Day Old Bread

I sat at the weathered picnic table looking out at the ocean water of Treasure Island, Florida. It was a clear warm day and the water was a spectacular blue with diamonds shimmering on the surface. My bare feet dug into the white powdery sand under the table. The granules sifted in and out between my toes, which at times could be rather irritating, but something about this day seemed different. Nothing seemed to be wrong or out of place. That was until I took my last bite of the delectable cheese danish my father brought home.

I had never tasted a cheese danish quite as good as this one. The cream cheese filling was sweet, yet almost savory. The icing drizzled on it added a special sweetness to it that was unbelievable to my teenage taste buds. I needed sugar, thrived on sugar, excelled off sugar. It had been a good two weeks since my version of cocaine had touched my tongue, it almost hurt my cheeks to finally taste it again. Money was very tight since we moved to Florida, so tight there were six of us living in a one bedroom cottage on the beach and my dad could often be found smoking disposed cigarette butts of strangers.

But this was such a treat! I even started thinking, our dad is the best in the whole world! Could life get any better than this?

My quiet little picnic of one was quickly shattered when I heard the backdoor of the meager cottage slam shut. I licked at some icing at the corner of my lips and dabbed my finger on my plate to get every last crumb!

"Oh my gawd! I hate you! I can't believe this!" My sister, Allison, yelled.

By this point I was in a sugar stupor; feeling slightly giddy and lightheaded. I felt great and no one, not even the moody 18-year old would ruin my day!

"I've got news for you," she spat out to me as I continued dabbing my plate with my finger, "You just ate a danish that came out of a Winn Dixie dumpster!"

I briefly felt nauseous and then confused. How could dumpster food taste so good? Had I been so deprived of sugar and carbohydrates that my body couldn't discern between good food and bad food anymore? Was I forever going to be like this? Would I not care if a plate of Spam was placed before me? Would I soon be digging into a small tin of sardines with a gluttonous abandon? Then I wondered how many other times we ate food without knowing where it came from?

My mind drifted back to the egg sandwich from the day before, was that meal also from the dumpster?

To be cont'd.