Mold buddy

Dylan Hostetter, Opinions and Humor Editor

My apartment is maybe not the cleanest place on Earth, but that’s not always a bad thing. It just means that sometimes I’m a little too lazy to clean a fork, straighten some magazines or change my bedsheets — so what? 

I’m sure there are plenty of 21-year-olds whose apartments are much more disgusting than mine. I once saw a video on YouTube of a hoarder cooking peaches and hotdogs in his bathroom sink because his kitchen was too cluttered. That’s who you should be worried about — not me.

My roommate doesn’t seem to mind the mess. Maybe that’s because I look the other way when he stores his little experiments in our fridge — he’s a biology major. Once I was reaching for some left-over ziti and almost fondled a half-dissected frog.

I thought he had taken it too far one day when I opened the fridge and saw what I can only describe as the moldiest piece of bread ever to exist. I mean this thing was all kinds of colors — unnatural colors. I think one corner was a fuzzy purple.

I asked him what the deal was and he promised me it was a super-special experiment and made me swear not to touch it. I told him since he was cool about that time I accidentally threw away his collection of vintage ZooPals plates, I could let it slide. 

I kept a close eye on this moldy bread though, and watched him closely as he began dripping some sort of neon-green liquid from a syringe onto it. With every drop, it seemed like the mold grew larger. I told him the whole experiment seemed a little weird, but he said, “Don’t you think it’s a little weird you haven’t washed your bed sheets since May?” and stormed off.

Everything was fine and dandy until one day I opened the fridge to find a large, pulsating green mass had appeared on top of the bread. At first, I thought I must have been hallucinating because I could have sworn I saw it blinking. My roommate jumped in front of me and slammed the fridge door shut before I could see any more.

Later that night, I felt something strange slinking its way up my chest, and I opened my eyes to see a small pile of mold waving at me. I would have been scared out of my wits if it didn’t look so friendly. Its little chubby cheeks and warm smile were like if a human baby and a pug baby had a baby, and that baby, for whatever reason, was really happy to see you.

While it couldn’t speak, it could gesture, and through a complex game of charades, it explained to me that my roommate’s experiment had given him life. I couldn’t imagine being born from a moldy piece of bread all alone in the cold, dark fridge — but I could relate to being lonely. 

One time in middle school, a teacher sent me out in the hall for misbehaving and forgot all about me. She started playing a movie for the class, and all I could do was watch longingly through the small window by the door.

I vowed from that moment to be its friend, and my little mold buddy never left my side. We did everything together — cooking, cleaning and even homework. Its little moldy mits were the perfect size to help me spread peanut butter on my sandwiches, and dextrous enough to type the keys of my laptop while I dictated my essays.

It was happy to help, but after a while, I could tell something was off. It enjoyed spending time with me, sure, but I was no substitute for a friend of its own kind. My mold buddy also needed a mold buddy.

I couldn’t just ask my roommate to do his experiment over again, namely because he didn’t know the first one had succeeded. I had been keeping my little mold buddy a secret for fear of him taking it away. To be fair, he technically was its father, I was more of a fun uncle — a “funcle,” if you will.

After swiping some chemicals from my roommate’s nightstand, I grabbed a piece of bread and went to work. I felt just like “The Absent-Minded Professor,” although I don’t think Flubber could give you a lung infection.

It was harder than it looked to get the right mixture, but before I knew it, I had this slice of bread glowing a vibrant, moldy green. The new mold lurched to life, and soon, as its eyes began to open, a familiar warm smile grew on its face. It was perfect.

My little mold buddy finally had a friend of its own kind — but I knew what that meant. There comes a time in every mold parent’s life when you have to accept your mold doesn’t need you anymore. You have to let them explore the world for themselves, make mold friends and get their little mold hearts broken — one day even release little spores of their own.

As I watched the pair of mold buddies meet each other for the first time, tears welled in my eyes. It’s not every day you witness something so beautiful. Without my little mold buddy to look after, I’m going to have a lot more time on my hands — maybe I can finally get around to changing those sheets.