Dangerous Compassions

vegan pozole

I ordered some vegan pozole from the vegan Mexican place we like kind of by our house.  All my life I’ve heard about it but could never try it because it had meat in it. 

So now finally I’m eating it.  I like it.  I can see how it could be comfort food.

Yesterday I made vegan split pea soup, and it took a long time for the split peas to really break down.  Once they did, wow, it was so good.  I also made sun-dried tomato pesto pasta with kalamata olives.

My friend came for a visit.  We ate the foods and had good conversation.  How long we’ll live in Vegas.  His main project.  His wife’s PhDs.  Why bisexuality threatens people who want things to be easily categorized.

Then we sat on the bench for sun, and I looked up into the eucalyptus tree.  The leaves were glowy.  I felt my friend would leave soon.

I’d thought he was hot-and-cold, but then I opened signal and saw 24 unread messages from him accumulated over the last six months.  I laughed and laughed.  All those txts I thought he ignored were replied to, and he probably thought I was the random one.

Sometimes life is funny.  But this morning I got into an unwanted argument, and I found out my friend has prostate cancer.  He’s the one who takes care of the cats. 

Then at the party I carried my chair away from everyone and couldn’t engage.  We left while they were playing games in the living room.  We never got to try the cake.

It was all too much: 12 kids running around, dramatic costumes, Disney music playing.  I felt like no one wanted to talk to me, but then I didn’t really want to talk to them, so how could they be blamed?

I didn’t have kids, don’t have a job, and never watched Frozen.

“Do you like the pozole?” I asked Ming who is finishing it.

“I love it,” he says, standing in the kitchen, eating from the glass bowl he holds with a stripey potholder.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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