Other Appetites
Arie Lewis Pugh
There were sinkholes opening everywhere. It was a problem no one could solve. On the news, they said it might have something to do with climate change. Everything was to do with climate change. In the library, Lena stared out the window. Her friend Jo sat reading quietly beside her. The holes were all Lena could think about. It had been weeks of this and Jo was tired of it. Jo agreed that the holes were a real problem. Everyone agreed. One that opened in Arizona was a mile wide and about a thousand feet deep. It was in a town called Prescott. Jo thought it was all very sad. But there wasn’t much else to say about it. That had been the tenth hole in the states that month and it wasn’t even the deepest.
“Why are you staring out the window?” Jo looked up from her book to ask.
“I want to see if another hole will open,” Lena answered, eyes on the academic quad in front of them where students draped themselves across the grassy lawn.
“There won’t be a hole in the middle of campus,” Jo said.
“There might be. It’s not impossible.” Lena glanced at Jo. “If it happens, I’d like to see it.”
“If it happens, we all die,” Jo said. The possibility of dying was supposed to sting, but Lena’s eyes were back on the window waiting for the earth’s mouth to open. She’d seen videos of the holes opening. They were mostly from security cameras, but some of them had been filmed by people. People who had been in their apartments or at work when they felt the rumbling, Lena listened to their breathing behind the cameras. It was scared and quick.
“Have you ever wanted something other than your own life?”
Jo considered the question for a while. She knew Lena wasn’t asking it to call her selfish. Lena knew Jo was a good person. It wasn’t about that.
“Honestly Lena, I don’t know. I have to be alive to experience the things I want. So wanting anything requires that I’m alive.”
“All we crave is ourselves,” Lena said with disappointment.
“And you think these holes are punishment for that?” Jo pressed.
“No. The holes are not punishment. It’s not about harm. We only think of it as harm because we are thinking about ourselves.”
Though she disagreed, Jo nodded. She opened her book up again and read. There would be no holes on campus. She reminded herself most of the holes were near mountains. There were no mountains where they were. It wasn’t a real worry. The odds were so exceptionally small. It was more likely she’d have an aneurysm and die right there. And Jo wasn’t going to spend her life waiting for her brain to explode. Lena was thinking about these holes too much.
“So you’re scared of the holes? I won’t keep talking about it if you’re scared,” Lena asked, understanding Jo’s silence as fear.
“I’m not scared of the holes,” Jo said. She paused. “Well I am, but in the same way I’m scared of cancer and school shootings. These are horrifying things that probably won’t happen to me.” Jo closed the book she hadn’t been able to read anyway. “You’re scared of the holes too, Lena. That’s why you won’t think about anything else.”
There it was again, me. It was true, the only thing Jo wanted was her own life. But it was also true that Lena was scared. She thought of them constantly. It felt possible that the holes had no bottom. That if the ground were to open beneath her, she’d fall forever. But she also liked the holes. She liked that they did not discriminate. There was no me, no them, no you. Just the hole. They were subjectless. They were as simple as things get. Nothing else was like that.
Lena broke her gaze from the window. “I don’t know how to make you see it as neutral, or at least not horrific. Being swallowed. Being food. Being chewed up and having our energy used for something else. It’s not something you choose. Being swallowed. It happens just like you being born happened. It was randomness that you exerted no effort over. But we are important. Not just to ourselves. Everything is equally important because it is equally carbon. The carbon you are made of has always been here and will always be.”
This was not the first time Jo heard Lena talk like this. Still, Jo’s face was going blank, and Lena noticed her attention slipping.
“Think about walking up to a tree and plucking off a cherry to eat,” Lena went on. “The cherry could see that as harm. Being taken from its tree. What did this cherry do to deserve being plucked over all the others? What did it do to deserve being chewed, swallowed, and digested by enzymes? It is food to you. Does the cherry dread the dark tunnel that is your throat?” Lena’s question hung in the air. Jo joined in looking out the window. Beneath her feet, Lena felt the carpet vibrate. It was gentle at first, an ancient lullaby, then it became a scream.
“Why are you staring out the window?” Jo looked up from her book to ask.
“I want to see if another hole will open,” Lena answered, eyes on the academic quad in front of them where students draped themselves across the grassy lawn.
“There won’t be a hole in the middle of campus,” Jo said.
“There might be. It’s not impossible.” Lena glanced at Jo. “If it happens, I’d like to see it.”
“If it happens, we all die,” Jo said. The possibility of dying was supposed to sting, but Lena’s eyes were back on the window waiting for the earth’s mouth to open. She’d seen videos of the holes opening. They were mostly from security cameras, but some of them had been filmed by people. People who had been in their apartments or at work when they felt the rumbling, Lena listened to their breathing behind the cameras. It was scared and quick.
“Have you ever wanted something other than your own life?”
Jo considered the question for a while. She knew Lena wasn’t asking it to call her selfish. Lena knew Jo was a good person. It wasn’t about that.
“Honestly Lena, I don’t know. I have to be alive to experience the things I want. So wanting anything requires that I’m alive.”
“All we crave is ourselves,” Lena said with disappointment.
“And you think these holes are punishment for that?” Jo pressed.
“No. The holes are not punishment. It’s not about harm. We only think of it as harm because we are thinking about ourselves.”
Though she disagreed, Jo nodded. She opened her book up again and read. There would be no holes on campus. She reminded herself most of the holes were near mountains. There were no mountains where they were. It wasn’t a real worry. The odds were so exceptionally small. It was more likely she’d have an aneurysm and die right there. And Jo wasn’t going to spend her life waiting for her brain to explode. Lena was thinking about these holes too much.
“So you’re scared of the holes? I won’t keep talking about it if you’re scared,” Lena asked, understanding Jo’s silence as fear.
“I’m not scared of the holes,” Jo said. She paused. “Well I am, but in the same way I’m scared of cancer and school shootings. These are horrifying things that probably won’t happen to me.” Jo closed the book she hadn’t been able to read anyway. “You’re scared of the holes too, Lena. That’s why you won’t think about anything else.”
There it was again, me. It was true, the only thing Jo wanted was her own life. But it was also true that Lena was scared. She thought of them constantly. It felt possible that the holes had no bottom. That if the ground were to open beneath her, she’d fall forever. But she also liked the holes. She liked that they did not discriminate. There was no me, no them, no you. Just the hole. They were subjectless. They were as simple as things get. Nothing else was like that.
Lena broke her gaze from the window. “I don’t know how to make you see it as neutral, or at least not horrific. Being swallowed. Being food. Being chewed up and having our energy used for something else. It’s not something you choose. Being swallowed. It happens just like you being born happened. It was randomness that you exerted no effort over. But we are important. Not just to ourselves. Everything is equally important because it is equally carbon. The carbon you are made of has always been here and will always be.”
This was not the first time Jo heard Lena talk like this. Still, Jo’s face was going blank, and Lena noticed her attention slipping.
“Think about walking up to a tree and plucking off a cherry to eat,” Lena went on. “The cherry could see that as harm. Being taken from its tree. What did this cherry do to deserve being plucked over all the others? What did it do to deserve being chewed, swallowed, and digested by enzymes? It is food to you. Does the cherry dread the dark tunnel that is your throat?” Lena’s question hung in the air. Jo joined in looking out the window. Beneath her feet, Lena felt the carpet vibrate. It was gentle at first, an ancient lullaby, then it became a scream.
Arie Lewis Pugh (PO '26) lives in Claremont, California, where she studies English at Pomona College. Always preoccupied with her own humanness, she writes on the body.