Zombie Garlic
or how to not let the past suck the life out of you
I recently moved to a studio apartment across the hall from the first unit I lived in, in the same building. I love it. It is cozy, artful, and much more affordable than my old place. Picture me toting all my belongings across the hall looking like one of those old timey fast movies set to repeat. It was a lot of work. I had planned ahead so I knew where almost everything would go but some things made me pause and reach deep down for a hit of creative energy to figure out how to make them fit in both a utilitarian and beautiful way. That’s a whole other kind of energy suck. Don’t even get me started about the challenge of hanging all my art on much less wall space. I hung it by eye, no time for measuring during my hyper speed move-in extravaganza. Much to my amazement I liked the way my art looked even more in the new smaller space. Finally I was done. I settled in and began to cook dinner. I used the last few cloves of garlic in my cool little garlic container. As I was cutting the final piece I paused, startled, frozen with the knife held still in the air, and played back the film in my head of moving in. I had no memory of grabbing the small net bag of back-up garlic that hung in one of the lower cabinets in my old apartment. I panicked. Had I left it behind?
Here’s where it gets weird. I pictured the garlic hanging in that cabinet, alone. I imagined it to be hopeful at first, assuming I’d be there any minute. Kind of like a child at school who’s still waiting to be picked up after all the school buses have left. But then the sound of the final car doors slamming leaves nothing but silence and the realization that they are the only one still there. They start to wonder if they’ve been forgotten. They start to feel a little scared. They try not to feel abandoned. In the nanoseconds of brain activity happening while I stood frozen at the counter I actually imagined my back-up garlic going through all of these feelings. I put down the knife and sprinted back across the hall to my old apartment. I had been instructed to leave the door unlocked and the keys in a kitchen drawer. Fortunately the door was still unlocked. I ran into the kitchen, opened the cabinet door, and rescued my garlic. As I brought it back into my new place I started to laugh. I realized how ludicrous it was that I had ascribed all of those feelings to my garlic. I mean, come on, I knew my garlic wasn’t feeling those things, but for a second there (or more) I imagined it doing just that. Why? Because I felt abandoned as a child. I made myself realize how quickly I jumped to projecting those familiar feelings out into the world, even onto a small net bag of back-up garlic. They say garlic is good for you. I had no idea it could improve mental health too.
Cinse Bonino
2023
