Melons

Image by 2725

4/19 – 4/20/07
Let’s go back a little in time.

The scene: a small kitchen, where a young man and woman scramble through dishes and lunch on their way out the door.

She, soaping and rinsing, he spoon feeding (ok, fork feeding) pieces of melon to her at high speeds. Will the melon be eaten, freeing the container it was in to be washed in time? Or will she have to stop down and dry for a bit, while the feeding frenzy continues. “I don’t think I’ll ever eat melon again,” she says, gulping down the last piece.

Fast… Forward…

The scene: a large, inter-continental airplane. A young man and woman are seated in a row, five across, waiting for the arrival of their much-anticipated airline dinner. Their last meal, if you will, and bearing all the similarities to prison food that the name implies.

The flight attendant arrives, carrying not one, but two vegetarian meals. She takes hers gratefully. She did special order it after all, and hopes that whatever is on the tray is more edible than the homogenous, identically shaped pieces of chicken her neighboring travelers are munching on.

He, on the other hand, is waiting for his homogenous meal. Therefore, when the flight attendant brings him a dinner, utterly unidentifiable as any food group of this earth, he is less than pleased. “But I don’t want a vegetarian meal,” he pleads. The flight attendant won’t hear of it. There are only so many meals and so many people. And the fact that one of his own neighbors requests and is denied a vegetarian meal, just as the young man is offering to give up his, makes no difference. Leaving the young man only to munch sulkily on the melon slices that came with it.

Time Lapse…

Time has passed. Day has turned to night and to day again. Sun replaced darkness, and little over 30 miles separate the Boeing 777 and London. It is now April 20th, and bleary-eyed passengers are woken to the promise of croissants. Again, the quest fro turning Bree vegetarian perseveres, and we both find ourselves with special meals. By now he’s learned better than to argue.

On the plate? Juice, a bagel-like substance and, yes, a small container of melon.