Page 74 of Mr. Aster
“It’s delicious,” I said. “The perfect smoky taste with a hint of lime and salt. Almost better than tortilla chips.” I reached for one, ran it through the guacamole, and reached over to where he sat across from me at the table, “Try it. If you can eat shrimp, you can eat this.”
“That’s what you said about the larvae,” he said, taking it from my hand and studying it.
“And it didn’t taste bad, did it? It probably tasted better than your usual appetite for ultra-expensive caviar.” I folded my arms on the table and watched him in humor. “Remember the rules,” I reminded him.
“I have to chew on it to gather the flavors, and I cannot cheat. I know,” he said, sounding annoyed, but his humorous expression told me otherwise.
“Do it,” I urged with a laugh. “And no drinking immediately afterward this time, either,” I shot him a warning look.
I thoroughly enjoyed giving this big bad man a run for his money with Mexico’s finer delicacies. This one was mild in flavor, but because he knew he was eating an insect, it was screwing with his mind, and I found it all so perfectly hilarious.
“It’s mind over matter. If I’m going to coach myself through this,” he said, still terrified to eat the grasshopper.
“True,” I agreed as if I were his therapist, watching my patient learn to eat without thinking about it. “And to go even deeper, I’ll add that life is pretty much like you being terrified to eat that grasshopper.”
“How so?”
“Oh, don’t let me interrupt you from your bite, handsome,” I teased. “I’ll explain once I hear a few crunches.”
“But the legs,” he said. “And the antennas?”
“I know. You’d think those things would fall off, but they don’t, and they actually can tickle your tongue if you’re not careful,” I lied.
“God, here goes,” he said
“And in his mouth, Mr. Grasshopper went,” I said, laughing while my eyes widened to encourage him to crunch at least five times before swallowing it.
“You don’t need to create nursery rhymes about the food I’m eating,” he chuckled, then took his napkin to wipe his mouth. “Is that how your mother got you to eat this as a child?”
I nodded, “My mother went through an entire story about how Mr. Grasshopper sacrificed his life for the hungry Aztec boy who needed his powers.”
“You’re shitting me, right?”
“My mom named me after an orphaned monkey. What do you think?”
“How are you not traumatized?”
“I am every time someone calls me Darcel,” I chuckled.
“Now, finish your thoughts about how mind over matter applies to real life, taken from watching me eat a grasshopper.”
“Damn,” I said, taking a sip of my cocktail. “You don’t forget anything, do you?”
“In my line of work, I forget nothing, and when someone thinks they have this crazy and horrific thing we call life figured out, I want to hear their thoughts.”
“Um,” I stalled. Now, I had to think of something interesting to say because I didn’t really have anything to contribute. I just wanted him to eat the stupid grasshopper. “First, try the huitlacoche,” I said, pushing the corn fungus toward him while I tried to come up with something that didn’t sound like the line of bullshit I knew it was.
“No,” he said firmly. “Not until you tell me what you meant.”
“Well, it’s very simple, really,” I said, still thinking. “A lot of people are terrified to live their lives. They’re afraid to love someone, to embark on new beginnings, and things like that. And then, one day, they trust their gut and take the plunge to find out that living is better than dying,” I cringed at my boozy, jumbled-up mess of pseudo-wisdom. “Just like you found out eating that grasshopper. You were afraid of it, and now you’re not.”
“Very deep,” he said, mocking me.
“If I weren’t half drunk, that would’ve made sense,” I chuckled.
“Well, being that I am half-drunk with you, I can interpret it,” he said, “and I know what you are trying to say. I’ve been afraid to be happy or do anything that made me feel good about myself after Melissa passed away. The guilt has held me hostage, but since I’ve begun to let that go—something I have been terrified to do—it feels like the weight of grief is finally lifting.”
“It’s natural to feel some survivor’s guilt, but thankfully, you’re learning to move past that. When did you start to take the grasshopper challenge route with it all?” I said, trying to keep things light because I was too buzzed to get serious in conversation.
