Pumpkin Carving
by Eliot Ku
I was hanging around the pumpkin patch on Saturday when a fight broke out between two varsity football players. I’m not sure what was said. Probably nothing important, and that wasn’t my focus anyway. One of their girlfriends happens to be the girl of my dreams. Her name is Sofia. The funny thing is that Sofia doesn’t know who I am. I never know what to say to her to break the ice, so I have remained at the sidelines. And truthfully, I know next to nothing about her either. She exists and she has the most sublime, glowing smile. No other detail really matters at my age.
At first, the fight that began was just between the two boys, but then their friends got involved and their girlfriends were screaming and trying to pull them all apart. No one had any idea how to contain it so the rest of us simply watched from a distance as the fight blossomed to involve the whole group of popular kids, dilating and contracting and moving like a massive caterpillar across the ribbed earth. At the center of it, Sofia’s boyfriend was now on the ground, getting stomped on by several of the other boys. Some of the girls, including Sofia, were sucked into the churning center and they too were stomped on, as the boys were blinded by the testosterone and adrenaline pouring into their bloodstreams by the spoonful.
The police and several ambulances finally arrived after a spectator called for them. They lined up the battered kids and hauled them off to jail or the hospital. Sofia was in a bad way. It didn’t look like there was much left of her glow for me to dream about. I couldn’t reconcile the fact that the unconscious shape taken away on a stretcher was really her. No trace of her smile remained.
The spectators gradually dispersed. In place of the brawl was a flattened circle of earth within the small pumpkin patch, mud pressed with tangles of spiny leaves, blood spatter, and a few teeth, a scene that looked as disorganized and meaningless as a work of Dadaism. I loitered for a while because I had nothing to do. My parents were out of town and my friends nonexistent. I wandered through the corn maze. It had been designed for little kids, but I got lost anyway.
I decided to buy some pumpkins on the way out. Not one or two. More like sixty. I ignored the silent exchanges between the employees working the register. It took many trips back and forth with a wheelbarrow to load the pumpkins into my truck, which was meditative after what I had witnessed that afternoon.
By the time I had all the pumpkins in my bedroom, it was properly night. I dimmed the lights and began to carve the pumpkins. The process was freeing. I didn’t give a thought to any mess I might have made, and I completed the task in that single evening. When it was done, the muscles in my hands were severely cramped and swollen. Chunks and strings of discarded pumpkin lay in piles around my bedroom floor like clown intestines. I placed lit candles into each of the pumpkins and then sat back to enjoy them.
Sixty jack-o’-lanterns now smiled back at me. I had tried to recreate Sofia’s smile with the first and finally mastered it by the sixtieth. In my exhaustion, I was satisfied to discover true tenderness behind those hollow orange expressions. I revived the glow from within her that would light up rooms because in her current state she wouldn’t be able to do it on her own.
It was still not dawn when I pulled out a pen and piece of paper. By jack-o’-lantern light I began to write a get-well-soon letter to Sofia, who was at that moment hooked up to monitors and devices in the hospital, recovering from a traumatic brain injury. She would be deeply sedated, and I had no idea where her mind could be. Although my own head felt empty, at least now there was some sense of companionship to that emptiness, and I knew exactly what to say to her.
At first, the fight that began was just between the two boys, but then their friends got involved and their girlfriends were screaming and trying to pull them all apart. No one had any idea how to contain it so the rest of us simply watched from a distance as the fight blossomed to involve the whole group of popular kids, dilating and contracting and moving like a massive caterpillar across the ribbed earth. At the center of it, Sofia’s boyfriend was now on the ground, getting stomped on by several of the other boys. Some of the girls, including Sofia, were sucked into the churning center and they too were stomped on, as the boys were blinded by the testosterone and adrenaline pouring into their bloodstreams by the spoonful.
The police and several ambulances finally arrived after a spectator called for them. They lined up the battered kids and hauled them off to jail or the hospital. Sofia was in a bad way. It didn’t look like there was much left of her glow for me to dream about. I couldn’t reconcile the fact that the unconscious shape taken away on a stretcher was really her. No trace of her smile remained.
The spectators gradually dispersed. In place of the brawl was a flattened circle of earth within the small pumpkin patch, mud pressed with tangles of spiny leaves, blood spatter, and a few teeth, a scene that looked as disorganized and meaningless as a work of Dadaism. I loitered for a while because I had nothing to do. My parents were out of town and my friends nonexistent. I wandered through the corn maze. It had been designed for little kids, but I got lost anyway.
I decided to buy some pumpkins on the way out. Not one or two. More like sixty. I ignored the silent exchanges between the employees working the register. It took many trips back and forth with a wheelbarrow to load the pumpkins into my truck, which was meditative after what I had witnessed that afternoon.
By the time I had all the pumpkins in my bedroom, it was properly night. I dimmed the lights and began to carve the pumpkins. The process was freeing. I didn’t give a thought to any mess I might have made, and I completed the task in that single evening. When it was done, the muscles in my hands were severely cramped and swollen. Chunks and strings of discarded pumpkin lay in piles around my bedroom floor like clown intestines. I placed lit candles into each of the pumpkins and then sat back to enjoy them.
Sixty jack-o’-lanterns now smiled back at me. I had tried to recreate Sofia’s smile with the first and finally mastered it by the sixtieth. In my exhaustion, I was satisfied to discover true tenderness behind those hollow orange expressions. I revived the glow from within her that would light up rooms because in her current state she wouldn’t be able to do it on her own.
It was still not dawn when I pulled out a pen and piece of paper. By jack-o’-lantern light I began to write a get-well-soon letter to Sofia, who was at that moment hooked up to monitors and devices in the hospital, recovering from a traumatic brain injury. She would be deeply sedated, and I had no idea where her mind could be. Although my own head felt empty, at least now there was some sense of companionship to that emptiness, and I knew exactly what to say to her.
Eliot Ku is a diagnostic radiologist who specializes in emergency and trauma imaging. He lives in New Mexico with his wife and two young children. He loves to climb rocks, read, and write.