I’m peeling potatoes and Arthur sidles up behind me a few feet away, in my blind spot. Only the sound of the floor creaking slightly announces his presence. He hovers silently for a minute, I can feel him there. He looks at the peels, then back up to me, then asks, “What are you going to do with the peelings?” almost in a whisper. I look up from my work, straight out the kitchen window, then back down to the potatoes. A strained silence fills the kitchen, broken by the sound of a cheap potato peeler hitting its mark.
I pause because I think the answer is obvious. I try to keep my voice calm and level, even cheerful, as if this is a normal conversation. “I’m going to put them out on the mulch pile.” I don’t say throw them out, because it might sound too provocative, like saying I’m going to throw out your children. I imagine he will propose saving some to plant more potatoes for next year, but I don’t think peels will grow.
“No, save them, I can fry them up.”
These are not potato skins, which are simply potatoes cut into quarters lengthwise and served with the skin on. These are potato peels that I collected on a dusty paper bag.
I scrub the potatoes and save the peels for him.
Wayne Smith is a Computer Scientist who was nominated as Engineer of the Year, but lost in the lightning round when it was discovered that he had a wrinkled suit and thinks an Engineer drives trains.
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