Garlic - Flash Fiction by Toyb ben Uilliam

 

Garlic

 

My friend Alte at the grand age of 22 has achieved his life's goal. I love him, but what am I to do? What is he to do? Yeah, this is not the era of great dreams, but where does he go from here?

One hand wants to throttle him, wring that smug loving completed neck and end a world. One hand wants to smack his back, Mazel Tov and deep embrace. One handed like men do.

He's got years to coast and drink off of, and treasure the memory of and mourn that perfect bulb. That single clove fused from all other cloves. A full bulb of garlic like a boiling onion pearl.

He can linger, and if life is kind and if he is lucky beyond the lot of one man, maybe he can find another. He looked at it with such love, he never looked at me with such love as that immaculate bulb.

This is not the era of great dreams and a fused bulb is not a charmed thing. It is not heritable. It was eaten. Ah, if only it were me. The lucky find or the lucky affection, or this not being the era of great dreams, the consumption.

Toyb ben Uilliam (they/them) is a botanist and IWW union organizer from the American Northeast. They dream of a kinder world, and restful Shabbos. Their work has appeared in Discretionary Love, Lothlorien, and Rulerless among other publications. They can be found at https://www.pillowfort.social/Toyb