SUPER LEMON

I was starving.

I was broke.

There was no food in the house.

Having moved away from my parents after getting a job as a fry cook at the local Surf 'n Turf I figured I could probably handle it on my own. However, something harsh and cruel made itself very real to me the day after becoming independent: Mom and dad's refrigerator hadn't moved in with me.

Working at a restaurant, I took full advantage of the "employee meal" benefit granted to me each day. That little gift allowed me to survive for a while, but it wasn't enough. Had it not been for my new girlfriend Karen, a beautiful, tall, red head that I met at work my first day on the job, I would have never gone to the grocery store to buy food. We hit it off immediately, Karen and I, and boy was I glad. I would have starved without her.

She dragged me to the Food Mart and instructed me in the finer arts of obtaining sustenance. Obviously she liked me, which was confusing now. It was my birthday (yes she knew it was), so I expected her to come over and . . . and . . . do what? Give me a present (like a sweet, sugary cake)? Yes! That's what I expected!

But it was 7 p.m. and I haven't heard from her all day.

For the 17th time I scoured the cupboards and refrigerator, thinking I may have missed a hidden, savory morsel the last 16 times.

And then I saw it.

On the counter by the kitchen sink was a large glass bowl that Karen had given me. Why had she done that? While at the store she had bought me some fruit and according to Karen, you can't have fruit unless you have a big, shiny, glass fruit bowl (something I wasn't aware of)! One of the fruits she insisted I get was as lemon, not because I might eat it, but because its color sat nicely among the other fruits Karen said I needed: red apples, orange oranges, browning bananas. At the time I thought it was weird, but now I was glad to see that little football-shaped thing.

I walked to the counter then stared at the plump ball of citrus. My mouth began to water. Sure, I was hungry and would probably eat anything right now, but a lemon? Could it really satisfy my hunger? And if I ate it right now, wouldn't it cause injuries to my gastrointestinal tract? My stomach was empty and this extreme burst of citric acid just might eat away at my innards if that's all that was in there.

I'll take my chances.

I didn't have any food in the house (except Mr. Lemon), but I did have the utensils to eat food whenever I did have it. I stared at the sole lemon, dwarfed in its bowl, then yanked open a drawer below the counter. Silverware clanked. Among the heap of forks and spoons was a large knife, the kind you would picture in a horror flick, grasped in someone's hand and suspended in air then slicing downward and disappearing from the frame and reappearing over and over again as a helpless victim was done in. I grabbed the lemon, wondering if the fruit knew what was coming: If it had a mouth, would it be screaming those little falsetto Help me's, just like in The Fly?

I slapped the lemon onto a cutting board and wasted no time in slicing into it. Within seconds I was holding a half-inch wedge of the fruit to my lips. I licked the glistening pulp and instantly my glands swelled with saliva. It hurt but as soon as they settled down I took a big bite.

Maybe this was some kind of Super Lemon, maybe it wasn't, but it certainly seemed sourer than anything I had ever chomped into. Nevertheless, I devoured the entire meat of the wedge in five seconds.

It was an out-of-body experience. I remember slicing and dicing like a man possessed, the sour shock tattooing my mouth, and then it was over. The entire lemon (except for the peel which I darned near ate as well) was gone.

And then I noticed something. My lips were pursed shut, scrunched in the permanent position of someone trying to shape their mouths into the smallest letter "O" they could speak. I couldn't undo the pose and momentarily I was horrified, wondering if I was going to spend the rest of my life walking around looking like this, being labeled with nicknames like "Lipless Leroy" or "Citrus Sid."

Then, there were knocks on my door.

"Hon! Are you home?" said a voice.

It was Karen. I was elated and instantly I felt stupid for doubting that she would ever show up. I walked to the door and opened it. Karen was holding a single-layered cake and she was smiling but when she saw my face and its odd, scrunched lips, her expression became different, apprehensive.

"Honey?" she said, looking concerned, "Are you OK? You look kinda weird."

I ignored her completely and stared at the cake with its thick, white frosting. On it was some writing, I'm sure something about my birthday, but I ignored it.

I wanted to say Come on in but my mummified mouth refused to form the words.

Karen now looked at me differently than she ever had - an expression that told me she was wondering if she had mistakenly fallen for a psychopath instead the normal guy she assumed I was.

I let her in then led her to the kitchen table. When I grabbed the same knife I had done the lemon in with, Karen backed away.

"What are you doing with that knife?" she asked, thudding into the wall behind her.

Immediately I cut the cake, showing Karen, to her relief, what my intentions were. In seconds I acquired a fork and plate and was gorging upon the dessert.

It was a strange feeling. The cake's sweet, sugary texture counteracted the sourness of the raw lemon and those two tastes fought it out in my mouth. Eventually the Army of Sweet overwhelmed the Army of Sour and my lips returned to normal. I smiled then looked at Karen.

"Are . . . are you OK?" she asked. I walked to her and she again backed away, but she could only go so far. I did have walls in my apartment.

"Oh yes my sweet," I said, "I'm just fine."

I kissed her on the cheek lightly, and then I returned to take another bite of cake. Before the pastry entered my mouth, I noticed for the first time that below the white frosting was a yellow cake.

"Your favorite!" Karen beamed. "Lemon cake! Remember? You told me yesterday! Happy birthday sweetkins!"

I haven't eaten cake since.

THE END

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