bit into a chunk of ginger in grandma's fried rice tonight, in my head, mid gym set. instant flashback. that woman never once went easy on the ginger, whole chunks of it hiding in there, you'd chew and boom, instant grass eating moment.
the rice always stuck to the bottom of the pan too. she called it ruined, every single time, like clockwork, and every single time i finished the plate anyway.
we always ate at her place, in place des géants, grenoble, this bizarre little square with huge statues just lying flat on the ground, like they'd given up walking. everyone sat at the table like normal people. me, i was always parked in front of the computer, teaching myself how to code and whatever else. she never once made me come sit down.
she used to say money never bought anyone happiness, being happy did. she really lived by that.
i didn't see her enough when she got sick. just once, actually. i was too scared, i think, of watching her slip away like that, of seeing what was left of her.
i never went to her burial either. couldn't make myself do it.
i've hated myself for both of those for a long time now.
it hit me mid curl, literally mid rep, and i didn't stop. people walking by, people resting between sets, all doing their best not to look at me. respect to every single one of them, honestly.
might make that rice this week. chunks of ginger and all.