Bill digs his hand in the bag. I dig in next. We each get a handful. We each want to make sure we get our fair share. I look at his handful. He looks at mine. Satisfied, we begin to crack the shells, pop the nuts --one or two -- into our mouths, and crunch on the salty treats. By the end of the bag, we both have a circle of spent shells around our feet. Neither of us wants to take the last peanut from the bag. It's already broken -- the Old Maid of the bag. Bill leans over towards me with the bag, and I finally take the last one.
I look at the mottle, brownish-gold casing with its hairline cracks running through. The casing is tough though, and holds on to the nuts within. I crush the shell with my thumb and it splits. I push the nuts out into my hand, pop them into my mouth, and drop the shell without care on the ground. I didn't offer Bill one of the nuts.
The peanuts brought out our selfishness when we both coveted a handful, yet we also were mindful of the other as we passed the bag back and forth. We played with the last peanut shell until Bill offered it to me, and I forgot that I could have shared its contents.
|We went to a game in Tokyo. At the end of the game everyone picked up their own trash! (peanut shells included)|