The Fruit Bowl


It doesn’t matter. Does it? The bowl in front of me is made of wood. I have no clue whether it is fake or true. Its pattern and shape make me think its fake. I have always seen it full of fruit. It is a fake fruit wrapper. A decorative element that never stood out for its beauty but for its inconvenience. It is relocated whenever the area around it has to be used for something else. It is always in the wrong place. Until moved again.

My eyes, when they look at it, feel like skating. I empty the bowl and pop my eyes to toss them inside. They will play that idea until they are exhausted.

They start. They take turns, not to collide in the middle of a ride.

One always jumps higher than the other. They stay widely open to look what can one learn from the other: tricks, speed, confidence or signature scream. This is not tennis, I tell them. They seem not to hear me.

I take advantage and look from their point of view. Each corner is round in a different way I can’t explain. I keep looking amazed and forget about everything else.

It is a safe game until they both jump at the same time. They built up a confidence I had previously not seen. Of course it took me by surprise and it made me dizzy to watch.

I shut my eyes and they collide. They go off in opposite directions. One hit the wall. The other hit the couch. I had no sight after that and I have been told the fruit bowl had been left where it last was.