When my brother was about six years old he walked in his sleep. Spooked by night terrors he ran around the house while still dreaming, with vacant, wide open eyes. It only happened once or twice, but I remember my father trying to wake Michael up. He took Michael by the hand, and made him open and close the door of the mailbox.
“This is real, this is real, this is real” my dad kept repeating, until the opening of the mailbox door finally woke Michael up.
Jordan taught me how to make an eggplant. Over an open flame on a gas stove, your place a whole eggplant directly on top of the burner and let it cook there for about 10 minutes, until the skin is rumpled and blackening. Repeat on the other side. After you’ve cooked it on both sides, cut it open and spoon out the smokey insides. The eggplant is good with garlicky bread or a little rice. You can also make a tahini sauce with a spoonful each of tahini and unsweetened Greek yogurt, a squeeze of lemon juice and salt. I would not hesitate to say that this is, unquestionably, one of the best things I have ever eaten. We ate it sitting on the floor, off a cutting board, taking turns scooping out the insides.
Since graduating college— roughly a year ago— I’ve learned how to make a cappuccino and gotten really into bellbottoms and I “recommitted to running” for the hundredth time, which is so boring, but this time I really mean it.
And I keep realizing and realizing that this is real and actually my life and not a phase.
So I cook eggplant with my friends, while wearing bellbottoms.
Trying to make it count. Don't wanna sleepwalk.