Baby Tomatoes

I remember one day as I sat in my grandparents living room watching cartoons, my grandmother came up to me.

"Do you want a hot dog?" she asked. "I'll cut it up and you can have it with beans?"

My eyes were fixed on Looney Toons.

 "Yes," I said, focused in on Bugs Bunny sticking his finger into the barrel of Elmer Fudd's hunting rifle.

"Do you want me to cut up baby tomatoes and put them on the side?" she asked again.

"Yes," I said as monotone as the first time. Elmer Fudds gun blew up in his face and I chuckled. My face remained glued to the wooden-encased television.

Moments later when my grandmother returned holding a plastic blue dish with my meal: baked beans, a cut-up hot dog and sliced baby tomatoes. When I saw the baby tomatoes I paused and looked back up to my grandmother, I hated tomatoes. Didn't she know this? She's my grandma. I said nothing and looked down at my plate. The realization of the situation hit, I remembered that she had asked me if I wanted them moments before and I had said yes.

I thought about my grandmother in the kitchen moments before, making me food because she loved me, only because she loved me, like she had so many times before. I thought of the several minutes it took to cut the tomatoes in thirds, how happy she expected me to be when I saw it. I realized that's why she made it, to make me happy. Somehow I knew, at age ten, that that was what she lived for. All this and I couldnt even spare my attention from Looney Toons for three second?

"Thanks Grandma," I said with a smile, forcing myself to look happy after my recent thoughts. She smiled and returned to the kitchen.

Why was I feeling this bad? The feeling slowly spread itself throughout my little body. I looked again down to my plate. The tomatoes were cut up perfectly. I didn't want to waste them but eating them was out of the question. I thought about sneaking them in the garbage but the thought made me feel even worse. Both my grandparents took good care of the tomato garden, spent afternoons and evenings taking care of it and watering it. There's no way I could throw a piece of that away. I was already irresponsible enough. After I was finished eating my hot dog and beans, I sucked as big a breath as I could and returned the rest of my plate to the kitchen. I had made up my mind to tell the truth.

My grandmother was sitting at the island cutting the tips off of string beans and sorting them into piles.

"Grandma," I started, sighing deeply. "I dont know why I said I wanted tomatoes, I don't even like 'em."

Her head leaned sideways, "Then why did you say you wanted some?"

"I don't know," I explained. "I wasn't paying attention when you asked."

 I saw a faint look of disappointment spread across her face, the kind of look you can't control even when you don't want to give it.

The thought of the cut-up tomatoes going to waste shot more pangs of guilt into my chest. "Can you eat them?" I asked.

She paused, "Sure, leave them right over there on the counter."

I put the plate down and walked my way up the stairs to the bathroom. I locked the door and I cried.