When I was a boy, I thought jellyfish produced the grape jelly my mother bought with Shoprite coupons. How did they get the jelly out? Did they milk jellyfish, like cows?
I found one washed up on the beach once, paler than the creatures in my National Geographics but unmistakable with its thin purple tendrils. When I gave it to my mother to make jelly, she put the jellyfish in the Magic Bullet, pulverized it and spread it on a piece of rye bread.
In time, they moved my mother to Sunny Acres. They say she asks about me often.
Monica Nowik is currently pursuing a degree in English at Alfred University, as well as minors in Film Studies and Philosophy. When she's not writing or studying, she's watching movies—anything from slashers to Ingmar Bergman—or drawing cartoon characters.