Lettuce by S.J. Tyler Formerly green and crisp in my refrigerator, the lettuce is now tinted brown and wilting. It’s been weeks since I felt like touching it and it will be days until it is removed. There was a point at which I would look upon its bright leaves and gleefully rip off a piece for me and a piece for Zipper, my tiny hamster. She would take it from my hand and grin her fuzzy muzzle as she chomped away at the small tear of green. Her small hands clenched around it as if it were one of her most prized possessions. And it was; it was one of her favorite treats. It’s not just the lettuce, I noticed today, that has shown its age, but the carrots and purple cabbage have followed suit as well. The once vibrant colors have been drained from their veggie flesh and they now resemble the dirt from which they were born. Zipper was the reason I ate my vegetables and with her gone, they brought on too much pain. Now, seeing their life drift away from them made that pain fresh again. I remember about a month before she died I could tell that there wasn’t much time left for her. She was already more than two and a half years old and her body didn’t move as fast as it did the day we met. Her fur, naturally grey, had grown lighter over time. Her greediness with the lettuce had reduced as well. One time, I even saw her leave a piece behind as she stumbled into her soft nest. My mother walks into the room with groceries and I am snapped back to the present. She reprimands me for standing in front of the open refrigerator door. I’m draining the electricity, she tells me for the thousandth time. “The power gets drained from everything, eventually”, I think. As I turn to close the door and go stare blankly out the window, she looks over my shoulder and spies the ruined produce. “Oh my goodness, how could I have let this stay in here, who knows how old it is!” she exclaims, surprised at herself. She swiftly scoops up the lettuce, carrots and cabbage and drops them into the garbage can. She ties up the black bag, lifts it out of the can and asks if I could please take it outside. Dumbfounded, I stand there. I blink a few times, shake it off and answer with a quick, “Sure.” When I return, I open the fridge again, out of habit. The vegetable bin is filled with brand new, bright and crisp lettuce. I tear off a piece and chew it as a wander into the living room. 03/20/2002 Posted on 08/20/2003 Copyright © 2025 S.J. Tyler Return to the Previous Page   pathetic.org Version 7.3.2 May 2004 Terms and Conditions of Use 0 member(s) and 2 visitor(s) online All works Copyright © 2025 their respective authors. Page Generated In 0 Second(s)