But, the COLORS, though. You’re with me on that, right?
That watermelon pink spiked red, those midnight’s tear seeds. That “everything’s-okay-now green.
There is a possibility that I like watermelon too much. I can eat a whole watermelon by myself in a few hours. I shove inappropriately large chunks into my mouth and yes, the watermelon juice flows down my chin. And no, I can’t take a smaller bite next time, even though I know it’s not mature.
My grandmother always picked an amazing watermelon. She thumped it and the sound let her know. She never told me what that sound was. When we cut the watermelon, she would say, “now, if it cracks open by itself, then you know it’s a good one.” And they did. And I have a problem. It’s cruel to give me a small bowl of watermelon.
All the watermelons I picked were watermelon-shaped and watermelon-textured. I would thump them anyway, even though I had no idea what they were supposed to sound like. I heard someone say it should sound “hollow” or sound like a knock on the door. But, like what kind of door and hollow like what? I would eat my melon anyway, even though it never cracked on it’s own when I cut it. I heard all about the yellow spot. They all had a yellow spot. They were never like before.
Maybe there aren’t good watermelons like back in the day because - greed? Pesticides? God is mad? I was hungrier and served less when I was a child? I glorified my memories?
Then there was the day I saw a man examining each of the watermelons in the store. He was inspecting them, but he wasn’t thumping them. He was slapping them. And rejecting them over and over. So, my love for a good melon gave me wings and I just flat out walked up to this watermelon judge. I figured he would see the, well, not desperation, but eagerness and (well, slight desperation) and take pity on me. And he did! Yes, look for the yellow spot, but the sound was absolutely not a knock on the door it was a thud.
He held it out to me and said, “I guarantee that’s the best watermelon you’ll ever have.” He was wrong. But it was the best watermelon I had eaten since my grandma picked it. So, to the man who was shopping for watermelons in the Costco in Albuquerque when the small slightly desperate white lady interrupted youEEven it it wasn’t me, you did a great thing the day you told someone about the
I guessed he was a chef and so had to have only the best, and why would he share his secrets and create a competitor for the best fruit? But he pitied me! I'm guessing my eyes looked a begging cartoon puppy and he caved? He could tell I needed to know. He knew I my watermelon love was true and unending.