Atlas and Alice, Issue 20
Diane Gottlieb
Hunger Take two pieces of Wonder Bread, Classic White. Place them side by side on a dessert plate. In a small, black, cast-iron frying pan, toss a healthy slab of butter. Two tablespoons. Three if you dare! Turn the flame on low. While the butter melts, take a paring knife to a Hershey’s Milk Chocolate bar. Hold the bar over one slice of Wonder and begin to shave it down. Watch thin curls of chocolate gently tumble, blanketing the bread like a milk chocolate snowfall. (You might want to stop here. For a moment. Breathe deeply the sweet, sticky Hershey’s scent. But the butter, it’s browning. The frying pan, sizzling. Move on.) Position the remaining white slice atop the chocolate. Then walk the sandwich over to the stove and pop it into the warm, liquid fat. Place the plate on top and weigh it down with a full can of coffee. (Yes, this is old school!) I prefer Maxwell House. Red. Whatever the brand, you’ll need that can. And then, you’ll need to wait. —§— In college, I would divide a Snickers bar in two each morning. I’d survey the pieces carefully, measure them closely with my eye. Toss the larger of the two. Eat the smaller. Breakfast. I’d starve myself the rest of the day. —§— My mother loved beautiful people. She never said I wasn’t beautiful. But her eyes, the way she turned down her mouth when she looked at me, when she took me shopping for clothes. She didn’t have to say a word. I was soft and round, sweet and doughy. Mom 10
