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The Arch-Tomato

KC Snow

    Two inches was the safe distance. Two pickle spears provided a wall. Two sides: edible and inedible. Her long, delicate fingers had precisely picked pesky plants from the bun. Once satisfied, she looked at the primitively handsome man sitting across the table; dark hair, dark eyes, and dark chest fur climbing out of his shirt collar.
    “You all set?” Tuck said with a gentle smile. He cocked his head as he spotted a strand of hair that had settled atop her eggplant sandwich. He rested his head in his hands and parked an elbow on each side of his plate and pointed to her sandwich.
    She looked down, worried there was some stray contaminate. An onion? Tomato? Green pepper? It was difficult to eradicate all the diced intruders. She saw nothing and looked up, her face crinkled.
    Tuck reached across the table and pinched the hair from the sandwich. It was long, dark, and curly. “One of yours, I suspect.” He held it in the air for inspection. Convinced, he dropped it to the floor.
    Sara, a gesticular speaker, dramatically pushed herself back into the chair and shook her head. “It’s just hair!” She laughed.
    “So, hair’s okay, but lettuce is poison?” They had been together for five seasons. Of her, he had no doubts. But what was...this thing all about? He had wanted to ask for so long.
    She was aghast at the question. The connotation. The gall. She didn’t ask him why he did...things. Plus, a person isn’t supposed to point out something, like this. Especially in public. She squinted her eyes into a noose around Tuck, “What, exactly, is your question?”
    Tuck realized immediately his query was snarky. Childish even. However, he would stand his ground. He was convinced the food thing was directly related to her ability to sleep fourteen hours a day, her reluctance to ever admit she wasn’t happy, or her inability to talk about anything that wasn’t precariously positive.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to talk down to you. You know how much I love you. I support you and your feelings. I just...”
    “You just want, what, to point out some flaw? You’re trying to change me? Who I am?” She crossed her arms. She wanted to eat, not talk about her, thing.
    “No, no. You’re not flawed. I have zero interest in changing who you are. I’m only curious. That’s all. I would really like to know you better. Understand you.” Tuck’s eyes were kind, forgiving, and apologetic. For a big guy—a big hairy guy—he wasn’t threatening. Nor a wuss. Soft but still formidable.
    “Understand what? Just because I’m, I don’t know, picky, doesn’t mean there’s some big mystery about me. I mean, I’m a picky eater. So what?” Now, Sara felt she had control again. What a silly conversation she thought. Duh. He’s the one that’s, that’s weird. Asking such a strange question. What was he, some sort of anthropologist?
    “Sara, four-year olds are picky. You’re thirty-two. I just think maybe you should just, I don’t know. Try?” His upper body rounded, he had made himself smaller.
    “That’s not true.” Sara huffed. “Patty won’t eat anything that even touched a raw onion. Mitch is grossed out by cooked spinach. And Doug, he doesn’t like green peppers, onions, celery, or potatoes. I mean come on, that’s really weird. How does someone not like potatoes? But you’ve never mentioned them.” She was sure her sandwich was getting cold and the bun was getting too moist—soaking up liquid from the eggplant and grease from the breading. She considered this for a moment.
    “Well, first, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with Doug. And second he doesn’t like those things, but he’ll still eat them. It’s a dislike, not a phobia.” He tried to keep eye contact with Sara.
    “Whatever. I don’t really understand. Phobic?” She rolled her eyes and wriggled her head forward. “Come on. I just really don’t like certain foods. I wasn’t always picky.” She gazed at Tuck with satisfaction.
    “Really? When did you start? I mean, I wouldn’t eat crust on bread until I was like, I don’t know, thirteen.” Tuck laughed. He saw the waiter approaching out of the corner of his eye and coyly waved him off, thus halting interruptions.
    She glanced at her sandwich. It would be cold, soggy, and ultimately inedible in minutes. “Yeah, I never cared much either way on the whole childhood-crust-debate. But when I was little, I mean, I ate anything. Everything. I don’t know, guess I was...” She paused and did a mental tabulation. “Seven. I think seven? First grade.” She nodded enthusiastically.
