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How I Am Hungry
“Hey, baby,” I purr into the phone nestled
between my shoulder and my ear, “want to
come over for dinner tonight?”
“Sure!” my boyfriend says, the sound of
downtown traffic in the background. “I’ll be
by at 7:30.”
“Sounds good. Don’t be late!” I say, walking
into the kitchen. “I haven’t eaten yet.” Behind
me on the wall hangs a whiteboard; “2011
Resolutions” is written at the head o f a list.
Some o f the entries— “Eat wild game,”
“Structure writing time into week,” “Bigtime
sensuality”— have bold black checks next to
them, indicating goals already met in the first
three months of the year. I pull a brown paper
parcel out of the refrigerator, look up at the
last entry on the list, unchecked: “Contend
with hunger.”
People sometimes talk about the “fat kid
sensibility,” the effect upon the personality
that growing up chubby exerts. As a former
fat kid I understand and agree that the extra
pounds leave us kind, self-conscious fans of
the underdog long after the baby fat drops.
However, I posit there is also a “hungry kid
sensibility,” one that gets cultivated by having
a limited amount of resources available. I was
certainly raised with more than enough
food— again, I was a fat kid—but something
else was not enough; the small town in which
I grew up, the life possibilities available to me
|v
remember to breathe
BY NICK MATTOS
“You have no idea.”
The longing hasn’t gone anywhere. I am
hardwired to be the sort of man who, as an
angry ex-boyfriend once put it, “always wants
more— more food, more sex, more booze, more
God.” More life. The fact remains that my ap
petite, for its ferocious intensity, will not kill
me. However, my frantic pursuit o f sating it
might. I have grown into a man who isn’t will
ing to lose everything, and I have learned that
this entails being willing to live with the hun
ger, to hear its anxious cry for what it is— not
an emergency, but a suggestion. Necessity
forces me to search for what it is at the root of
this longing and to learn, day by day, how to
live patiendy with its loud cries without
thrashing about violendy to silence it.
Back in the kitchen, I spoon my Chicken
Adobo over rice, garnish with lemon slices. I
carry plates out to see my boyfriend sitting
cross-legged on the rug, the low table brush
ing his knees. I sit across from him, set steam
ing plates down and realize that I am com
plete in this moment— fed and clothed, loved
and loving, soberly contending with hunger. I
bring a forkful o f chicken and rice to my
m outh, close my eyes as the flavors spread
over my tongue, and smile. J#]
structured my life around fulfilling each mo
mentary impulse. This is what led me to pack
all people possess within them an
up everything and move to the Northwest
sight unseen, to get baptized in a Mormon
infinite number of desires, a vast
temple in proxy for 20 dead German men, to
universe of insatiable hunger. I have
walk eight miles in a business suit to inter
view for a job I’d never get, to drink whole
given the ol’ college try to sate it
bottles of whiskey before nightfall, to scan
anyway, structured my life around
house numbers in a bad part o f town looking
for a trick with condoms in my pocket and a
fulfilling each momentary impulse.
monkey on my back. It is what has led me to
within reach of my loving family were not stand barefoot in my kitchen tonight, pouring
enough to sate me. I would find myself full of soy sauce and rice vinegar into a pot o f chick
longing for things I couldn’t articulate, fright en I will serve to my boyfriend. This is how I
ened by its intensity and the prospect I could am hungry: urgently and bizarrely, with all
live my entire life without sating it.
the force o f my life behind it, as though it is
At the counter, I rub slices o f lemon onto an emergency calling for swift intervention.
chicken wings, thighs, breasts. They slide off the
In my steamy apartment, the door buzzer
chopping board into a pot as the rice cooker rings. “Hey, baby,” his voice coos into the
shoots starchy steam out of its vents. Standing speaker. I push the button, hear the lock of
at the sink, washing my hands, I hear my empty the door downstairs disengage, hang up the
stomach rumble over the rush of water.
phone. Now he is in the doorway, his arm
I grew up and the hunger remained. Bud goes around my back, pulling me in for a kiss.
dhist philosophy teaches that all people pos
“D inner’s almost ready, handsome,” I say as
sess within them an infinite number of desires, I pull away, “and just in time.”
a vast universe o f insatiable hunger. I have
“Thanks!” he says, taking off his blazer, sliding E m a il Nick a t nickmattos@justout.com i f you'd
given the ol’ college try to sate it anyway, a hanger into the sleeves. “You must be hungry.” like his Chicken Adobo recipe.
Buddhist philosophy teaches that
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