Bit by Bit
an excerpt
When Olivia was younger, her mom would pretend to eat her.
The spoons she used were decorative, part of her beloved collection that hung in a cabinet in the hallway beside the family portrait and class photos. They were vacation purchases mixed with airport-quick presents from Olivia’s dad when he went away on business trips. Hawaii, Montana, Yukon; the names unfamiliar and make-believe because Olivia never went anywhere but to the park and back. To her grandparents for the weekend.
When Olivia was younger, she would watch as her mom removed a newly-gifted spoon from its transparent plastic box and cradle it in her hands like it was a butterfly.
“Can I see?” Olivia would ask.
“Sure,” her mom would say, but instead she would lunge forward and pretend to take a chunk out of Olivia’s skin. The lip of the spoon on her forearm would leave a cold frowny face among her freckles and Olivia would squeal and run away in delight.
When Olivia was younger, she would come back for more, falling into her mom’s arms and inhaling her scent. Her mom would dance the spoon up and down Olivia’s body and make yummy sounds, rub her stomach, call for more salt.
When Olivia was younger, she would let her mom devour her completely.
