Three Pieces of Cheese

Grater

Both smooth and rigid
I tenderly graze your edge
Longing to grate cheese

Cheese of a Lifetime

I was feeling lighthearted and I could tell he was too. It was finally summer. We decided we would make ourselves a grand feast for the evening. I started cutting the onions; he took out a block of cheese.

“Can you believe it’s over?” he laughed.

“Yeah! The nostalgia hasn’t quite kicked in yet.”

“I mean some of those people we probably won’t see ever again.”

He started to grate the cheese and I started to panic. I guess what he had said had finally triggered something in me. I suddenly felt like I was gasping for breath, but only on the inside. It was as if time was slipping through me and I had no recollection of how I’d even gotten here. I watched the cheese disappear into the grater, the constant motion, the cheese running out until almost none was left. I grabbed his wrist.

“Wait.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Just stop. I just want to stay like this.”

Forbidden Cheese

I found out I was lactose intolerant when I was eight. It ruined the better part of my childhood, depriving me of ice cream, milkshakes, yogurt and worst of all, cheese. Whenever we learned about the food groups in school, I had to leave class before the teacher mentioned the dairy or I would break down in tears. I would not come to accept my relationship with milk products until years later, when I began to work as a dishwasher at a local French restaurant. Here I was surrounded by cheese. It was like constantly seeing an ex-lover who had betrayed me. I loved cheese with all my soul and all cheese had given me was nausea and diarrhea. I had moved on, of course. But sometimes, just sometimes, late at night when we’re closing up the restaurant, I stick my nose into the fridge and smell the cheeses. I’ll never go back. But how I long for him…

So one Friday night Jacques ran up to me at my dish-washing station yelling
“WHERE IS THE CHEESE GRATER?” I was impressed that a man who I believed spoke little English knew the word cheese grater. I guess I had underestimated Jacques. I told him I had no idea where his cheese grater was. That was a lie. One of the other dishies and I had used it to grate some pot at the end of our shift the day before. The grater was perfect for breaking up the weed. We must have left it in the staff room. Jacques was furious. He stormed around the kitchen and before I knew it everyone was searching for the cheese grater. I had to recover the grater before it was discovered downstairs, but when I saw my enormous pile of dishes I decided that I couldn’t disappear without anyone noticing, so it would have to wait. At the end of the night I ran into the staff room and snatched the grater. I snuck up into the kitchen when everyone had left so that I could subtly leave it back in its place, but little did I know Jacques was still there. We walked right into each other and I froze, cheese grater in hand.

“AHA! You little thief. You think you can just take whichever of my kitchen utensils you please? This is not for your own personal use. This is for professionals!” He snatched the grater from my hands.

“It’s not what it looks like! I…I don’t even eat cheese! I’m lactose intolerant!”

He didn’t believe me, of course. He was convinced I was a cheese-craved maniac who wanted to steal his grater. Jacques demanded that I prove to him I was lactose intolerant. He took a big chunk of cheddar out of the fridge and placed it in front of me. You know that feeling when you see an old lover? You feel kind of numb knowing that he’s right there and you could have him. You relive all of the wonderful memories in your mind and even though you can also remember the pain, you just want to touch him…

“Go on, eat it!” he prompted

I grabbed the block of cheese, took one bite and after that there was no stopping me. I gave myself to cheese and he took all of me. I shoved the cheddar into my mouth, finished the whole block, left not even a crumb. Jacques looked at me satisfied; he had proven I was a cheese-freak. Then I felt it: the wrenching pain. My stomach screamed. I vomited all over the kitchen floor and my heart was broken once more.

“Damn girl! I guess you really are lactose intolerant!”

I looked up at him with tears in my eyes.

“A thousand apologies for not believing you. And for making you eat all that cheese! Is there anyway I can make you feel better?”

Can you unbreak broken? Was what I wanted to ask. But then he leaned in and spoke very quietly

“Do you get high? I mean now that I have my cheese grater back I can finally make a proper doob!”