On Sunday they bought a pineapple. It was beautiful. The bright yellow whorls at the bottom transformed into a yet sullen, green, top. They set down the fruit in a copper bowl and admired it with coy glances on their ways to the kitchen.
When she awoke at three, the whole house was fragrant with a pineapple smell. The eyes of the fruit shone and winked in the moonlight, looking almost alive.
Was it alive? It was hard to tell.
“Pineapple! Roll down and fall to the floor- then I’ll concede that you’re alive,” she jokingly said to herself.
Dutifully the pineapple rolled down and fell.
“Honestly now!” She exclaimed, “It’s just geometry!” Euclid, topology, slope gradient- all came flooding back. She was a creature of reason, she was all about scientific repeatability. “Let’s try again,” she thought. “I’m going to go down to the letter box. If there is a spirit around, I hope you’re listening! Make sure to put the latest issue of the National Geographic in my letter box- then I might concede to the presence of a… something.” And she put on her moccasins and went downstairs with the keys.
The October issue of the National Geographic lay curled up inside the letter box (it was August).
Marveling at the efficiency of journalists, printing presses, the postal service- she really must give them a good bonus for this fast delivery!!!!- she climbed upstairs, beating the rolled up magazine to a Bollywood tune. Across the road a light went on. A ravaged looking lady, chalk-like and skeletal and almost falling to pieces, looked across and started walking to and fro, to and fro.
“An insomniac like me,” she thought fondly, and settled down to read her magazine.
selfnearing 