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Jonesing for Melon Balls by Trista Myers
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The first time I had a really terrible hangover, I had gone drinking with my brother and consumed about 60 ounces of cheap beer in a four-hour timespan. I threw up seven times on the way home alone. That night was a torturous dance of dry heaves, which left me drained and tired. When I woke up, nauseous and achy, the only thought that gave me any comfort was melon balls. Perhaps because my body was craving liquid, since hangovers are due, in part, to dehydration. Or perhaps because melons remind me of family picnics. I wanted my Mommy, I guess. By mid-afternoon, I finally felt good enough to leave my bed. A friend and I went on a melon quest. At that time, I had no car and no desire to take a bus to the grocery store. My friend and I confined our search to restaurants. We racked our brains for a place to try and finally tried a pancake place which we thought offered fresh fruit. Before we sat down, I asked the waitress if they had melon. She said yes. When that order came, when I tasted that sweet succulence, I felt refreshed. My achiness receded. I felt renewed. Perhaps some primal urge knew what I needed. Those melons were my salvation.
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