Peaches

I always think I have a healthy attitude towards food. I made it through high school and college without anorexia or bulimia. I remained academic, sporty and slightly nerdy. I was, in the end, relatively unscathed by the relentless propaganda about body image showered on American teenage girls. At least that is how I remember it.

But then peach season comes, and a parade of memories comes rushing back. I LOVE peaches. To me, a good peach is pretty close to heaven. I love the really juicy ones that are so soft that the nectar just goes dripping down your arms, your chin and all over your clothes. You really should eat them naked, then take a shower afterwards. Those are the best. In Campania, in Italy, they have the world's best peaches. I don't know why. Now that I am a militant food person, I think maybe it is because they are not covered with pesticides and shipped from far away. They are harvested from back yards and sold at the fruttivendolo.

Anyway, one year in college, I decided, when I went back to Naples for the summer vacation, I decided I would live on peaches. I was a lifeguard at Carney Park--a crater near Pozzuoli that had been turned into a tiny sliver of preserved America, with baseball diamonds, hot dogs and an All American pool. I was a lifeguard. I lived in my bathing suit, teaching children to swim, and keeping an eye on horny sailors who came in from sea on aircraft carriers, put on their goggles, and hung out underwater by the diving board, watching for young girls swim suits to dislodge in revealing ways when they jumped into the water. I had to call them on their bizaare behavior and send them to the shallow end, where the view was a little blurrier.

I lived in my bathing suit, and thrived on peaches. I ate peaches for breakfast and peaches for lunch. I ate peaches all afternoon. I would eat them so the nectar ran down my body on my break, and then I would leap into the water, wash them off, and climb back into my lifeguard chair. I would eat 6-8 peaches a day. I would eat something real for dinner, so my mother wouldn't worry, because she was always onto me. Then I would have peaches for dessert. I got very skinny. And then one week I ended up in the hospital--for dehydration. I had a fever and I couldn't eat. Not even peaches.

I got so skinny. I ended up in the hospital. You would think I would hate peaches. But I don't. I love them.

And to me, the peaches of Campana are still the best.

I dream of a newspaper cone of sweet, campana peaches, warm in the sun, dripping down my chin.