The Plum

by Tariq al Haydar

charlesdeluvio

I wish I could forget the plum I lost. Nothing has ever tasted quite like it. When my mother laughed as her friend lit up my birthday cake, all I could think of was the empty space in my breast pocket. I dread my own bedroom, because the purple fruit that used to rest on my nightstand is in another mouth.

I sleep in the little TV room downstairs, and dream of Copenhagen, of that night two centuries ago, when we were soldiers, huddling underneath the trees I can’t visualize anymore, the rain, freshly ceased, drops falling from the leaves. Our rifles on the ground. You see, we had to cross a straight path to that gargantuan building, with no cover, exposed to enemy fire. I was afraid. You took it out of your breast pocket, cut it in two, and gave me the bigger half: Orange flesh, the smoothest stone.

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Tariq al Haydar’s work has appeared in The Threepenny Review, Crab Orchard Review, North American Review, DIAGRAM and others, and his nonfiction was named as “Notable” in The Best American Essays 2016.