‘Liquid Rust’ by Caroline Cao

I knew olive oil was not the fountain of youth. Still, I dripped them onto the raviolis from the can, hoping it would shrink the tumor in Daddy’s liver. All the books and webs said it gave longevity.

When I snuck rosemary into pasta, Daddy protested. When I sprinkled oregano, he protested. Green spices grated his taste buds. When I snuck the olive oil in without his consent, he didn’t protest. Maybe it just didn’t excite his taste buds, maybe it didn’t pleasure his taste buds. Regardless, I had faith the olive oil would shrink the tumor millimeter by millimeter.

When he became ashes, I never loss faith in olive oil. It became the sauce of my pho noodles along with the traditional fish sauce. I topped my homemade chicken noodle soup with it. When I make the bowl of instant ramen with diced blood red peppers as Mommy likes it, I slip in olive oil for her. I liked how the oil bubbled and floated on soup and how it polished the carbs it caressed. Olive oil became my ketchup. I dipped my McDonalds fries and McNuggets in them. It didn’t add anything remarkable to the taste, but I imagined the oil floating in my bloodstream, soothing the tumors-that-could-be. It was my longterm plan. Eat more olive oil and I could live to 80.

The only time olive oil disappointed me was when I was studying abroad in Florence, Italy where octogenarians biked across the pavement. One of the hardest lessons was that olive oil didn’t taste well alone. When I sipped from the sample cup, the liquid rust disillusioned my buds with bitterness. The oil needed to touch something solid, a wedge of bread, for it to be pleasurable. Olive oil is best when it is not alone, olive oil needs companionship.

I still smother that liquid rust on my pho, ramen, scrambled eggs, potatoes, avocado. Eat the rust to chance on more years. Eat the rust to scare away the tumors that could blossom in my organs. Eat the rust to delay the inevitable.

Caroline Cao is a Vietnamese-Houstonian Earthling surviving under the fickle weather of New York City. She’s currently surviving her MFA program in Nonfiction at The New School. When she’s not working on her memoir, poems, plays, or screenplays, she is cooking her own pho noodles with purple carrots and lots of cilantro. She has written film reviews and essays for IndieWire, Birth Movies Death, The Mary Sue, Fandor, and Film School Rejects. Follow her on Twitter/Instagram @maximinalist.