Pangs of Love
A
t the table we are confronted with big wedges of
apple pie. My mother's still upset. She stares at
the pie as if it were a form of torture.
- "Where've you two been?" Deborah asks.
- "In the bedroom, watching wrestling."
- "God, how retro," she says. "What's happening to
you?"
- "Bagel," I say, stopping his hand as he's about to spoon
sugar into my mother's coffee.
- "Bagels?" Jamie says. "You're hungry for bagels? We're
having bagels for breakfast."
- I say nothing. I pull from my pocket gold-foil packets
the size and shape of condoms. Inside each is a tablet de-
veloped at the lab. You dissolve it in your mouth, and it
will disguise the sourness of whatever you drink or eat. I
pass them to everyone at the table.
- They won't know what has happened. They will laugh,
delighted by the tricks of their tongues. But soon the old
bitterness in our mouths will be forgotten, and from this
moment on, our words will come out sweet.
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