I Have Never Tasted Asparagus Before

Greg Larsen couldn’t shake the foreign feeling away. He slowly drove to the driveway of the Methodist church with its daunting, pointed and rather gaunt arched timber rafters that resembled hands held in prayer. This was the only part of Pennsylvania with that design, secluded up in the hills about a mile drive from the nearest Giants’ from which Greg purchased the foods.

He has been attending seminary for a while hoping to be a youth pastor after lacrosse habits were paused with a broken ACL. Although he was very wayward, and his single mother Sue who worked as a RN or rather ophthalmic nurse at Brooksmith Eye Institute was forgiving, she still instill insisted on the monthly donations (along with the cans from food drive) and the fact that Greg is still involved in spreading the gospel.

He was after all named after St Gregory. After his father passed away, Sue has been not only on-call but also freelancing penning Hallmark greetings by hand. She possessed excellent penmanship, and in fact for her own wedding with Derrick she would send special cards in golden-ribbon velvet envelopes with her calligraphy skills. Mark, after serving in Korea, would eventually give away to liver cirrhosis in 1983 when Greg was just two. His miniature framed photo in the uniform is still on the nightstand by the lamp in her bedroom - the very place where sometimes she would leave two ten dollar notes as Greg’s allowances. Earlier he spilled her coffee on it.

As Greg unloaded, a friendly face of Father Mathew greeted him with open arms. Mathew who was originally from Shiloh greeted in his usual Southern twinge:

“Heyya Greg, long time no see. Where have you been brother?”

“Oh you know Father how it is. Slumped with my school work.” And that is true. Greg was still trying to knock off his final GEDs at Waynesburg University. His major, of course, is still undecided even as a sophomore. 

“Make sure you get some pizza and salad. We had a community powwow last night.”

“Oh cool,” Greg carried the 25-liter water bottles to the steps. It almost felt like the words flew out of his mouth in an enchanted xenolalia.

All of a sudden his phone vibrated. It was Cynthia. Jesus! His heart leapt in his mouth. Almost like he did something vulgar before the priest. 

“Ah the solemn call of the youth,” Father Mathew sighed. “Almost like the call of a lark.” He whispered gloomily whilst carrying the other box inside the narthex. 

“Okay Father I gotta go,” Greg said hurriedly.

“Make sure you take your slices and the salad.” The Father winked. For he himself was not so chaste in his halcyon days, as he could tell by the call of the heart. “There is after all no free lunch in the universe, son.”

Greg quickly dumped two slices and a handful of tomatoes, a tong full of Waldorf salad with the darkened apple slices, and some sticks of asparagus from the aluminum tray into a styrofoam box and rushed to his car. The Father waved from the distance with a rosary in his hand. 

He turned on the FM radio whilst simultaneously checking the notification. It was a missed call. The suspense even grew. And he wanted to milk it so he didn’t reply. What does she want now? Although they met about three months back, he was still swimming fresh in her hormones and love bug was still abuzz. It was only 11:49. He still needs to return the books at the library and complete other errands.

Greg succumbed to temptation, if not fate. As he waited, clicking on her picture to dial, Greg realized how amazingly beautiful she was and how lucky he is to have her. But for some reason Greg couldn’t put a finger on where and how he met her.

He drove past Marquis Bakery and the pharmacy as yews stood tall and eucalyptus wanted to refresh his memory with its scent like the taste of Proustian madeleine. But to no avail. Greg was feeling so strange. Was it déjà vu? No it certainly didn’t feel like déjà vu nor jamais vu. He felt like a stranger in a trapped body. Almost like a foreigner in a foreign land. He almost forgot his own name as he dialed Cynthia with heart beating faster and faster which came to an abrupt halt after she failed to pick up.

Who was she? Was she also a nurse? No wait a minute. My mother is the nurse.

He drove up the hill past the cavernous gape that seemed to engulf him with chaos and confusion. What was he even doing? No. Not with his life. Greg strangely felt a feeling of familiarity yet complete unknown. His mind was in a frenzy when he picked up the jacket which read DQ from the friendly Mrs. Lee. 

“Thank you Miss Lee!” He said in his soft insecure tone. Did an aspiring youth pastor of 23 from a small part of Dauphin County ever suffer from insecurity? His pasty skin with freckles, inability to strike up a conversation despite the script he uttered on a daily basis as part of the transaction, his anathema for rap and death metal which left him sometimes feeling “unhip” and an “ichthyosaur” as Selena put it - all plagued him now and then. Who is Selena? 

It was almost like a bad trip or Groundhog Dog; Punxsutawney was not far from here. A sullen feeling sank in. Did Cynthia really even like him? Or was she just using him like everyone she always did? 

He furiously scrolled his social media taking a bite of the asparagus spear, which… felt

“so weird”. In fact as he looked at his jeans and the tweed shirt he felt like an impostor. Was he really preaching Christ’s word? Was he really living the life he always dreamt?

As he decided to pick up his mother’s prescriptions, he went to the bathroom at the Mickey Ds by Rodham Avenue, which was an odd juxtaposition next to a breathtaking vista of the sensuous forest overlooking the hills. It was as if he was entering another church. A church he was not aware of.

Greg spied a bumper sticker of a REI backpack logo and an abstract silhouette of wilderness with a tagline “A sneak peek into your new life!” He didn’t pay much thought to it, but after he flushed (since the automatic urinal button was broken) he was speechless for a few seconds when he looked at himself in the mirror.

Why is it that he knew what to do but didn’t have a slightest clue as to what he was up to!