    “Okay. Seven. What happened? Did you eat something particularly gross? I know the first time I bit into a cherry tomato I was pretty creeped out, thought it would feel more like a grape, but it exploded violently in my mouth when I popped it with my teeth. You know? It took me awhile to get used to that.” His honesty was hypnotic. But he made a mistake. He leaned towards her.
    “What is this? An interrogation?” Sara pushed herself back. Her sandwich was ruined.
    Tuck slowly leaned away, moving his hands entreatingly on the table. “I’m sorry. I just love hearing you talk. I was just curious, It’s kind of, you know, a thing? So what instigated this thing, this persnickety eating habit?”
    “Yeah, well my thing is...I ate something nasty. Well, it tasted good. But it made me sick.” Sara shook her head in disgust. “I barely made it to the bathroom. Maybe I didn’t?” She concentrated on the memory. “No, I totally did. Barfed on the floor though.” She shrugged innocently.
    “Wait, you barfed right after you ate it? Like immediately? That’s crazy.”
    “No, like an hour or so afterwards. It was my favorite sandwich. I called it The Before and After sub. It was mustard, mayo, sprouts, spinach, cucumbers, and pickles. Get it?” Her smile was mischievous. She scooched her chair up close the table and leaned in. “See, cucumbers are the before and pickles are the after.” She threw her head back and cackled.
    Tuck chuckled, he’d never seen her this engaged in a childhood story. “We should buy the ingredients and make one over the weekend.”
    “I can’t. I mean, back then it was the mayo, obviously. At least nowadays you can find mayo that isn’t, you know, made outta eggs. Way less kid-vomiting I suspect.” Sara was discouraged.
    “Okay, well I still want to try a Before and After. How about that?” He shrugged and finally started on his portabella mushroom burger.
    She was visibly disturbed by Tuck’s food. Mushroom, lettuce, onion, tomato, avocado, and sprouts all smashed together. Together choking on BBQ sauce. It wasn’t okay. Plus, it was cold. Soggy. Gross. She shook her head to herself.
    “Aren’t you gonna eat?” Tuck asked, mouth full, overfull. Sauce on his cheeks, a piece of lettuce on the corner of his mouth moved up and down as he chewed.
    “No.” She picked the lid off her eggplant with the very tips of her fingers as if it were possibly explosive. She shuttered. “No.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry babe. Did it get cold?” He was genuinely concerned. “I’ll get you another.”
    “No, no. I’m fine. I’ll just. I don’t know. Get dessert.” She cheered back up immediately.
    He put his sandwich down and with his big, furry hand, he snatched the napkin from his lap and delicately wiped the corners of his mouth.
    She smiled. “You’re a garbage disposal.”
    “So, it was the throwing up that freaked you out? Have you, I don’t know, considered just trying to eat the stuff you don’t like? Teach your brain that you won’t throw up if you eat it?” He grabbed up his sandwich again for another bite.
    “Oh, no.” She threw her hands at him, “I mean, I don’t want to hurl or anything. But I’m not scared of food poisoning. I couldn’t eat out if I were. Right?” Her eyes scanned the room. “But I just, I don’t know. I’m good. I don’t need all that other stuff. I mean I’m healthy, I’m fine. All that.” She pointed a finger at the sandwich stuffed into Tuck’s face. “Those, veggies. I just don’t need ‘em.” She shrugged.
    “But you are a vegetarian. We’re vegetarian. Don’t you, I don’t know, need to eat vegetables?” His mouth was full, but he had parked his bite on the right side of his mouth causing a huge protrusion.
    “Well, I don’t know. I mean. I figure I haven’t eaten meat since I was a kid, no one really gives me shit about that. So why give me shit about the other stuff?” She was confused.
    “I think most people totally get the I don’t eat animals thing. I mean, come on. But to say you’re a vegetarian that doesn’t actually eat vegetation seems a little. I don’t know. Extreme.” He had a sandwich in one hand and a napkin in the other.
    “I eat vegetables. This...” she pointed at her sandwich, “...is a vegetable. You’re misrepresenting me here.”
