My Introductions are Always so Bland...
When I tell most people that I'm a cannibal, they tend not to take it so well. I know, I know, it's the wide round cheeks and the quiet demeanor that at first tricks them into trusting. However; truth remains truth.
I devour all I meet.
I like to start with their clothes. I take in their scent and graze upon their various textures and styles. Some hold New England sensibilities, others carry southwest flavor in their drapings. Sometimes I can taste the bitter-sweetness that comes from the muted colors and exhaust-kissed clothing of the modern urban dweller. Each one offers something different to the meal and I delight in it. There's something so alluring about the first taste that comes from that very first glance.
Next, I sample their outward selves. The faces that they show to strangers are often polite and socially conscious. These tend to be tough outer shells, but have their own flavors as well. No two masks are the same, after all. They are bland at first, but you can always start to get even the faintest teasing morsel of the true prize beneath. There is also their voice, the sauce that bubbles up from the center, filtered through the mask, holding the flavors of their origins. I test out my palate and try to discern what is crashing over my senses. Is that the tang of Appalachian slang? Perhaps it is, mixed with the slightest hint of buttery northeast drawl. Is it peppered with scorn? Does the saltiness of anxiety drown out the other flavors? Every sentence heard is another bite taken.
For most meals, that is as far as it goes and I am often content at that. I have eaten all that they have offered. However; there are a few rare treats. The ones that allow me past their masks and into their true selves offer up flavors and aromas unlike any other.
My mouth still waters at the thought of one such meal.
It was a friend whom I had known for quite some time, actually. I had already digested her outer layers: the clothes, the speech, the mannerisms. Once the mask was just crumbs and I had gotten to the rich and savory center there was no going back to the stale bread I had known before. I wanted more. I wanted to know her creamy-sweet dreams, her bitter and burnt traumas, her tender, chocolaty companionship, and the spicy scalding of her honesty. I had tasted all those things in time, but meals end and people move on. I still recall the feast, though. It had been a smorgasbord of emotions, contradictions, and environmental elements that sustained my hunger for friendship for years and continues to feed my memories now.
To be honest, I have come here to nibble on each of you. I look forward to taking you all in and sample a little bit of what everyone has to offer. I also offer myself up for tasting and I hope that you will welcome me with open arms and empty stomachs.
I devour all I meet.
I like to start with their clothes. I take in their scent and graze upon their various textures and styles. Some hold New England sensibilities, others carry southwest flavor in their drapings. Sometimes I can taste the bitter-sweetness that comes from the muted colors and exhaust-kissed clothing of the modern urban dweller. Each one offers something different to the meal and I delight in it. There's something so alluring about the first taste that comes from that very first glance.
Next, I sample their outward selves. The faces that they show to strangers are often polite and socially conscious. These tend to be tough outer shells, but have their own flavors as well. No two masks are the same, after all. They are bland at first, but you can always start to get even the faintest teasing morsel of the true prize beneath. There is also their voice, the sauce that bubbles up from the center, filtered through the mask, holding the flavors of their origins. I test out my palate and try to discern what is crashing over my senses. Is that the tang of Appalachian slang? Perhaps it is, mixed with the slightest hint of buttery northeast drawl. Is it peppered with scorn? Does the saltiness of anxiety drown out the other flavors? Every sentence heard is another bite taken.
For most meals, that is as far as it goes and I am often content at that. I have eaten all that they have offered. However; there are a few rare treats. The ones that allow me past their masks and into their true selves offer up flavors and aromas unlike any other.
My mouth still waters at the thought of one such meal.
It was a friend whom I had known for quite some time, actually. I had already digested her outer layers: the clothes, the speech, the mannerisms. Once the mask was just crumbs and I had gotten to the rich and savory center there was no going back to the stale bread I had known before. I wanted more. I wanted to know her creamy-sweet dreams, her bitter and burnt traumas, her tender, chocolaty companionship, and the spicy scalding of her honesty. I had tasted all those things in time, but meals end and people move on. I still recall the feast, though. It had been a smorgasbord of emotions, contradictions, and environmental elements that sustained my hunger for friendship for years and continues to feed my memories now.
To be honest, I have come here to nibble on each of you. I look forward to taking you all in and sample a little bit of what everyone has to offer. I also offer myself up for tasting and I hope that you will welcome me with open arms and empty stomachs.