Coconut
I published this piece quite a while ago. Though I enjoy the art of
public record-keeping, you should know it may no longer reflect my
views.
Upon opening the jar of coconut oil (for cooking, hair, and skin care), right when my finger makes contact with what is too solid for comfort, I think of Iris and her graduation party, which was an utter calamity. Iris and I had attended kindergarten together, but it was by the grace of my cousin’s status as a pretty blonde girl that I even knew about any of the parties. From the moment we arrived, it was clear that it was a mistake for anybody to be there; at least for those who had received invitations to other parties. I couldn’t tell on which side of the pause my cousin belonged, but she had in her eyes the boredom of a person who has choices.