I believe that our five senses are kinda interchangeable. That's what I was going for here.


THE TASTE OF MEMORY

Funny what people remember, she’d been thinking about the taste of sand all day. She’d got into the habit of putting sand in her mouth at a very young age. Three? Maybe four. Kids will do that; put the strangest things in their mouths. Adults are usually aghast or disgusted and slap and yell, “Don’t do that! That’s bad.” But it wasn’t bad. It was wonderful. It put tastes and smells and pictures in her head from even the tiniest pinch. Her adults couldn’t understand this, so she took to doing it in secret, a sort of communion between her and the sand. And it stuck.

Today she was remembering the taste of all the beaches she’d known. For instance, the sand at Tahoe tastes like old snow, a little wax off the winter ski’s, and a hint of green algae from the depths. Whereas, sand in the Copper River in Alaska tastes ancient – glacial – mastodon musk-like or that might be Grizzly bear.

The sand in Biscayne Bay off Miami, Florida has got a little sea slug, some diesel from the boats, and a tad of pot from all the abandoned marijuana bales towed through it. Now, Bimini (that little island in the Bahamas), its sand tastes sparkly, was that the dolphins rubbed off scent? She also remembered shark in it, a darkness, and fire coral, hottest condiment around.

“Grandma, what’s for lunch?” Everett tugged at her lax hand.

“What would you like, honey?” she said.

“P, B, &J? Tuna? Grilled Cheese? I don’t know, something good, grandma.”

She laughed, “How about a sand sandwich?”

Everett looked at her, disgusted. “Sands no good, it doesn’t taste like anything.”

She smiled at her grandson, at ten years, far too old now to appreciate the taste of sand. “Oh yes it does, it tastes like memory,” she said to herself, and went into the kitchen to make soup.