l. j. rose : stories
1977 I stood eating a bagel at a bus stop in downtown Portland, Oregon.
I had recently returned
from a trip to New York City and had dragged a huge bag of H&H
bagels on the plane
with me. I was noshing away on one of my treasured souvenirs when a frail
stopped and asked me what it was that I was eating.
"Is that one of those 'b...".
I finished her sentence for her while still chewing "...bagels...?"
"Yes. Indeed", I continued. Her eyes were bright with curiosity.
“Yes, bagels… Oh my!”, she exclaimed with culinary lust.
I invited her to have a test.
||I used to take bagels for granted.||
She was surprised and though shy, clearly delighted. I tore off little a little hunk and handed it to her. She sampled the delicacy, eyes focused heavenward. You know that place—that corner in the sky where the stars tell us whether or not to swallow or spit. The results were in. “Hmmm… interesting ---yes very nice”. Her head tilted back down. She smiled and sheepishly thanked me. I watched her teeter off down the street and wondered what she would do with that new experience. I think she told the world.