Dinner and Change

I remember our dinner evenings went like this: Mom makes the food, Dad watches the game, Daniel and Brenda are doing something they’ll regret later on, and I’m quietly reading my Barbie book in the corner. Mom was making her easiest recipe; sopa. It had been a long day for her, or at least that’s what she was telling Dad. Apparently, some lady came into the office and wanted to change the granite Dad had already put on her countertops. Mom insisted that she was already over budget, but the lady refused to accept it. I thought it was pretty when Dad took me to her house, it was gray, like our dog Blue.

                The smell of tomatoes and cilantro filled my nose as I fulfilled my dinner duty: taking out the forks and putting them on our placemats. I recount how many forks I got out, not daring to touch the butter knives Mom and Dad use. Mom told me I’ll cut my hand off, and I need my hand in order to play with my toys. I look back towards the stove at Mom, waiting to be told what to do next. Her belly was huge with a tiny monster living inside her. Dad calls that monster “the Baby”, but I know it isn’t one. Mom says it kicks her a lot, which makes me mad for two reasons. No one is allowed to kick my Mom and two I don’t understand why it isn’t getting in trouble for kicking because if I kick Daniel then I would be in major trouble, so it isn’t fair.

                I look back at Dad, he’s across from me on the table. The Cowboys are on, so, of course, he’s watching the game, completely oblivious to the fact that Daniel is stuffing Cheerios up his nose to make Brenda laugh in their highchairs.

“Time to eat. Ashley, go wash your hands. Ani, can you help me serve the kids?” my Mom shouts. I leave to the bathroom, overhearing my parents’ conversation.

“But honey, the game is on!”

“I don’t care, I can’t serve three kids by myself. And you need to wash your hands also, they’re filthy.”

“Uh-oh, Daniel stuffed the cheerios up his nose again”

“Dammit Ani, you were supposed to be watching them!”

                I turn on the facet and start scrubbing my hand with my strawberry scented soap. Left, then right, rinse, repeat. The bubbles start forming, and the sink drain is invisible. Oh no, there isn’t any soap on my hands. Let’s get more! I tell myself. I pump a ton into my hands, and within a minute the entire sink is filled with bubbles. Now I’m squeaky clean!!

                I return to my seat at the table. Daniel and Brenda already have their bowls in front of them, with an orange shadow around their mouths.  My bowl is on my Barbie placemat, with a scoop of Pico de Gallo in it. “Daddy, it’s too hot. Can you blow on it to make it cooler for me?” I ask. “Yeah mamas, just let me see this last play. Then I’ll do it for you.” Mom comes and leans over me, blowing on my food because she knows too well that my father could be distracted by the game for hours. Slowly, I grab the warm tortillas from the towel on the table. They’re warm, perfectly homemade and big. I tear pieces off, and use it as my utensil. Mini batches of sopa wrapped in tortilla entered my mouth, each piece better and bigger than the previous. The cilantro and tomato tasted so good with the Pico, and with the tortilla it somehow made it even better. I always had a napkin on my lap, just like grandma when she eats. Except, I taught myself to put a tortilla on top of it, so that if I drop food on myself, it would fall onto the tortilla and when I check it would be a ready to eat taco. Mom got mad at me every time I did this. She said that I would only drop food on myself because I was too far from the table, and I should scoot in more. I always did but there would still be food on my napkin, no matter how close I sat. I still did it, only I’d do it without her seeing me.

                It was David’s birthday today. Thirteen years have passed, and I love him more than life itself. My younger brother, who used to be the baby I detested and tried to push off the bed when mom was not in the room, was now my favorite person in the world. We were all grown up: me apart of so many clubs and extra-curriculars, Daniel on the soccer team, Brenda on the volleyball and basketball team, and David in middle school. All having my mom be our chauffer to destinations ranging from practice to games, required volunteer events, and school dances. We were still in our tiny house, even though we moved to three others before coming back to it. Mom was now a teacher, Dad was working with some other company.

                Friday nights were pizza nights. My mom would pick up a one after work, bring it home, and whoever was with her would eat. David was always the one who was there, for pizza was his favorite. Us older ones were always busy, and it was rare that all three of us would be present together. One the off chance we were, my mom would be overjoyed. I would get the glasses and fill them with ice, Brenda would make the sweet tea we all loved and enjoyed, and David would get the paper plates from the cabinet, enough for each of us.

“Mom, did you get the pasta?” Brenda would ask. She always watched what she ate, and figured pasta would give her the energy she needed for games.

“Ugh, Supreme? Did you get another Pepperoni? I hate those vegetables, especially the mushrooms.” Daniel is the pickiest eater I know. I think his idea of a perfect meal would be steak with corn on the side and mashed potatoes. I hated him at dinner for his lack of love for flavors and good food.

David and I were the quiet ones. We ate what my mom got, no questions asked. My little brother always knew to get the smallest pieces for me and the biggest ones for him. The other two ate everything in-between.

                After our pizza, we would always have a game to attend. In the fall, it was either Brenda’s volleyball games, Daniel’s football games or the town’s high school football team home game. These all lead to the good ole’ concession stand foods. My favorite were the hot Cheetos and cheese, the hotness of the Cheetos would be greater in flavor mixed with the melted cheese. David’s were the classic nachos, no jalapenos because they were way too spicy for him.

“Mom, do you want a coke? Dad, what else do you want?” I’d always ask. Being the designated child to go and order our food was my new role, feeling like a waitress getting the order then bringing it back.

“Hmm, get me a pickle with popcorn, Mamas. Your mom wants a coke with a fajita taco.”

                Walking down the bleachers always made me nervous, what if I fell down and made a fool out of myself. The gyms or fields would always be rowdy. The constant sound of conversations, cheering, and the occasional ‘Booooo!” always excited me. I’d hear people talking about how their son got injured while playing last year, or how their daughters were excelling in school. It was just a mix of sound and enjoyment, and it filled the atmosphere.

“Ashley, can I join you?” David would ask.

“Yeah sure, Pupas. You can help me with the drinks, you get the drinks I get the food.”

                The concession stand would always be packed. Three lines at the football games always took forever to move. I never understood how people did not know what they wanted once they got to the front, I mean they were standing in line for ten minutes, one would assume they at least had an idea of what they were craving.

“How may I help you, Ma’am?” the worker asked me. I hated being called Ma’am, it made me feel like my mother.

“I’ll have one hot Cheetos and cheese, one nacho no jalapeño, a pickle and popcorn, and one fajita taco. Also, get me two waters, a coke, and one Sprite.”

David hated ordering. He would always get embarrassed or forget part of the order. Being the oldest, it was a job forced upon me. I was a pro at ordering, my other siblings would be too embarrassed to even ask for an extra ketchup at McDonald’s. It was nonsense, but I never argued it.

“Here ya go.” the lady said. She places the food on a tray for me to take since it was a lot. Her plastic gloved hands pushed the tray while I would lift it.

“Thanks, have a nice night!”

“You too!”

Back at the bleachers, the food and drinks would be distributed, and we’d all sit down and watch the game. The cold metal always gave me the chills, but the warm sensation id get from placing the hot Cheetos on my jeans would warm me up slightly. The crisp fall air would brush my face, and would leave me with frizzy hair by the end of the game. My baby’s brothers blue eyes lit up with he started eating his nachos, dripping in cheese. A handful pf napkins made were always used to make sure not to ruin our shirts, and no dirty faces were allowed in public. The football game would commence, and the crowd would roar, us along with it. It was tradition, our Friday night tradition.