Vegetables

• Caro Derkenne, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2010

Mrs Bethany Maclouse lived by herself in a small cottage, boxed in between two, towering apartment buildings. She had lived by herself ever since her husband, Don, had died, six years previously. She was now 73 and doing well for her age. She had some arthritis, but she could still move well and her mind was still sharp. She looked younger than her age, and was very proud of this. If paid a compliment in the street, she would lean in close, so that you could smell her minty breath and see the smudges of lipstick around her mouth, and she would whisper,
“It’s because I’m a vegetarian.” She would wink then, and give you a secret smile, yours only, before going on her way.
Mrs Maclouse had always been a vegetarian. She had been raised that way. She was passionate about vegetables. In fact, ever since Don had passed away and left her all alone, vegetables had become one of her very favourite things about being alive. Vegetables were delivered to her doorstep every day by an organic food company, at six on the dot precisely.
She didn’t have any particular favourites- she loved all vegetables. The way carrots had that brilliant, orange colour, and the crunch as their flesh was shattered between her teeth. The crack as she broke it in two, a quick, sharp, snap. She loved that sound- she would continue to snap until all she was left with were small sections. This usually made her giggle.
The smooth skin and deep colour of eggplants. Using her sharpest knife she would cut the eggplant in half, stroking each side for a moment, enjoying their shiny, smooth skin, before plunging the knife in. Then she would slice them finely, cooking them in a little olive oil and salt. Nothing else. Her mouth would water as each piece was greedily devoured.
Tomatoes were lovely. Mrs Maclouse delighted in the way they blushed a deep red. She always ate her tomatoes raw, never cooked. Her heart would race as she bit through the skin, the red juice spurting out, often splashing her face and shirt.
Today, Mrs Maclouse was waiting by the door. Her heart was already thumping, thinking about what vegetable she would be eating in just a few moments. One had was already gripping both a knife and fork. She was almost quivering with excitement.
Then, the doorbell rang.
Mrs Maclouse threw open the door. “Hello dearie,” she said, smiling sweetly.
Before her stood the delivery boy, holding a box under one warm. He was chubby, and had a lumpy roundness about him. Acne had left bad scars on his skin.
“A potato!” Mrs Maclouse exclaimed, eyeing him hungrily. “I haven’t had one of those for ages.”
“Pardon?” said the delivery boy, baffled by Mrs Maclouse’s words and her amiable, trustworthy face.
“Nothing dearie. Come inside. You’re just in time for dinner.”