Pie Eater

by
Elmo Lum

He ate pie like his father ate pie. Both arms forward on the table, fork gripped in his fist. Watching the pie cool so he could eat. This is what his mother said: You eat pie like your father. And he said back what his father said: There’s only one way to eat pie. He sat before the pie, grinning at the thought of it: the peeling back the top crust, the forking out the wedges of softened apple. Then breaking the crust to pieces to push them through the syrup, then bringing them to his mouth, juiced and sweet. And finally: saved for last, the crust’s browned fringe, still folded and scalloped with the shape of his mother’s fingers. This was how he thought (his arms forward on the table, fork gripped in his fist, waiting for pie). Then the moment begins: the fork drops, the crust breaks, the lever is pulled, the man is hanged. Justice is dreamed and then served.