Good Food

This is something I've been meaning to post. I wrote it sometime fall semester I think. I was definitely stressing out at the time. I like it though so I thought I'd post it here.


I sat in my chair patiently, legs dangling to the floor, as I watched the knife brush back and forth along the bread. I had seen it many times and this instance was nothing out of the ordinary. I watched, astonished, as the white substance was covered by peanut butter. The delicious snack was passed my way by my babysitter. As I took it politely with my chubby little hands, I pondered over the white under the peanut butter. What was it? I would ask every time and my babysitter would never give the answer. So I decided it was mayonnaise.

Fifteen years later I'm getting the butter out of the refrigerator on my own, smoothing it over the bread and hiding it with my own twist on the snack, honey peanut butter. My hands, much larger, handled each product with the same control my babysitter had. Looking at the piece of bread in my hand I felt comfort; for the first time in weeks. It wasn't the kind of comfort that allowed me to relax and know my life will be okay, but it was enough to get me through a moment. As I continued looking at my food, I wished myself back in that chair that was too big for me, at the counter that was too high for me, and back in all of the moments when control was unnecessary. I never needed to know how to make my own food, or how to pay rent, work, study, believe me, the list goes on. I was simply taken care of. Granted, it is great to know I'm an independent being, but something in that bread, butter, and peanut butter took me back to a place of comfort… and I needed it.