Breakfast with Neruda by Laura Moe Read Free Book Online Page A

anyone eat a tomato like that,” I say.
    “What do you mean?”
    “I eat tomatoes on salads and stuff, but never, like, you know, just bite into it.”
    She holds the tomato close to my mouth. “Taste it,” she says.
    I do, and its sweet earthiness envelops me. The juice runs down my chin. “That is good,” I say.
    “Have I steered you wrong yet?”
    “Not so far.”
    She slides her flip-flops off and places her feet on the dashboard. The wind whips through our hair. It’s such a great moment; time can stop now and I will die happy.
    We keep driving south and are probably close to forty miles from town when we spot a sign that reads “Hardin–Essex Family Reunion 1 mile.”
    “Wanna crash it?” she asks.
    “But we’re not Hardins or Essexes.”
    “Free food!”
    I laugh at the idea. “Hell, I could be a Hardin or an Essex for all I know. Why not?”
    Another sign a half-mile up says,“Hardin–Essex Family! Watch for balloons,” and a few moments later, on the left-hand side I see a mailbox decorated with orange and blue balloons. I notice a large open patch already teeming with cars. I park close to the highway in case we get chased out and need to make a quick getaway. My beat-up station wagon makes me look like the white trash distant cousin I hope they think I am.
    “So are we Hardins? Or Essexes?” I ask.
    She thinks. “I will be an Essex, and you’re my boyfriend from college. I am, after all, a graduate student at Ohio State.”
    I laugh. As I get out of the car, I notice others are carrying food with them. “Should we share some of what we bought?”
    “Yeah, probably,” she says. “Not the peaches or tomatoes, though. Or the wine.”
    “The bread, grapes, and cheese?”
    “Sure.” I pick up the Kroger bag. We walk uphill and notice a gathering of several dozen people ranging in age from newborns to old people. I glance at Shelly, and she glances back at me. We smile. “What’s our cover story?”
    “I’ve been away at college at Ohio State and you’re my boyfriend from Columbus. My name is Wanda.”
    “And I’m Jim.”
    There is enough food to feed half of Rooster, and the aromas are overpowering. It looks like there are a hundred or so people here. Who would know if we were meant to be here or not? I wonder if we’re the only interlopers. We brought food, though, so I don’t feel too bad about crashing.
    Shelly and I move toward the food tables, and a chubby woman with iron-colored, spiky hair says, “Breads go over here, hon.” She indicates a long table covered in a checked tablecloth. I notice she wears a badge claiming her as a Hardin. Not everyone is wearing a badge, but many are. Blue for Hardin, orange for Essex.
    “We brought grapes and cheese too,” Shelly says.
    “You can put that next to the meats, and the grapes can go on the salad table,” the woman says. “Grab a plate and help yourselves.” She smiles at us and walks away.
    We lay our parcels in the appropriate spots and search for the plate table. “Man, everything smells so good,” I say. Even though Shelly and I ate only a couple hours ago, this is good food. Baked beans, ham, hamburgers, hot dogs, pickles, chicken casserole, homemade macaroni and cheese, biscuits, fresh vegetables, sliced meats, fried chicken, potato salad, green salad, deviled eggs, fresh noodles, potato chips, fruit, and an endless array of desserts.
    I’d love a beer, but since I’m driving and not really sure where we are, I opt for a Pepsi instead. Shelly drinks a Diet Coke.
    Shelly and I find a spot in the shade and settle on the grass. My plate is overloaded with as much as I could put on it. I notice Shelly has also not held back on her servings. “I know we just ate,” I say, “but, damn, everything looks and smells incredible.” I take a forkful of macaroni and cheese, something I have not eaten in years. It’s pure joy. I make a mental note to get seconds.
    We eat and watch the Hardin–Essex families intermingle.