i have never liked grapefruit. i mean, the smell is sweet. but i could never get past the sour, confusing taste. my mom always put sugar on the top. she would cut the fruit straight down the middle, grab a spoon, and sprinkle sugar all over the pink innards. i don't like grapefruit. but, i like this thought. the memory of my mother sprinkling sugar. in particular, on a summer day, the light shining through the window, a question lingering in the air if we should go into the pool. she eats her grapefruit on the couch, managing to get absolutely no juice onto the leather surface. but, her fingers are sticky. she wiggles them at me, and asks me to get her a wet paper towel. her eyes dance with the sunlight that comes through the broad window.
while on certain medications, it is recommended to not consume grapefruit products.
she lays in a bed now. it is winter, and there is no sunlight coming through the window of this white, bland room. she uses her weak fingers to try and gather ice chips from a blue plastic cup. they shake. she looks up at me and asks me to leave the room.
i don't like grapefruit. but today, i will eat a grapefruit and maybe put some sugar on the top.
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