© 2025 Mike Toth

You know you want it.

You’ve been watching it outside your window, that gorgeous red orb hanging on a vine. It’s fully engorged, practically bursting with health, perfect. It’s a sunny day and there’s a little bit of a shine on its taut, smooth skin. It stands out in the green foliage like a beacon.

You want to go there and touch it. You think about how it’s going to feel in your hand as you pull it off the branch. And then you’ll want to do something else to it.

The neighborhood is silent on this hot summer day. There’s no one home. Your world is down to two things: you in here, the tomato out there.

You make your move.

You go out the door, barefoot. The grass is warm, but the ground is still a bit cool, and under your toes you feel what’s left of the morning dew. It feels raw, human, right, somehow.

You reach the tomato plant and that unmistakable scent hits your nostrils. It’s a little flowery, a little sharp, but earthy, natural, real.

The branches bend softly as you reach inside the plant and cup the tomato in your hand. That scent strengthens as your arms brush against the leaves. Your fingers try to enclose the tomato but can’t, because it’s too big. You hold on to it as firmly as you dare, and you start pulling while giving the tomato a tiny twist.

The tomato resists at first—it’s healthy, after all, and wants to stay on its plant. But in a couple of seconds it surrenders to your hand. There’s a small green crown on the tomato, and you bring it to your nose and inhale that deliciousness.

You don’t dare look around to see if anyone’s watching, because you don’t want to talk to a neighbor. You don’t even want to wave to anyone. You just want to go inside. Now.

You press the tomato gently against your belly as you walk toward the back door. You want to walk fast—run, even. But doing that might attract attention and even make you drop this precious thing. You just look down at the ground in front of you as you put one foot in front of the other.

You open the door, go inside, pull the door shut behind you, and lock it.

You grab the salt shaker as you pass by the kitchen table and head toward the sink. After all, this is going to get a little messy.

The house is cool, but the tomato is still warm in your hand. You hear nothing but the hum of the air conditioning and the faint drone of a cicada outside.

You give the tomato a little lick and sprinkle some salt on the wet spot. Most falls fall off, but some sticks to your saliva. You sprinkle on a little bit more and put the salt shaker down.

You hold the tomato over the sink, lean over, and enclose your lips around the tomato as your teeth gently touch its skin. You feel that sun warmth on your tongue.

You know what’s going to happen next. You want to prolong this moment, but you can’t.

You bite down.

Your teeth pierce the tomato’s skin and sink into its flesh. The tomato’s juices burst into your mouth. The taste is like nothing else in the world—a savory, sweet, tart flavor that has no resemblance to the taste of those same-size, same-color, sorely disappointing store tomatoes you’ve had over the years…and keep going back to, thinking this time it’ll be different.

It never is.

This, finally, is the real thing. You feel the seeds between your tongue and palate as the flesh succumbs to your mouth. The tomato’s juices run down your chin, down your forearm. You don’t care. You sprinkle more salt on the tomato and gorge—biting, chewing, moaning at its incredible flavor, swallowing, biting again. You lick your wrist to catch some of that magical juice and accidentally bump the tomato on your nose. You giggle, not caring.

You devour the entire tomato, all the way down to the little crown.

You take a breath and let it out in a sigh.

You rinse your hands and face and lean back against the sink. You’ve had plenty of good things to eat, but you’ve never eaten something so…pure.

Your turn your head and look out the window. There’s another tomato on that plant, and it’s orangey pink—that color tomatoes turn just before they transform to that unique crimson-cerise tone when they’re fully mature.

You smile a little to yourself, because you know just what you’re going to do tomorrow.