Apple Wax

words by Agnes Cho, art by Jason Chen

“I have so much fun with you when we go grocery shopping.”

“It’s just grocery shopping, why are you smiling so much?”

“Sure, it’s just grocery shopping. But I’m with you. I’m doing life with you.”

“Ugh, it’s not that deep.”

But it is. Looking at the meat section to grab some steak isn’t just getting an item on our grocery list. I look at the marbling and tell you how I know which is the best. I look at the color and get to tell you,

“Honey, not that one. It’s old. Look at how grey it is.” 

I have to carefully observe the way the redness of the muscle intertwines with the whiteness of the fats. How they embrace determines the flavor and richness of the meat. But while I’m busy examining that steak, you’re just busy examining my face—my lips, my attentive eyes.

“Uhuh… uhuh, sure. You can choose the best steak.”

You slither your hands around my waist, digging your nose into the crook of my neck. The people glimpse at your behavior, and it slaps my face with a fiery red. Why must you always entertain yourself with the superficial fragments of me?

“Here, can you help me choose the prettier apples?”

You sigh and look at the apples, but all you see are the bruised ones.

I’m looking at the apples, but it isn’t simply just trying to pick the sweetest and smoothest ones. I look at the bruises too—my heart’s bruises that are still healing. The wax glaze on these apples feels familiar. I can scratch it off the peel with my nails.

“Do you remember my favorite snack? I love apples and peanut butter.”

You don’t respond, but you’ve always been forgetful, and that’s okay, I guess.

I wonder when you’ll finally ask me to “come home,” instead of “come over.” And sometimes I fear it may never happen, and I might have to go grocery shopping with someone else.

My heart continues to bruise like these apples. Like the color of meat when it starts to go bad. 

Grocery shopping, walking, stopping—stopping because, for a moment, all of you felt real. While I was deceived by this apple wax film of your true self, you were busy being a parasite. Gorging on the love I generously fixed and plated for you, yet leaving me with no leftovers. But perhaps I’m the fool for choosing the apple with the best wax.