Impostor

I opened my eyes and stretched my arms, embracing yet another perfect morning. The sun was out, the last of the snow was melting, and robins were pecking for worms outside my window. I could even hear the melody of a cardinal in the distance, hopefully not circling on a bombing run over my pristine Ferrari convertible.

I'd beat my alarm clock by two minutes and, flipping it off with a satisfactory click before it could blast me, I jumped straight out of bed, landing on the treadmill with a single athletic leap. Today, I would be unstoppable. I rode it hard, making its cheap plastic parts creak and groan, wishing they'd been made in the United States of America.

After exactly 15 minutes of merciless pounding, while the treadmill was still at full speed, I smoothly glided off it in the direction of the kitchen to continue my morning regimen. The next six minutes of sustenance would prepare my bowels for their water closet victory lap -- a perfectly calibrated infusion of coffee, glucosamine, zinc, psychedelic mushrooms, prune juice, meth, three packets of high-protein oatmeal, a banana --

My eyes passed over the fruit basket.



My perfect morning crumbled. Heart beating in my chest, holding back sobs, I searched desperately through the pantry, the fruit drawer, the freezer, hoping to find a forgotten overripe banana somewhere, anywhere. I cursed myself, remembering I had foolishly donated the last frozen banana to make a smoothie for my chubby nephew the other day. I regretted his existence while grabbing my car keys and racing down the stairs, on a mission to reach Jungle Jim's the moment their doors opened.

Flying down the freeway in my Ferrari, blaring my horn, blowing by bedazzled Germans in their inferior Audis and BMWs, I soon reached the store and made for the produce aisle.





"True love waits through green to eat when brown," my mother had always taught me. I'd hoped it would never come to this, but here we were. I would have to settle for a green banana, take it home, and wait.

To stave off my hunger, I grabbed a plastic container of stale banana chips and stuffed my face with them on the way to the register, rapidly replenishing my depleted potassium levels.

***

Two days had gone by. My banana chip supply was running low. I checked the fruit basket for a hopeful hint of yellow.

Nothing. That stupid banana looked exactly the same as before.

I placed calls to inferior grocery stores nearby, only to hear they too were out of ripe bananas. The produce managers were mumbling explanations about Trump putting 500% tariffs on Ecuador. "I don't want to hear your pathetic excuses. Where are the ripe bananas?" I berated the fourth hapless manager, who sounded like he was about to cry.

"I'm sorry sir. Please try to understand. You're just going to have to wait for your green banana to--"

I hurled my South Korean flip phone at the fruit basket, where it ricocheted off the green banana without even denting it. My phone struck the kitchen floor tiles and shattered. I could have sworn I heard laughing.

It was time to double down. I drove to Whole Foods and headed for the organic banana section. Again, no yellow bananas. I impatiently grabbed the three most immediately reachable green specimens and stuffed them in my New Yorker tote bag. I sneaked past the checkout without paying for them.

Back at home, I transferred them all into a brown paper bag and rolled up the top, hoping to trap the ripening gasses. A single ripe banana would have ripened ALL of them pretty much overnight. I went to bed hungry, and dreamed about starving children in Africa with no bananas.

I resisted the urge to check on them the next morning, and instead, finished off my remaining banana chips. I had neglected to pick up more at Whole Foods, figuring that surely by tomorrow, at least one of them would be edible.

That evening, while chugging a strawberry banana Chobani yogurt, I thought I heard a sound from the paper bag on the counter. Surely there couldn't be fruit flies already. I'd better check.

The moment I approached the bag, a gradual buzzing sound filled my ears. It grew louder the closer I got to the bag.

Then the lights flickered, and went out.

It was windy outside. A tree must have gone down and hit a power line. I rummaged around in a drawer for a Mag Lite, found it, and clicked it on.

The batteries were almost out. From the barely-glowing filament, I was just able to spot an old box of useless waterproof matches in the back of the drawer. There were three of them left in the box.

The head of the first match broke off immediately when I tried to strike it. The second match split at the midpoint. To avoid wasting the strike tips, I wrapped the two broken tips inside a napkin and placed it on the counter next to the green banana bag.

There was definitely a rustling sound coming from inside the bag.

Nearly blind in the dark, I prayed a little prayer to the Chiquita Banana Lady as I struck the third match.



It leaped to life.

A bit of the match tip broke off, burning my thumb. Involuntarily, my hand jerked.

The lit match went flying, right next to the napkin-wrapped matchstick tips, which promptly ignited. My bananas!

Too late. The napkin set fire to the bag. I reached for the fire extinguisher as the kitchen alarm shrieked. Ripping it from its holster, I fumbled with the pin as flames, ash and black smoke filled the kitchen.

I furiously unloaded a stream of white foam on the bananas.

The flames subsided. The bag was gone, totally burned up, but remarkably the green bananas seemed to be unscathed. There wasn't even any ash on them.

It took two shots of banana bourbon and half an hour to clean up the kitchen, after which I was exhausted. The bananas were placed into a new brown paper bag. They seemed slightly bigger than I had remembered before, but I blew it off. I hauled myself into bed, hoping for a better and riper tomorrow.

***

I awoke in the middle of the night to whispers all around me. It sounded like a chant.

"Bananas are bad. Plant plantains!"

Over and over it repeated.

In the dim moonlight from my window, I could see the silhouettes of giant green plantains surrounding my bed.

They had never been bananas after all.

One of them held a chainsaw. Cackling, it pulled the ripcord, and the two-cycle beast roared to life.

I screamed, as it bore down on me.

***

Gasping for air, it took me a minute to realize I was still alive. It had all been a dream.

Hadn't it?

I rushed to the counter.

The paper bag was still there. After hesitating a full minute, cautiously, I opened it.

The bananas had all turned yellow.

Except for one of them.

It was a little bigger than the others, and shaped just a little differently.

And as I stared at it, I could have sworn it was staring right back at me.