Three New Works by Allison Whittenberg

 

Pass the cappuccino.

I had another brain surge this morning—didn’t feel pretty. Then it all came rushing back in big, red chunks.

I could feel it happening—damn it—and I got all whacked, surrealistic, reverting back to my former self. Contemptible, precarious thoughts resurfaced again, and if I could, I’d grab a whip and a chair and kill this imagination of mine—dead.

But the music of my own voice—oh, it moves through my ears like syrup, sweet and dangerous, making my senses yield.

Hadn’t I been to this movie before?

It won’t go away, this damnable appendage. I keep biting at my own hide, searching for metaphysical fleas.

The right side of my brain keeps aching. Ghost pains? A bogus façade peels away like sunburn.

And sometimes, I feel optimistic—now and then. More often than I’d expect. Is there no refuge where I might towel off, emotionally? It’s a fate worse than life itself.

Pass the cappuccino.

 

Plant-based. Sustainable. Cruelty-free. The casual exposed brick walled restaurant was one of those places that tried hard to seem casual. Someone had left the wiring unfinished, Edison bulbs dangling from the ceiling and, of course, menus printed on recycled paper (so soft they all but dissolved in your hands). Hudson had chosen it carefully.

Tonight was important as all dates were at the beginning, they were only a few weeks in but this did seem like it could last.

Across the table, Juliet was flipping through her menu.

“Anything look good?” Hudson asked.

“It all looks good,” Juliet said, not looking up. “You?”

“Mushroom risotto,” Hudson said, smiling. “They use nutritional yeast for creaminess instead of dairy.”

“Nice,” she said.

The waiter appeared. Hudson gave his order, already picturing them clinking glasses over matching plant-based meals, a perfect little Instagram post he’d never actually make but would definitely think about.

Then Juliet spoke.

“I’ll have the grilled salmon,” she said.

Hudson was stunned, he was certain he’d hallucinated them.

“What did you say?” Hudson asked, blinking.

“Salmon.” Juliet smiled at the waiter.

The waiter scribbled on his pad and walked away, oblivious to the bomb that had just detonated at the table.

Hudson glared at Juliet. “You ordered fish.”

“Yes,” she said slowly.

“Why?”

“Because I like it.”

Hudson’s lip began to quiver followed by his eyes filled with tears.

“Hudson, what’s wrong?”

“They are social. They have friends. They swim together. Fish feel things! ”

Other diners glanced over.

Hudson sobbed louder, “Juliet, I thought you believed in ethical consumption!”

“Hudson, are you crying about fish?” she asked.

“You’re not vegan.”

“Not totally.”

“Either you are or you’re not.”

“Then I guess I’m not. Always.”

“You guess?” Hudson asked. “Are you going to consume an animal in front of me or not?”

“You don’t have to put it like that. ”

“What are you? What do you believe in? I’ve never seen you do anything like this before.”

“Usually, I eat vegan, but every now and then I don’t.”

“There is no such thing as a half vegan. Are you going to change your order or not?” he asked sharp and jagged. Hot tears slid down his cheeks.

“Hudson, you’re crying –”

“I know I am, this is worth crying about. I thought – you had me believing. You have to change your order or are you going to eat a corpse? They have choices, Juliet, you don’t have to order mushroom risotto like me. They have roasted cauliflower steak.”

“Hudson, I–” she began.

Just then the waiter came back not just with their two plates where steam curled but with their moment of truth.

 

A couple enters a lucrative four-week study, unaware they’ll be separated, one starved, the other force-fed.

As their bodies warp and resentment festers, love curdles into hatred.

When the experiment ends, they discover the food was never the point.

Their suffering bought nothing, but data and ruin.