PADIM 18: The Reason I hate Olives

It's like waking up one day and remembering that it was your father that stands in front
of the refrigerator holding the jar and only then realizing that was why you thought you
could enjoy their bitter taste and after the taste settles like a bad odor in the back
of you mouth you understand why this is an impossible thing to ask of yourself,
since you have the olives.

It's as if you stop in the middle of the road suddenly and the people behind you
crowding, bunching, honking their horns and muttering under their breaths then having
to explain to their passengers that they were actually referring to the idiot in front of
them- who has a sudden metallic taste and his hands sweat a little as you think about
the last time you saw your father eating them and you know that this also has some
reason for hating olives.

When you look at the jars and jars of the black and green fruits on the shelves in
the grocery aisle, the memory floods back right through you and you remember that his
breath smelled like the bitter metallic taste as he hit you in the small rooms where
those memories have stayed locked away- as the tears slide down your face
while standing there in Food City- a man stops to stand beside you and says:
"I know how you feel, olives make me cry too."