Phish Food -- flash fiction by Anusmara Gunturu

Two-hour baths and Instagram doomscrolling couldn’t block out the sad feelings. Standing in the freezer aisle of the supermarket at 10:37 PM and staring into the window-paneled doors for twenty minutes couldn’t, either. Not until her eyes were drawn to a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food, greeting her in chunky font, “Chocolate Ice Cream with Gooey Marshmallow Swirls, Caramel Swirls & Fudge Fish.” Seven dollars for counterfeit love.

In the parking lot she grabbed a red plastic spoon from the glovebox of her car, ignoring the dust that coated its mouth, and stabbed it into the cold cloud of ice cream. Slipping the spoon in between her lips, the taste of caramel mixed with the tears that had slithered down her cheeks and into the corners of her mouth. Caramel and saltiness. Sea salt caramel. His favorite.

A familiar feeling emerged. She was used to it when she was with him. She missed it now. Irresistible, enrapturing, self-degrading comfort.

At home in the bathroom she undressed and stumbled into the bathtub, filled to the brim with yesterday’s tepid water. She brought along Phish Food, her new companion.

She ravaged the ice cream, shoveling spoonfuls into her mouth. Every spoon felt like he was there and he was there and he was there and he was there and he was there and he was there and he was there and he was there and he was–

Chocolate and caramel chunks smeared onto her fingers and face, dripping down her chin and wrists and dropping listlessly onto the water’s surface, disrupting its placidity. She spooned out chocolate fishes and flicked them into the water, watching with dismal pleasure as they slowly sank to the bottom of the tub. Drown. Drown. She spat fluffs of marshmallow onto the dirty pink rug that hugged the tiled floor beside the bathtub, forming a sticky stain that she would forever neglect.

Scowling, she staggered out of the tub to confront the presence that haunted her, that rebuked and hated her. Glaring at her reflection, she pinched the skin under her arms, beneath her breasts, the insides of her thighs, feeling repulsed. Just like he had. Body dripping with water. Fingers dripping with sweetened, overpriced milk – counterfeit love. Eyes dripping with saltiness. Sea salt caramel. His favorite.

She hated caramel.

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Anusmara Gunturu is a high school student living in Northern Virginia. Her work has been recognized by the Scholastic Awards and has been published in Teen Writers Project Quarterly Lit Zine and Remington Review. When not studying or daydreaming, you can find her reading Jhumpa Lahiri's short stories.