Fresh Air

CABBAGES AND WINGS

 

From where I get off my clinky yellow school bus, I can get a whiff of what my mom is making again for dinner. Our kitchen window is open and the stink of boiling cabbage sails down the block. Alberto is
the first kid, besides myself, who I notice inhaling the odor I detest. He taps me on my shoulder and almost pleads with me, 'Maria, may I come for dinner tonight? You know cabbage is my very favorite veggie, don't you?  My mom will be glad to be rid of me.' 'I'll let you know later but think you can count on it.'

 

We separate. He goes left. I go to the right, hoping, hoping Alberto can come so I can give him at least half of my hot cabbage before Mama catches me. Sometimes I see on her face how happy she is that I enjoyed my cabbage so much, she refills my plate and I refill Alberto's as soon as she turns her back. It's a game for me and I always make my school friends laugh when I tell them the same story over and over.

 

I am now working on a plan to lessen the smelling up of our house and to stop my belly from expanding so much I add to the cabbage smell. My daddy laughs, puts his big red handkerchief over his nose and burps from two places at once. There are no smiles on my face. I find the laughter disgusting and my family unaware of how embarrassed I get.
Instead of buying Good Humors, a double decker vanilla/cherry cone with jimmies on top, I hide part of my allowance under my stretched out panties in my bureau drawer. It will take months before I have ten bucks but I'm going to count on helping dad do lawn work, iron a load of clothes my mother has washed and dried on the week-end.

 

My goal is reached. I buy three cartons of chicken wings at Colonel Sanders Chicken factory. For Mom's birthday Friday I tell her not to fix dinner. I will take care of it if she will bake a chocolate cake for our dessert. The oven temp I set at 400 and put the timer on 15 minutes, have a big bowl of fresh greens with carrot curls, tomatoes and radishes and two kinds of dressing on the table. 'Dinner's ready,' I yodel. 'Come in now!' I watch their noses twitch, listen while my parents ask me why I didn't make boiled cabbage. Being unable to actually say the word of what the cabbage makes me and them do, I spell it slowly and backwards. 'Ma, Dad, we all TRAF too much. The cabbage meals must stop or we may explode. Sit down and try something new and so easy.'

 

At first they are hesitant and berate me for changing what they enjoy so much. 'Taste one wing, Daddy. Don't chew the bones. You'll cut your tongue.' 'Ma, come on taste these wings. They are really good.' She tries one and complains, bitches she'd rather eat cabbage.' I get up, go in the kitchen for a re-fill of Diet Pepsi and come back to find one entire platter is filled with bones. I have a few wings, lick my fingers, clear the table and bring in Ma's chocolate cake. She slices it. We eat half of the big cake in our semi-silent dining room with only a slight odor of chicken fat around us.

 

I feel super, intend having chicken breasts next week. I might have to invite Alberto who asked when we will invite him again for cabbage.
'Don't know, Alberto, but you are welcome to try Colonel Sanders chicken breast with us next Fri.'