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2001-07-07, night

Ah, just now I ate something. Watermelon.

Fifteen minutes ago, I go into the kitchen. Watermelon on counter. (A, this neighbor Wolf plays tennis with, brought it over today just because. He came into the house, walked through the rooms, I saw him for the first time from not just across the street. He seemed very nervous or very shy. He is 33 and married to - or living with - a woman who is 55, who is drunk the livelong day. It was such an oddity - for someone else to be in the house, in the hallway, in Wolf's room (door to my room discreetly shut - nothing to see here, folks! please don't gawk at the goddess of chaos - and yet (I notice too late) worn sports bra hanging on knob, sigh) - no one is ever here besides just the two of us.)

Wolf is sitting on the couch watching Wimbledon. I ask him if we can 'open' the watermelon. (It's true, friends - sometimes my German sucks - usually when I've been doing a lot of writing writing writing.) He says yes, he will eat some too.

I go back into the kitchen. The watermelon is smallish and very circular on the counter there, satisfyingly basketball sized. I realize that I have not eaten watermelon in many, many years. I can feel the anticipation in my mouth. I take the biggest knife we have, only 5 inches long, and stand with it poised in front of the watermelon. I now realize I have forgotten how to cut open a watermelon, how to 'open' a watermelon.

I am baffled. This lasts maybe 30 seconds while I think about me being baffled by the watermelon. I am amused by me being baffled by the watermelon. I perch my knife-hand on the sink rim, lean into it, other hand on hip, and I look down at my feet. I try to picture the slices of watermelon I have seen people holding. Are they actually slices? Are they wedges? I don't know.

So I just hack into it, cut out two huge triangles. It is easy after all. The inside of the watermelon has no seeds, it is pure watery pink offsetting nicely striped pale green - god did a good design on the watermelon. I carry the wedges into the living room and hand Wolf's to him. I stand by the couch and as soon as I take my first bite, juice shoots down onto the floor. My hands already coated and sticky with thin juice. Wolf says we need plates. I say, no, no plates - watermelon with plates! He has the plates already. He is urging me to take a plate. I would rather go eat my watermelon in the bathtub than use a plate, I tell him. There is now watermelon on my arms, my face, my neck, my feet.

I go into the bathroom, pull back the curtain, stand in the tub with my watermelon. I am eating my watermelon in the bathtub. Wolf comes and watches me from the door. He doesn't like this. He can't stand the idea of me eating watermelon in the bathtub. He is still holding the plate toward me, urging me to take the plate. I will not take the plate. I sit down on the side of the tub with my back to him and my feet inside. They are pink with juice. I eat my entire watermelon wedge this way, I rub the rind against my mouth. The watermelon is perfect. I eat it slowly.

I am happy.



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