    “Yes, of course. You eat some veggies. But I wish you would just try. I don’t know. A tomato.”
    She squirmed, “No thank you.”
    He put his sandwich down. Slowly wiped his hands and face clean of debris. He moved closer but lowered down as to not intimidate, “But why? You eat tomato sauce and ketchup. I don’t understand why you won’t eat olives. Onions I get. A lot of people hate onions. But what’s wrong with zucchini? What about asparagus? Avocados are amazing. You have to try guacamole. I just. I don’t know Sara. I don’t want you to miss out. I feel like you’re missing out.” His voice had lowered there at the end. Tuck didn’t know how he thought he could figure her out. She was a locked box. He had to be okay with that.
    “I think. I can’t really. I don’t know what to tell you Tuck. I really don’t. It all scares me. But tomatoes in forms other than themselves are much...how do I put it...less threatening.” She didn’t think that was the right description. Her eyes stared through him, considering exactly what she meant. “It’s just the way I deal with things. It’s the way I can make sense of it all. It’s predictable.”
    “This from the girl that had sex with me in a public restroom yesterday.” He raised an eyebrow. “Predictable?”
    “That’s different. That was fun. Eating isn’t fun. It’s just something we all have to do. You know?” She paused, “I feel weird.” She looked down at her plate. She examined the pile of chopped onions, diced tomatoes, and various greens. Was that an olive, she wondered? She leaned over and inspected the pile of inedibles behind her pickle wall.
    Taken back, Tuck perked up a bit, “What do you mean weird? Sick? We should get you something to eat.” He said this as he too examined her plate. The pile of food. The sad looking sandwich that had been picked clean of anything fun or nutritious.
    “I don’t know how to answer your questions. I don’t know how I really feel or think about any of this. I don’t understand how you are the first person to ask me any of this. The first person ever. In all my years of stacking vegetables on my plate, making long ‘no’ lists to waitstaff, and even just skipping meals because getting it right just seemed too, I don’t know, stressful, not one person said to me, ‘Hey, why not just eat food like a normal person?’” She shook her head and seemed to deflate. Her eyes looked down. Straight down in her lap.
    Tuck felt guilty for even bringing it up. “You’re normal. You’re better than normal. You are you and that Sara, is exactly who you should be.” He reached across the table and pulled one of her arms loose and held her hand willing her to bring her eyes up.
    He kissed her hand, “Give me a minute.”
    She wouldn’t allow these emotions. This weird feeling. What was it? Anger she thought. Embarrassment. Yep. That too. It was that inherited denial she was struggling with. She looked behind her shoulder and saw Tuck handing over his credit card to someone on staff. Not their waiter. Maybe a manager.
    When he reappeared at the table, he offered a bouquet of french fries and a to-go slice of cherry pie. “Come on, let’s go sit in the park.” He was all smiles.
    Sara snatched a french fry and popped it in her mouth. But she refused the automatic happy look that wanted to conceal her feelings. She stared down her uneaten sandwich. “Tuck. Can I tell you something? Actually, can I show you something? No, let’s do something.” She worked that out, aloud.
    “Whatever you want, boss.” He didn’t recognize this mood. This reflection that seemed to be happening for her. But he was intrigued. His mind returned to the public restroom yesterday. He smiled, to himself.
    Sara stood up. She looked tiny next to Tuck. She looked at him. “You’re thinking about yesterday aren’t you?”
    With his eyes glazed over, smiling, he nodded.
    Sara grabbed his hand as he shuffled the pie under his other arm, and she marched them out of the restaurant.
    They walked four blocks in silence, then she guided him into an alley littered with broken glass that twinkled in the sunlight. But as they strolled a few more blocks, the sparkling debris just looked like garbage—shadowed by tall buildings on three sides. A dead end.
    “Stay here.” She let go of Tuck’s hand and sprinted away, out of sight.



    Tuck had inadvertently eaten the french fries and the cherry pie while sitting on a discarded nightstand that rested in front of a dumpster, which too was overflowing. His hands were sticky from the pie, and he looked around perplexed as to how to clean them. Finally, he decided he had to lick them clean and then wipe furiously on his jeans. As he was inspecting the end result, Sara returned with her arms weighed down by a few reusable grocery bags.
