"Juice #1" by Nadia Wolnisty

 

Now is a good time to talk to you about carrot juice. The flavor is so complex. Like the first bite of an apple or caramel mixed with stew. Sweet in a way that feels odd, although sweetness in carrot is not unprecedented, such as carrots broiled with brown sugar or carrot cake. I regard it with trepidation. The flavor defies a solid description. Moreover, drinking carrot juice feels so deliberate and kind a thing to do to one's body. I find it more natural and befitting when something grotesque happens to mine. Always, but especially after my body betrayed me in a horrific way while being raped or ended a life that never was. I enjoy getting zits the size of hotels on my shoulders. When my friend got an eye-infection, I got jealous. A boy who used to flirt with me told me that if I were the size I am now when I was in college, he would have never paid attention to me. I wished I had eaten nothing but cake for years before I had the misfortune of meeting him. My boyfriend likes to go on walks with me. Doing this feels kind to him, and I can forget about my body, except for my hand in his. The leaves are gathering on the sidewalks, and one is all the way caramel, except for a splash of orange in the center. Juice.

 

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