I smell it.
I’m passing through. My windows are open, and the scent invades my senses. I lid my eyes and groan. Somewhere nearby, a deep-fryer is bubbling and popping and crackling. Somewhere close, a kitchen fan is blowing the aroma into the cross-currents. I shake my head in a kind of primal lust. No, I can’t.
The chimichanga can maim. It’s greasy and fatty and juicy, and it can fester at the bottom of your stomach like rotting weasel meat that just won’t digest right. My system isn’t trained for that kind of shock and awe. It will render me useless, leaving me splayed out on the sofa — moaning in regret, eyes rolling to the back of my skull, grease oozing from my pores, face smashed against a cushion, mouth open, body larded into paralysis.
But I do have designs for the chimichanga. I’d like to use it as a private victory meal, something to celebrate the achievement of a major creative goal – publishing a novel.
I tell stories. It’s how I’ve supported myself for neary 20 years, my family for the past six. And I guess I can’t help but chase that ultimate dream — to share a story, my story, a story I’ve nurtured and developed and pulled my hair over for years. And if my literary number is called, I plan to get in the car at the end of the day, head over the hill and find my favorite spot on the beach, that place no one else knows. I’ll have a few perspiring bottles of Sierra Nevada in my backpack, and maybe a chimichanga. The sun will be setting as I recline in my chair, take a pull off my first Ale and stare at the vast, percussive beauty before me. Hell, maybe I won’t even touch the chimi. Maybe I’ll bring something more primal like a stick of meat, and I can just sit there staring at the waves, gnawing on it, my book on my lap, unopened. I’m pretty sure the food wouldn’t really matter.
What will you do? What will you do if your grandest career dreams come true? Will you partake in some kind of solitary victory ritual? If it’s already happened, what did you do?
July 15, 2007 at 1:08 am
Great flash piece. I’ve just started on my literary journey. If my dreams come true, I don’t think chimichanga will be a part of it. Maybe the best glass of Merlot money can buy. We’ll see (hopefully!)
I also read Three-Sixty Wonder Girl. Very nice. Clean. Little tagging. Liked it a lot.
If the mood takes you, tell me what you think of my writing: roberthyers.com.
July 16, 2007 at 7:46 pm
You know Chimi is a femme fatale and yet you can’t help being drawn to her and her deadly charms. Beware, my friend, she will leave you heartsick or worse. But you already know that – so why tempt fate? Get yourself nice little taco who knows how to treat you right.
July 16, 2007 at 7:51 pm
For me, the burrito is an everyday pleasure so I cannot hold off on any taqueria delight like a chimaghanga until my big dream celebration. Sadly, my body has been larded into paralysis many times — I call it the food coma. Love the opening assault on the senses.
I have no idea what I would do to celebrate if I were ever published beyond the parent newsletter. Maybe buy something special like art/jewelry that would remind me of my accomplishment. I do look forward to attending a future fiesta in celebration of your writing one day 🙂
July 16, 2007 at 10:50 pm
I poured myself a big glass of moderately priced champagne (it’s what I had on hand and I wanted immediate gratification). Then I called everyone I knew (who would care at all that I was finally getting a novel published). I think I got in a few heady sighs of blissful wonder before I started worrying about contract clauses and the editor’s requested revisions.
If there’s a next time, I think beer & greasy Mexican food on the beach may be the way to go.
July 20, 2007 at 1:54 pm
I couldn’t eat the chimi because it would require me wiping the great big grin off my face! I could, however, handle a very large, very cold, very dry martini with two blue cheese olives. I’ve been known to take my favorite kitty and toss her in the air in glee. Needless to say, she loves bad news and hates good!
I’m so glad you’re blogging, Greg. Will enjoy your entries, I know…
July 26, 2007 at 7:54 am
So difficult choosing a victory dance, yet one location comes to mind. It’s an old, paint-chipped Lake Tahoe deck, looking out to the national forest (what’s left of it.) An old army cot with a 6 inch mattress (you know, the striped one with old brown stains like everyone has), a sleeping bag, and a couple of pillows against the wall of the cabin to prop me up. I’m already done eating (thus the need for the prop up) and am now watching the fiery ball dim behind the peaks. Right hand…Knob Creek and club soda. Left hand…Santa Damiana Churchill, awaiting the smoke rings (well, I can’t do that yet…but I’ll practice.)
In the morning, regret. But for now, my blue heaven…