”