He thanked the cashier for the code which for some reason seemed to be imprinted in his mind. 376606. 3-7-6-6-0-6. He uttered briefly. He looked at his watch. It was 11:53. He felt slightly queasy because he sure as hell could vouch that more than 10 minutes had elapsed.

As Greg put on the radio trying to tune everything from his mind, Britney Spears’ Toxic came on the radio. He even got a large drink from the 7-11 across the street since McDonald’s charges almost 3 dollars for a drink. Why is the cashier Indian? Is it racist to think so?

He brushed such intrusive thoughts away. Once he heard on Joe Rogan that Howie Mandel talked about OCD as being intrusive thoughts that one cannot push away. People mistakenly think OCD is just “control freak” or “neatfreak”, a caricature of Monica, who gets antsy at the slightest adjustment of a napkin if not Chandler Bing’s annoying humor. Wait? Whaaaat? Who are these people? Monica? Howie? 

Greg continued his mission although he was feeling out of sorts. He needs to deliver the mail, utility payment, to the city. For some reason he remembered that the reason for snail mail is because the online system was broken.

Who the f Joe Rogan? He thought again.

His mind inevitably returned to the Howie Mandel episode. Imagine living with some thoughts where you want to push an elderly person on the street and you just somehow can’t seem to get rid of them. Jeez. Greg felt it was the ultimate nightmare. Trapped in a dark void slave to a nefarious spirit.

“Would that be cash or credit?” the friendly postal worker smiled.

“Oh… ummm… card. Yeah card.”

“Good. Do you have an ID?”

“Yes!” Greg fished out his ID and stared hard at his DMV photo, his name, his date of birth, and his address: 13901 Faerie Drive, Bird-in-Hand, PA 17505. Wow. He whispered.

“I need you to push the green button after you read the question. Make sure you click to acknowledge it doesn’t contain any hazardous elements or liquid.”

Greg took the stylus and made some circular squiggly marks to sign his consent. It was $1.11 exactly. And after he swiped the card, the worker printed out a long receipt with QR code. He glanced at the date before crumpling it into a ball: 11/11/2011

He dropped off the books he had on Thomism (teachings based after St. Thomas Aquinas marrying Aristotle and Christianity). When he dropped off the books with the engraving on the cover, he felt like he knew every word, every syllable, and every diacritic from these books by the same author- Cleary. How strange. 

Greg got on his Honda Pilot and took another scrunchy bite of the asparagus. By now he was getting accustomed to the taste.

#

Sue would return generally after six everyday and would either fix pasta or some stew for her son. Of course, some days Greg would just order hotdogs from outside if not delivery. Sue would get time to shower, relax, and unwind with some Duke Ellington letting her hair dry with the blow dry as icicles would start to gather on the sill at this time of the early winter.

“Hi Mom.” Greg burst in. Sue returned fairly early today so Greg wasn’t expecting her.

“How was your day?” Again Greg felt like he was speaking like an automaton from a script. 

“Oh it was okay. What have you been up to?”

“Nothing much. Same here though. It was a pretty uneventful day.”

“Did you pick up the jacket from the cleaners?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Did Miss Lee say anything?”

“No, why?”

“Nah… just asking.” Sue was quiet for a while. Then he said: “Did you talk to Cynthia today?”

Suddenly Greg realized he completely forgot about her. As he turned on the TV with the Eagles game on (who incidentally was playing Rams and the score read 14-17), he thought of calling her back. But at the back of his mind, he felt no inclination to do so. He took a quick shower while soaking his feet in the epsom salt of lavender foam that overwhelmed his senses under the warm water.

Isn’t this what life is all about? A warm shower after a day of errands. He once heard some monk say life is about carrying water and chopping woods. Of course, he knew nothing of Buddhism or eastern religion. He did know Psalms by heart. Especially Psalm 39:6: "We are merely moving shadows, and all our busy rushing ends in nothing."

Greg was too tired to even eat the noodles his mom fixed for her. As he laid on the sofa, he fell asleep leaning on the armrest. He groggily carried himself to his bedroom, which felt so comfy and cozy, as if God made a nest just for himself as a gesture of his unconditional love and bastion of haven and safety. 

He softly commanded Echo to turn on Spotify and he fell asleep to some unknown podcast.

#

“How was it?” A man with Patel on his white-coat tag asked.

“I never tasted asparagus before,” Anju said the first thing in Telugu. He was completely empty from waist down and had no arms. Limbless, he was strapped to the bed with thousand 'ivies' running from his shoulder-stream. The monitor beeped in monotony as the nurse applied lotion to the area of the scalp after removing the nodes. 

“Other than that how was it?” Dr Patel smiled.

Anju really didn’t know what to make of it. It was so strange. So foreign. Almost a dream. But the doctor made no pretense. He sternly pointed out either he can live the rest of his life as a quadriplegic almost a near-vegetable hooked to IVs. Or he could embrace this new adjacent life. It was only 3000 rupees which his caretaker paid. And of course Anju who didn’t know how to read and write let alone understand a contract, agreed to it provided he would be given a demo.

“You will get used to it. We can tweak it here and there so as to reduce the nausea. I just need you to give your consent by blinking to make sure once you are tangled in that will be it. And you waive all the rights to privacy and our data collection.”

Slowly and slowly the memory kept coming back. He looked at the goggles, the EEG printout, and vials scattered throughout. Anju was seated on a hospital bed of a rundown building in the jungles of a small island in the Andamans' where these common procedures have been taking place for the last three years.