Peanut Butter
Miles Patterson

She chose him over me like bread chooses peanut butter; they complement each
other; they taste better together than apart; in fact, they’re so delicious together you
might be tempted to take a bite, unless you’re allergic, then you’re most likely going
to die. Anyway, they’re a natural pair . . . unlike her and I were: we went together
like bread and gravel pretending we were tasty. Hell, we weren’t even edible—not
even the birds would eat us, and if they did, they would choke and die. Yet, I tried
to spread myself across her life because I thought gravel complemented bread like
monogamy complements polyamory . . . and that’s where it all went wrong.
I wanted to be polyamorous even though I suspected this pile of gravel was
destined for a one-way road; I wanted to know for sure, so I acted like I came
from a jar—simply because gravel. is. crunchy. I didn’t complement her in the
slightest; hell, we didn’t even like the same music; and we would always be a threat
to someone’s airway as long as I believed bread and gravel went well together. And
once I accepted I was gravel, I realized I didn’t want to be on bread; I wanted to
be somewhere I belonged. She found smooth peanut butter and I ended up on the
road where I belonged; and I don’t mean in a bad way—I give traction where it’s
needed. I’m meant for someone else like gravel is meant for the ground.

52