Every Fiber of Me
She found my nickname on a six-pack of cheddar crackers: Whole Grain In jest, she gave me grief for my diet, said I eat too much Great Value Cheerios and too many store bought bagels – is it too much fiber she kidded me about or that I ate ghetto fiber? As a gesture, as a joke, as a token of care she would bring me old jam jars filled with genuine yellow box Cheerios so that I could live it up once in a while. In time, when she asked what I ate for breakfast or lunch or dinner she just answered herself – hell, you only eat three things: cereal, bread, and oatmeal, oh, and noodles, but only if they’re whole grain. These wisecracks, were always just needles that didn’t draw any blood but still found the biggest veins and made way to my heart. The day, the last one we kissed together, on her way out, as part of her farewell to us as we were she said – I love you, whole grain. I still have one of the jam jars, but it’s empty now, no more Cheerios.