Once Upon a Time…
The war of wills had been on for some minutes. There was a grandma, trying her best, versus her grandson who was not having it.
They had been doing okay for a while. Despite the recent tragedy of losing a loved one, they were both figuring out their daily life together.
The area of constant trouble was at the dining table. It was a little too big for just the two of them. If the food was not right, the space felt especially bleak and desolate.
They were only a month in to being a duo. Alvin had questions, bouts of sadness. Grandma did what she could to keep him distracted, keep his innocence to no more than a child’s. And it was easy enough to divert the boy’s attention to what he had to eat on a daily basis. The wounds were too fresh, so it was the simplest thing for him to want something, and for his grandmother to acquiesce.
Breakfast was doable most days, with the failsafe being sugary cereals Alvin wanted. Lunch was at school, so that skirmish was avoided ninety percent of the time. There were no two ways around dinner. It had to happen – not to mention the officials who would be at Grandma’s door if she did not feed her late daughter’s son, in her care.
“What is it?”
“It’s dinner.”
“Oh.”
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“I was.”
“Then eat.”
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
“It tastes better than it looks. Take a bite.”
There was no other area Grandma was more caught off guard. Everything else was manageable enough, but cooking, for some reason, left too much time to remember.
That night, it was frozen nuggets and fries for the evening meal. It ended up a burned heap on a plate. Grandma was afraid of it herself.
“How about this? You like digging around in my pantry anyway. You can add whatever you want to this to make it a bit more tasty-looking.”
At the mention of the pantry, the boy’s spirits at least perked up minutely.
“Here’s the deal. Once you add the other things, and if after I take a bite and I like it, you have to eat the rest. That sound like a plan?”
“Okay!”
Alvin hopped off his chair and ran to the side of the kitchen.
“Boy, you know there ain’t no fast traffic in this house. Walk, please.”
He heeded his guardian’s words and quickly paced to the pantry. He knew the space well.
A few weeks ago, after calling his name on end without an answer, Grandma noticed the light on in the small storage space. She slid the door open and saw him there. The streaks on his cheeks indicated he had been crying some time before, but no longer. He was looking at all the boxes and cannisters. All the bags and spices. Working through something in his mind.
When she asked him what he was doing in there, he said he wanted to build a fort, but he had gotten distracted with all the shapes and contents.
She could not get mad. The pantry seemed like the perfect hideaway. She wished she could find refuge in a place just as fulfilling.
Alvin gave her an idea of how he could be useful and feel appreciated around the house. She gave him a quick tour of the pantry. What was what, the things she would need on a daily basis for cooking, and how best to grab items without tumbling everything else over.
Eventually, it was a treat to direct him to the food closet and make him feel like he was contributing to something in spite of himself.
Maybe it was creating something where he thought there was a lack of existence, or not much of a life. Either way, the pantry soon became Grandma’s ace.
The guardian sat there, as her grandson rushed back and forth with various condiments and seasonings. It was amazing he was already thinking about how to spruce up her cooking fumble of a dinner.
“Grandma?”
“Yes, dear.”
“I need your help reaching the gravy.”
“Coming your way.”
It took him ten minutes. Fifteen, getting everything reheated, but he pulled it off. He cut up the nuggets and French fries and drizzled on them an attractive concoction of gravy, cheese and two other condiments Grandma could not identify.
“Hope you like it.”
“We’ll see, for your sake.”
She took a fork to the improved mass on Alvin’s dinnerplate.
“Alvin, you saved dinner! Try it.”
The boy took his grandmother’s fork and did what she told him to do. His face lit up.
In five minutes, the plate of food had been eaten.
“I don’t know how I talked us into this, but I think I ended up eating most of your dinner.”
“Who won?”
“My little proposition? Let’s see…I took a bite and I liked it. So that meant you had to eat the food.”
“We both are winners?”
“Is your belly happy?”
“And my tongue.”
“Then there’s no denying it. We are both victorious.”
The boy smiled to himself. He was in the present, enjoying something. Grandma would fight as much as she could to make sure his happiness would be an ongoing thing.
“What’s for dinner tomorrow?”
“Oh, I’m not sure. Though I have a feeling you might have to help save the day again.”
About The Author
Elijah Douresseau
Elijah is a novelist from Los Angeles, California. He currently resides in the San Fernando Valley with his wife and turtle, two constant sources of inspiration. Along with the sprawling foodscape that is the City of Angels.
Thank you for reading.
