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The Birthday Potato

Okay, last Saturday was the best day of my entire life. Although, a few days earlier, I wasn't so sure as to why this odd thing was happening to me. I found myself in a bin at the grocery store along with many other potatoes and other vegetables. We knew that soon each one of us would probably be picked up and taken to a home, restaurant, or other eating establishment. I heard some of my friends had gone to a horrible place called "The Farm."

The word was that you didn't want to go there because there were animals there. With animals came horrible smells and dangerous creatures called pigs. I knew that I was destined to be eaten, and I was ok with that. I preferred a hot bath before the feast took place. They tell me (Who they are, I do not know.) that on the farm, if the pigs get you, they devour you right out of the dirt and other rotting foods.

I consider myself to be civilized and not worthy of such torture.

"She is going to be so surprised," the man said.

"Who is this "she" that he was speaking so fondly about. And why would she be excited to get me?

I rode home with the man in his car for about an hour, more or less; I couldn't tell because potatoes have no concept of time. The weather, on the other hand, I know about that. I remember being in the ground when it was cold and rainy. I also can tell you about when it was hot and dusty. I don't mind the dirt, but the hot weather makes me sweat. Not fun.

The ground near the home where I would soon reside was covered in some sort of white fluffy stuff. It was cold. Actually, it was frozen. I know this because when the man was getting the paper sacks out of the car the one that I was in ripped open and all of us vegetables fell to the ground.

He was a kind man though. He picked each one of us up, brushed us off, and put us into his warm coat.

The veggies sat on the counter in a place called the pan tree. When the lady told him to put us in the "pan tree" I thought she was talking about where pans came from. I soon discovered that I misunderstood what she was saying.

"It's pantry, the place where humans keep food and other cooking stuff," the carrot told me. I raised my eyebrow in response to her information. "Oh, that pantry," I said. I then went on to inform the other veggies about the place where the pans grew.

"Nonsense, who ever heard of a pan tree?" The tomatoes said. "Well, not many of us vegetables, but I consider it my duty to get the word out." And that is just what I did for the remainder of the day.

From our spot in the pantry, we could hear the commotion going on in the other room. Other children had come to the house. There was a great tumult going on in the other room. I saw the little girl run past the pantry. I knew it was her because I remembered hearing the man talk about her long brown hair and bubbly personality.

"Children don't like us vegetables," the yellow squash said. "You're right, they say we are yucky," commented the bag of turnip greens.

"I don't know," I said. "She seems pleasant enough."

"At least you might become a French fry," the bag of peas said.

The man came into the pantry and fumbled through the bag that I was in. He pushed the other potatoes out of the way and held me up to the light. Slowly, he turned me around. He turned me to the left. He turned me to the right. Then he rotated me forwards and backwards.

"Perfect, this one will do," he said loudly.

"What's doing what?" The voice of the little girl said.

"Oh, nothing precious," the man said.

I looked and saw a small box that was just about my size in the man's hand. He tossed me into the air. This was my chance to show of my acrobatic talents. I did a triple flip, with a half twist and landed back in his hands just like I started.

"Bravo," shouted the onions.

"Hurrah," said the carrots.

"Show off," said the tomatoes.

After he put me in the box, I heard some paper rattling and then all was quiet; well as quiet as it can be with a gaggle of children's voices calling out, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" whatever that was. After all, you must remember that I am only a potato, and not knowledgeable about such things.

I could sense that I was crowded in a group of other boxes and paper bags. The hands that picked me up were not the strong hands that held me earlier. These hands were gentle and smelled like beauty. The hands the man had were rough and smelled like some kind of chemical. I don't really know what a chemical is ~ you know, the whole I'm just a potato thing ~

When the light filled the box and my eyes adjusted to it, I could see two very pretty brown eyes looking at me. I had seen many eyes stare at me while in the bin at the grocery store; there were some sad eyes, some scared eyes, a few creepy eyes looking at me. But that was in the past, and I no longer had bad dreams about them.

These eyes were beautiful, and they were looking at me.

"A birthday potato!" she squealed out with a voice of excitement.

From the pantry, I heard the onion say, "No one ever gets excited when they pull me out of the bag."

"That's because you always make people cry," the carrots said. "Can't help that, it's what I do." The onion boasted loudly.

"Oh, Daddy, I just love him."

"I thought you would, sweetheart."

And a sweetheart she was. She gave me a place on her pillow to sleep at during the night. When it was cold in the house, she put me under the covers with her favorite teddy bear. I never had a teddy bear before. This was wonderful.

"You'll always be my potato," she said.

With that I closed my eyes; all twelve of them and went to sleep.

I dreamed of forever.

If Only

“Can you write it?”

“Write it, I must know what it is before I can find words that will do the trick.”

The “It” is a story with exactly 100 words.

“Yes, I can.”

*** The Story***

There were six faces on the floor looking up at me. Each face had two eyes and a nose.

The mystery was this, “How do you have a face without a mouth?”

That is what I asked of the group sitting by my feet.

They did not answer. How could they without a mouth?

I attempted ASL. No response.

“You are unlearned.” I said.

I noticed they had no ears. How dreadful to live life without hearing or speaking; alas,

I should try writing my question out. They had eyes so they could read.

If only a power strip could.

Market Day

The first time I took my three-year-old grandson to the market, I learned something important about time: it does not walk at the same pace for everyone.

We arrived early, when the morning was still clearing its throat. The doors sighed open like a welcome from an old friend, and my grandson stopped dead in his tracks. He stared as if we’d crossed into a kingdom made entirely of color and promise. Apples shone like polished marbles. Bread smelled the way Sundays used to. Somewhere, a cartwheel squeaked, and he laughed as though it had told him a joke.

He held my hand with the seriousness of a man signing papers. Every aisle was an expedition. He greeted strangers as if they’d been expecting him. “Hello,” he said, carefully, testing the word like a new coin. People smiled the way people always do around small boys, softly, remembering things they didn’t know they’d forgotten.

At the bananas, he asked why they were curved. I told him they’d been in a hurry once and never quite straightened out. He accepted this without question. At the fish counter, he pressed his nose to the glass and whispered secrets to creatures that had already finished listening. At the checkout, he insisted on placing one item on the belt himself: a loaf of bread nearly as long as his arm. The cashier thanked him like he was doing her a favor.

When we left, the sun had climbed higher and so had my heart. He skipped beside me, empty-handed and full of wonder. I carried the bags. He carried the moment.

I realized then that my first trip to the market had been long ago. I just hadn’t noticed it was happening again, only this time, I was walking beside it, holding on, trying not to rush.

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