    “I ate all your food,” he said in a full admission of guilt, refusing to make eye contact.
    She dropped the three bags at his feet. “Fuck it. I need some help though.”
    He saw the contents of the bags: two filled to the brim with big, bloated, overly-managed, overly-bred, and overly-modified tomatoes and one filled with plastic containers of cherry tomatoes. Though some containers were labeled cherry tomatoes and some grape tomatoes—both looked exactly the same. Tuck contorted his face trying to figure out what this was. This. “You probably shouldn’t eat those. I mean, not to be the hipster douchebag that won’t touch anything but an urban farmed, organic, humanely raised tomato. But I can promise you, those tomatoes taste like shit. Not a good, what do you call it, entry-tomato?” He was talking to the bags, still refusing his guilty eyes.
    “These, are not for eating.” She brought one of the cherry tomato packages up to eye level and carefully examined the contents.
    “Okay,” his eyes raised to hers, “you’ve piqued my interest. What’s the plan here?”
    Sara grabbed a big tomato and hurled it at a brick wall ten feet away. It splattered and stuck to the wall. “I guess we’re feeding the rats?” She shrugged.
    “I thought you hated sports.”
    “Is tomato splatting a sport?” She lobbed two more.
    He stood up and grabbed one in each hand and chucked them hard at the wall in unison. “This. It’s good. Right?” He wasn’t sure.
    “It’s good Tuck. You’re good. I’m not so good. I’m terrible. I’m really, really fucked up. But I get it. Isn’t that. I don’t know, good?” She grabbed a handful of cherry tomatoes and threw them at the wall. They just bounced. “Huh, hadn’t considered that.” She walked forward to pick them up and try again.
    Tuck had already pitched his next tomato. “Oh shit!” It hit her in the back, right between the shoulder blades. Gore everywhere.
    She threw her hands into the air, spun in a circle, and fell to the ground in a dramatic fashion. “Uh, you got me, Tuck. I’m, I’m not gonna make it.” And she pretended to die, right there on the filthy, glass-strewn alley.
    “Oh no! I must, I must hide the body.” Tuck quickly buried Sara under a pile of the remaining tomatoes. “They’ll never suspect this tomato-phobic to be here, covered by the enemy.” He smiled.
    She sat up. She was laughing. She was also crying. She was covered in tomatoes. “My arch-nemesis has finally gotten me.”
    Tuck didn’t know what to do. He’d never seen her cry. Though he thought so often she really needed to. He had cried a bunch. A few sad movies. That one YouTube video of a cat—wait, there were like ten that have teared him up. Crying was normal, healthy. He wasn’t a crybaby. But Sara was freed from that emotion. But free wasn’t the right word. She was restrained from it. She was missing out on it. Sadness. Tearful happiness. Tears of anger. She had been left out. But at that moment, she was feeling it. She was feeling something, and he got to see it.
    “You’re crying. Again,” Sara said as she looked up at him.
    “I know. I’m just so happy.” He knelt down and hugged her.
    She grabbed a huge, flavorless tomato and smashed it into his chest. Laughing. Crying.
    “It wasn’t The Before and After. It was him. ‘Asshole.’ The only thing I could control. The only thing he couldn’t force was what I ate. So I made that part hard to accommodate. It was my only weapon as a kid. Then it just became this thing. The thing. I don’t know. Like if I went back, if I just ate anything, he would win. Somehow.” She sat there, a river of tomato juice running between them. Feeling defeated.
    “But doesn’t he win? Doesn’t he control you when you have this thing, this eating habit now at thirty-two because of him?” Tuck didn’t know the full story of this man from her childhood. He just knew he was bad and that Sara had always refused to acknowledge the wounds.
    “Yes.”
    Chest covered in tomato guts, he joined her on the ground.
    She grabbed a tomato and turned it round and round in her hand. “Did you ever consider, when someone has a thing, maybe it’s the only thing holding them together?”
    “No. But I was worried that’s what you thought.” Together, they sat in the pool of blood.



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