All Over A Vegetable

As I cut up a very ripe avocado to add to my sandwich, I suddenly stopped and stared at my hands. Mom. That word hit me full force; I couldn't move. All over a vegetable. As I child, I would make gagging noises whenever my mother would eat an avocado. Nasty green mush. White bread, mayo, and avocado slices. Just the site of her lunch seriously made my kid's size tummy feel violently ill. She planted an avocado seed on the side of our flat-roofed, 2 bedroom shack. It takes 7 years to harvest vegetables from an avocado tree and after 6 of those years, our dog had a litter of puppies that attacked the tree and destroyed it. That's the story of my mother's life. Every time there was a chance of something amazing happening, failure and misery would rain down on her. Just how things seemed to occur. As I cut my own avocado to put on my delicious sandwich, I saw her hands as my hands, her quick wit as my own smart mouth. Misty eyed, I devoured my food and licked my fingers clean. All over a vegetable.