The Donuts We Carry
Life is short, have the donut
Two years ago, The Kid and I were running through the Denver airport to catch the connecting flight to South Dakota.
Before that, we were buying Voodoo Donuts.
Before that we were on a plane from SFO.
Before that we were in Berkeley, texting K all day.
Before the texts, we were all three at home, feeling the weight of what was coming.
Before the weight, K’s mom was falling; her motor functions quickly declining from spreading lung cancer.
From Merriam-Webster:
voodoo
adjective: of, relating to, or practicing voodoo
voodoo rituals
: based on highly improbable suppositions : extremely implausible or unrealistic
voodoo economics
voodoo
voodooed; voodooing; voodoos
: to bewitch by or as if by means of voodoo : hex
We didn’t know Voodoo Donuts from Portland then, killing an hour or so inside the length of the Denver Airport. K first found them on one of his many back and forths to take care of his mom, bringing a dozen large to his mom in South Dakota. Then picking a pink box up on the way back to Berkeley: Dirt, Marshall Mathers, Portland Cream, Sprinkle Cake, Raised Glazed, The Homer, Bacon Maple Bar, Grape Ape, Blueberry Cake, Voodoo Doll, Oh Captain, My Captain, Chocolate Coconut, and Maple Blazer Blunt.
K and I laughed at the Oh Captain my Captain reference. Whitman's poem was not the first thing that came to mind, even though we’re both hardcore English Lit majors. It was that famous scene in Dead Poet’s Society. Why was it funny to remember this together? The scene itself wasn’t funny. The poem less. But K and I laughed at puns and references we recognize simultaneously, sharing the same knowledge– a sort of comfort–as if to say, We know the same things and isn’t that ridiculous and grand?
We know the same things. K and I knew the feeling of terminally ill parents, the feeling of being hexed, feeling alone for the duration of the illness. The pit in the stomach that doesn’t feel like it’s ever going away.
Until it does go away, replaced by a word bigger than loss.
The loss, but then the donuts. Over and over, back and forth.
Your prompt: Tell the story front the point of view of an object. Objects are the metaphors of our life story. Or, write a list of objects that mean something to you.
Read: I was inspired by Mike Montero’s Good News How to Eat a Donut and I think you should subscribe if you want to know How To anything:)
Food for thought… donuts x