A Hearty Breakfast by Dino Quaresma

A Hearty Breakfast

By Dino Quaresma

Before the 8:00 morning bell, I’d been tying my shoe for a long time. I couldn’t seem to get it right, so I had to keep starting over. And then, though the laces would’ve seemed perfectly tied for some, I’d recognize the subtlest of imperfections, untie them, and try again.

“You’re in the way, Cress. You’re in--Hello? You’re--Get out of the way! You’re so annoying, Cress!”

I’m not sure who said it. One of the boys (It didn't matter which one). The shove he gave messed me up just as my shoe was about to be tied flawlessly, so I had to start over, again.

“Why don’t you just move to the side?”

It was Heather, this time.

If it had been anyone else, I would have just ignored the suggestion. I moved closer to the wall.

“I wrote something,” I said turning to my shoe once again. “Will you read it?”

“Oh, how long is it?” she asked, trying not to sound so reluctant.

“It’s not long,” I said.

“You said that last time. I don’t have time to-”

“Well, this one’s just a poem,” I said abandoning my laces altogether and fetching it from my backpack. “Look, you can read it all right now.”

She took it, and I stood there watching her mouth the words as she read it quietly.

“Okay,” she said handing it back.

“Did you like it?” I asked.

“I--I don’t know. I don’t think I understood it,” she said.

“Maybe read it, again,” I said with a shrug.

“No, I have to do some things before class.”

“Heather, I wrote it so that you would read it. That’s the only reason why I write. And you’re the only one who reads what I write. That’s the truth. I write for you. Couldn’t you just look at it a little closer, and then tell me what you think?”

She made no motion to retake the poem.

“Well, I thought it was pretty strange to be honest,” she said finally.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s about a cloud eating the moon or something?”

“It’s a scene,” I explained. “An early morning scene. The guy is looking at the moon, and it looks like a cloud is eating the moon. The guy is looking at it. He thinks it’s amazing.”

“What guy?”

“The guy--the narrator.”

“So what’s the point of the poem?”

“It’s ‘cause--it looks like a cloud is eating the moon, and the guy thinks it’s beautiful.”

“Okay, then why are you talking about farts, and burps, and the earth going to the bathroom? It’s gross, Ori.”

“I'm not talking about that!”

“It says-”

“Okay, I know what it says, but I’m not talking about--I guess it’s because the cloud is eating. And eating causes--that.”

“Okay, but maybe you can rework that part a little? It comes off a bit-”

“No,” I insisted. “It's perfect the way it is.”

“But, again, what’s the point? Does--that--help you make your point? You said you wrote this so that I could read it. Why did you want me to read this? What were you hoping I’d get out of it?”

“I guess the image of it?” I contemplated. “Okay, so what? So you didn’t like it?”

“I didn’t understand it,” she said quickly. “I’m sure I’m missing something. I’m sure it’s very good. Maybe I’m the wrong person to read your stuff.”

“No, Heather--you’re the only one to read my stuff. I don’t want to write for anyone but you.”

“Why? I mean, if you want to be a writer,” she said, “which you told me you did, you are going to have to write to more than just me. I alone wouldn’t make you a success, you know?”

“Yes, you would. You would be all I’d need.”

“Ori, I already--you know I have a boyfriend, right?”

“Yeah, I know--of course, I know that. I'm not saying I don't know that, but he’s-- I mean, I'm-”

“And you remember that we talked about this--I’m not interested in you that way, okay?”

“No, I know. Jeez, Heather! I already know-”

“And I know that I’m hurting you when I say this, but it’s not meant to hurt you: You are wasting your time with me. Just wasting it. Okay? I’m sure there is someone out there that would be--a better audience for you.”

I didn't return her smile.

I didn’t return her uncomfortable smile.

“In the poem,” I said. “It’s kind of like the moon and the cloud are united. When the cloud eats the moon, it kind of makes them the same thing. Even though the sun is going to come out and make the moon disappear, it’s kind of like the moon is just hiding in the cloud until night time when they can be together. No, it’s kind of like they’re always together--even in the day time--even when you can’t see both of them.”

“So is it a metaphor for something, or…”

“No, it’s--it’s just a guy who sees it and thinks about it.”

“Ori, that’s fine. I'm thinking that you wanted me to just read it and not really give any constructive feedback or whatever because it’s perfect the way it is and everything, but let me just say this: You should think of your poetry as a work in progress. You should always try to think of ways to make it better. You want it to be read one way and appreciated that same way, right? So maybe something about it needs some fine-tuning. Maybe something about it may rub people the wrong way and needs to be tweaked. It’s not that the poem is bad, it’s just that--poems are never perfect. But poets try to perfect them as much as possible. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?”

“You could just say lie and say you liked it and not try to make me feel stupid. That would have been nice, you know?”

“Yeah, but I’m not trying to do that, and sometimes it’s better to try--to do the right thing, and that’s what I’m trying to do. It really is. Okay, Ori? I know you are mad at me. That’s fine. I'm not trying to upset you. I'm really not, but--Just think about it like how the guy in your poem looked at the sky and thought about what he saw. Just think about it. Ori? I’m going to go, now. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I--I need to finish tying my shoes.”

“So you heard what I said? About needing a different audience and fine tuning things and all that?”

“Yeah, I heard it,” I said a bit flabbergasted, “but it wasn’t really a required thing for you to say, I mean…. And why are you with him, anyway, Heather? I mean, I’m just wondering. Is he just so… what? I’m just curious.”

“I understand him, Ori. I’m not the guy who stops to look at the cloud eating the moon because I wouldn’t understand the significance of what I’d be seeing. I go for the things that make sense to me and not for the things that don’t. Someone might walk by and see the beauty in that image. In fact, I’m sure someone would because there’s definately beauty in something like that. Or better yet, there’s the potential for beauty in something like that. Only it’s lost on me. I'm not the person to ever recognize it. Do you understand?”

I nodded and bent down to my shoes. “Maybe if you just took a second to visualize it,” I muttered and began meticulously working on my knot.

I'm not sure how long it took Heather to leave, but when I looked up, she was gone.

I reread my poem a final time.

The moon--still present here

With signs of morning light.

It’s just a little yellow out

And the moon full, fat, and round

Being eaten by a chubby cumulonimbus cloud

Chomp by Chomp, bite by bite

Chewing with that oh-so-crunchy-sound

Eat cheese, gray maker of rain!

Make your meal a magical sight

Early morning could never surpass,

But eat slowly now. Don’t give yourself gas.

Was that a belch or its prevention?

Bite by bite, slow and steady progression.

There’s just a slight moon, now

Left there sticking out from your gut

Good-bye, Moon.

Become broken down through digestion.

To the east, beyond the horizon

And from the earth’s bowels

The sun will be arriving soon.

-Oriqué Cress

I sighed.

My shoe laces could easily be tucked in beneath my foot and didn’t really need to be tied. I tore the poem up and tossed in the trash.