Ingredients of a Life Not Worth Living
written by: Teodora Vamvu
@teodora_vamvu
What’s a life made of?
Pearl raises the collar of her re-stitched padded jacket and swallows down her growing sense of doom. Her fist lingers for a few seconds on the door, shivers running down her spine to her toes.
“Oh, hi, Pearl.”
Lisa, dressed in what looks like at least five layers of clothes, opens the door to her trailer, a scornful look on her face. Pearl can’t hold it against her neighbor since she too knows that what little warmth houses hold in this park is sacred as sub-zero temperatures threaten to freeze everything for those for whom, like Pearl herself, having an electrical heater is a luxury that cannot be afforded.
“Lisa, I’m real sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you had some sugar that maybe you could spare. I’m making Jonathan a birthday cake.”
“Pearl, I…”
“I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t his 40th, you know. Really wanted to do something special this year. I already got some eggs and flour from the Thompsons and… I just need a little sugar, please.”
Pearl can almost see the wheels of Lisa’s brain slowly turning, her bottom lip twitching at her internal struggle. Her reluctance in sparing goods she hasn’t got to spare against her good-natured spirit and kindness.
“Okay, come in already, it’s so fucking cold, ain’t it?”
No better inside, Pearl wants to say but doesn’t.
What’s a cake made of? Cake flour or whatever flour there is, for beggars can’t be choosers. Egg yolks and egg whites, as white as Jonathan’s glazed-over irises.
Sweet Jonathan. The thought of her husband laying in their bed in the same position he’s been in for the last four years threatens to rise bile up her throat. His pleading soft voice, his limp limbs, that unthinkable request.
Lisa pours the sugar in a cup as Pearl gathers her last remaining bit of courage. You can do it, she thinks to herself. But can she?
“I know I’m a jerk, but can I also ask you for a roll of toilet tissue? I’m sorry, Lisa, it’s just… it’s been hard.”
As her neighbor reluctantly goes to fetch another burrowed good she won’t ever see given back, Pearl lunges for the cupboard under the sink, looking for the last of the ingredients she needs.
What’s a birthday cake made of? Flour for the fiber of the wilting human that is Jonathan, taking his numbered breaths minute after minute. Baking powder for the strength his bones have been losing with every step until he had none. Sugar for the sweetness of their love, glazed over with his sacrifice. Rat poison for her freedom. Freedom to go back to work and have a mouth less to feed out of nothing to possess.
What is a life made of? Resilience, survival, and impossible choices.
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