VI

I walk into the store and the onion vendor (Her name is Cassandra) stares at me with her good eye and lets out a languished humph that sounds as divine as ophanim chanting ‘Holy! Holy! Holy!’ from beneath the throne of God. 

The second she sees me she clears her throat wetly dislodging a hunk of phlegm with a moist gargled hawking, then she spits straight in my face. It lands on my cheek and I feel it drip down over my chin like a warm and sensual kiss.

“I thought I told you not to come back here,” she says in the most adorable way.

“No, my darling. That’s not what you said.”

“I believe that’s exactly what I said.”

“No, what you said was not to come back UNLESS I had the scrip for an onion… I've passed your test, my love, just like I will pass every other. I have the money.”

She sighs again and I wish I could dissolve into air just so I could rush past her sweet lips, down her endearing trachea and into her passionately heaving chest.

“Show it to me.”

“What?”

“I said, show it to me.”

“I would gladly rip out my longing heart and display it for you my darling shnookums!”

“No! Dear God No! What the fuck is wrong with you? Show me the money you half-witted arsebadger!”

I comply. I empty my pockets to show her a few pieces of paper and coins with the company logo engraved into them.

Casandra’s black-pupiled eyes soften into pillowy clouds.

“This changes everything!” she says and begins to place onions of every shape and color onto the counter. 

“What type of onion would you like to purchase?”

“What type of onion would you recommend?"

“I  always have a good supply of yellow onions, white onions, red onions, and shallots!”

“How are the white onions this time of year?”

“A touch aged, but that gives them character. Great for cooking or a perfect snack on the go!” (Her softened eyes brighten up as she begins to speak about the aromatic bulbs! The passion she feels is intoxicating and infectious. I wish I could spend my entire life here looking up at her as she speaks about the wonders of the humble onion.)

“What about the red?”

“A sharper, more crisp taste.”

“And the shallots?”

“I wouldn’t recommend them. My most recent delivery was already rotting when it arrived.”

“Do you have any vidalias?”

(She lets out yet another sigh.)

“No, I’ve just run out.”

“That is a shame. I had such a hankering for vidalias.”

“Well. I have no Vidallias. What about Walla Walla onions? They would make a good substitution.”

“No, that will not do, my sweet. It must be Vidalias.”

“It’ll be a while before we get another shipment.”

“Then I will just have to come every day to make sure.”

(Her eyes begin to reharden)

“So you will not be purchasing an onion today?”

“Only if it’s a vidalia,” I say and she slaps me hard against the cheek. The same cheek that still has her drying spittle on it and thus the intimacy compounds. She glares at me and takes a bite from a red onion as the magistrate drags me onto the street(–If only I was that onion!! If-only-if-only-if-only!! If only I could feel her teeth digging into my flesh!! Her tongue navigating my meat downwards with a simple swallow!! Breaking down and becoming!! Fermenting in her gut until she squeezes me outward from her spiritually sublime and transcendental anus in smeared black logs!! If only she would consume me. If-only-if-only-if-only!! I would give more than everything for her!!)

The magistrate says I’m lucky to be working today and tells me to report back once my shift ends for an evening in the stockades. I can still feel the echo of her handprint burning hot against the side of my face. I have finally felt my maiden’s fingers brush against my cheek. It truly is a perfect day!