I learned what charcoal tastes like, what hospitals smell like, what a mother’s desperate grip feels like. When I was little, she would sometimes grab my wrist instead of my hand to cross the street. I always asked if she was mad when she did this. She never was.
Two bags of popcorn, pretzel M&M’s, the rest of the peanut butter jar; full box of granola, half a carton of milk; the tub of hummus from last week, my roommate’s leftover Quizno’s; the late plate of lasagna I stole from the sorority house’s cleaning woman; the carton of cookies I dug out of the trash. Anything.