On my table sits a parfait, my next meal. It’s chilled oatmeal, sandwiched between layers of granola and topped with berries. It sits before me in the middle of class, as I eagerly wait for the time to eat my breakfast.
The the first, explosive bite will be fruity, crunchy, sweet, smooth. Then, I will dig through the plain oatmeal alone. Just enough to make room, because I will then mix in the granola and berries to a mild blend in the plain base. Not too overpowering, not too plain. Every bite will be just right.
Even the plainness will be decent to me. My tongue has been accustomed to the flavor, as this has been my breakfast for over a week. It made me feel helpless to eat at first, harbinging the meals of infants and the extremely elderly. Bearing in mind the healthiness of the treat and way I felt after, though, it began to create an independence to me.