Peeling a Grapefruit

Photo by Georgia de Lotz on Unsplash

Have you ever been ghosted? I am fortunate to say that it’s ben a while since I have been in that position — but I remember the lingering unease, the unfinished trail of something that lingers after it happens. Today’s breath is a piece of flash fiction imagining what might be behind a ghosting. Feel free to share this with someone who might relate to the experience.

It's not that anything happened, really. There's nothing to put a finger on or to speak about to a therapist or a friend over beers after work. Not really. It was just about the way she peeled a grapefruit.

It was their first weekend away together. They went somewhere close, near enough to drive without navigating a rest stop or snacks for the road. They found a clean, quiet hotel, near water, with a small kitchen and a view onto the beach (of you leaned far to the left and stood on your tip-toes.) They didn't know each other well, just enough to know they both loved to cook, they both still felt very cautious out in the world, and they enjoyed each other enough to want a whole, uninterrupted night together. They looked forward to waking up together and sneaking into the bathroom to brush their teeth before making love in the morning.

This is exactly how it went. Before sunrise, he reached for her with still-damp, mint-scented hands, and she rolled easily into his arms. Afterwards, they dozed until the mid-morning light crept around the the blackout shades. He got up and into the shower while she made tea. He came out fo the shower and found her standing at the sink, a steaming up of tea on the counter, peeling a grapefruit the way you would peel an orange. She dug her fingers between the fascia of each section and pulled out the fruit, dripping juice onto the counter. She slid bits of flesh into her mouth and gently sucked at her fingers before pushing them deep into the next section. He was overcome by a wave of disgust, which must have lingered on his face -- when she turned to him, grapefruit juice sliding down the corner of her mouth, her smiling instantly flattened and something like fear sparkled in her eyes.

While he dressed, she cleaned up the ripped open skin and fascia of the grapefruit, washed her hands and crept into the bathroom. The scent of her lavender soap drifted through the room, and he was able to forget about the grapefruit. They walked for hours along the water, held each other and kissed under heavy green trees. On the drive home, they held hands when the traffic was light. When he dropped her off, he held her face in both of his hands while he kissed her goodnight.

In the morning, he woke up hearing a sound -- a wet, squelching, tearing sort of sound. It was the sound of her peeling and eating a grapefruit, brought out of his memory and into the light of the morning. He texted her apologies, excuses. He stopped answering her calls. It was only the way she peeled a grapefruit that did it.