TheBanyanTree: Assassins Come In All Sizes

[Monique Colver]

And shapes. And they're innocuous. It's how they get past our radar, the
instinct we have that keeps us alive, that causes us to run when the big bad
guys with the guns come at us from the dark alleyway, and when the
government knocks on our door saying they're here to help.
Sorry, that was uncalled for. I'm sure the government thinks they are
helping, in their own way. Sure they are. 
Back to the assassins. I've pretty much figured out that people pointing
guns at me are a bad sign, and so the assassins have developed clever
methods to lull me into a false sense of security. Today one emerged in the
form of a little piece of candy, an Almond Roca. Wrapped in their little
gold foil, they look harmless and insouciant, a mere piece of candy,
dangerous only to diabetics and those who think the absence of chocolate
from their lives will make them stronger, happier, healthier, and thinner.
(This isn't necessarily true, mind you, but if the belief that this is so
helps them, that just leaves more chocolate for me, so I won't mind.) 
I was at lunch with my confidante and collaborator, Robin, at La Palmera,
where she'd taken me so we could commiserate over my stalled objectives (or
something equally boring) over heaping plates of delicious and totally
nonfattening food. (I like to have my illusions. Don't disabuse me of the
notion that Mexican food is nonfattening please.) I had the chorizo con
huevos, it being a favorite of mine. 
Once our plates were empty, I discovered a lingering Almond Roca in my
purse, neatly secured in its gold foil wrapper, and I broke it in half and
offered one to Robin, and I ate the other. 
And then something happened. My Almond Roca half attacked me. In its attempt
to do me harm it cut off my oxygen supply, and I found myself trying to
breathe with a rock stock in my throat, or what felt like a rock, but was
most likely a miniscule bit of chocolate that, should it be held under a
microscope, might be discernible. No matter. It interfered with one of my
important life maintenance functions, but I coughed it back up, and it was
indeed miniscule. By that time I still couldn't talk, however, which made
answering questions about my well being all the more difficult. I drank as
much water as I could.
I thought about the obituaries I read every day. Yes. I read them daily. I
want to know more about these people, the ones in the obituaries, but all I
can know is what I read, so I settle for that, and I try to glean what I can
from the few words that are supposed to sum up a life. I've noticed lately
that many of them say the deceased fought valiantly against cancer, or
fought courageously with cancer, or had a long struggle with cancer, yada
yada yada, and I thought of my obituary. 
"Died suddenly after a brief and unsuccessful struggle with Almond Roca." It
just doesn't sound as heroic, you know? The problem with dying of Almond
Roca is I wouldn't get a chance to show what I was made of, I wouldn't get a
chance to die after a valiant fight, just a short little struggle that only
one person witnessed. When I told Robin of this she laughed so hard she
squirted water out of her nose, which made me laugh. It wouldn't have been a
heroic death, but it would have made for amusing stories, which is really
all that I aspire to anyway.
(I've already told Andrew that should I die of cancer, I'd like my obit to
read that we (the cancer and I) were the best of friends, because I don't
want my enemies mentioned in the last words said about me.)