Rule #33: Don't Lose Your Temper
It's the worst thing a rebel can do.
- () -
"Peyton, hand me that tray."
"Peyton, peel the potatoes."
"Peyton, go and ask if the boys want anything."
By the time it's noon, my ears are buzzing with instructions. Since I'm the only teenage girl in the kitchen, all the labor has been bestowed onto me. Unfortunately, Bettie's with Archer and his friends at the moment, playing volleyball, so she can't help with Thanksgiving dinner. I try not scowl as I chop the carrots.
The bruise I got from building the treehouse a couple of days ago stings every time I bring the knife down. Just when I finish my last chore, my grandmother enters the kitchen.
I manage to stifle my groan just in time. Grandmother enjoys making me do tasks, particularly the ones that involve meat.
"Hannah, darling, you don't need to season the pork right now. You've been working so hard all morning," My grandmother coos, her eyes glittering. "Peyton, why don't you do something productive for once, instead of moping around on your phone all day?"
"Like what?"
"Like - hmm, I'm not sure - why don't you try seasoning the pork? Seasoning is a valuable tool that every lady should have."
My left eye twitches. But it's Thanksgiving, so I shuffle over to where Hannah is standing and let her give me the herbs. She looks relived as she saunters out of the kitchen to join the rest of the lazy men outside, watching football.
I look down at the dead pig, silent.
"What's taking so long?"
"I don't support the consumption and murder of animals for human pleasure."
Grandmother snorts. "Oh, so you're still going on about that trash! Stop that liberal nonsense and get to work like the rest of these ladies."
I glance at mom from the corner of my eye. She's too busy gossiping with Aunt Sue to pay me any attention.
With a heavy sigh, I turn the pork over. Its pale skin feels slimy and gross in my hands. Maybe I should add some extra spice to poison Cousin Bettie or Aunt Sue, I think, wistfully as I take each of the ingredients out one by one.
First, I silently apologize to the pig.
I'm sorry, pig who I will never have the pleasure of knowing, that you and your thousand other friends have been forced to eat and breed in animal concentration camps so that us Americans can shove our mouths full of more fat -
"Peyton!"
"Yes, grandmother?"
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Mourning, grandmother."
"Excuse me?"
"Peyton," Mom finally interrupts. "Could you get Bettie please? It's almost time for dinner."
"Actually, I think Bettie's a little busy with Archer right now. Those two seem to be getting along just fine lately," Aunt Sue, aka Bettie's mother, says. "Why don't we just leave the lovebirds alone for some time?"
They've been alone for two hours is what I want to scream. Instead, I sprinkle a spice, that look deliciously red and hot, to the top of the pork. It gives me a tiny bit of satisfaction.
"Bettie can go see Archer tomorrow," Mom rubs her weary eyes. "I'm sure he's busy with his own family."
"Maybe Bettie can eat dinner with his family then."
"Absolutely not," Grandmother snaps. "Thanksgiving is for family only. Peyton, get Archer for us. And change into something more - suitable."
"Archer will be family one day," Aunt Sue mutters.
I shiver in disgust. But I'm glad to leave the pig's corpse, so I rip off my apron and leave.
The men are all watching a football game in the family room, goofing over bottles of beer. They spill some on the couch and I know I'll have to be the one to clean up it if I don't leave soon. I head towards the door, making sure to pause directly in front of the TV.
The men groan.
"Move, Peyton!" James demands.
I exit the family room. The trip to Archer's house seems especially long today. I stand outside his door for two minutes before deciding to sneak in through the backyard door. The woods seem welcoming today. Maybe Lucky is in there somewhere, curling up in that cave of hers. I wish I could visit her again.
Nobody looks my way when I enter from the backyard. His house is way less chaotic than ours.
The whole family surrounds the TV, laughing over a movie with penguins and a business man. I watch too for a while before remembering what I'm here for. Archer and Bettie are nowhere to be seen so I head up to his room.
I swing the door open. Except somebody's behind it so it slams into their face instead. Bettie backs away clutching her nose. "Ouch!"
"Oh, sorry," I say, not sorry.
She scowls. Archer, who was doodling something on his arm, stands up. "Want an ice pack?"
"No thank you, I'll be fine," She gives him a shy smile even though her eyes are welling up with tears. "Besides, I should be getting home soon."
"If you say so."
"I do. Bye Archer."
"Bye sweetheart."
I wait for Bettie to exit before following her. For a second, I hesitate, wondering if I should greet Archer, but he continues to doodle with his new red pen. So, I turn around and follow Bettie down the stairs. I'm almost on the last step when he calls my name.
"Peyton."
I pause, roll my eyes, and look up at him. Archer leans against the railing, his pen back in his hair. "Yeah?"
"You're grumpy today."
"I'm grumpy everyday."
"True," A faint smile crosses his face. "But, you're especially grumpy today."
I relax a little. "It's Thanksgiving. We're honoring a holiday where the pilgrims took advantage of Native Americans' kindness and killed them later. On top of that, I have to spend time with a) my family and b) dead animals, both which I hate."
"You could eat with us."
His words make me feel warm. I drop my eyes until they reach his arm, where he's sketched drawings of fire and a bird. "Nice drawing."
"Thank you, but don't try to change the subject."
"I'd like to. But grandmother would kill me."
"Some other time, then," His eyes flitter to a person over my shoulder. Archer gives a little wave to my cousin. "Bye Bettie."
"Bye Archer," Her face heats up under his gaze.
I hop off the last stair. "Let's go."
- () -
Dinner is horrendous as ever, considering that:
1) Bettie and I have been placed right next to each other. This means that I have to tolerate all dinner listening all the aunts and uncles harp upon how beautiful Bettie's gotten and how smart she's becoming and how modest she is about the whole thing.
2) The smell of the turkey is overwhelming. Not only does it make me want to puke, but it's gotten so bad that I can taste it in my own food. Or maybe that's because I'm getting sick.
3) I'm getting sick.
4) Grandmother keeps on blabbering on about random things except in reality, they're sly digs at my expense ("It's so nice to have some class back in our family, Bettie, isn't it?" "Did you know that there are morons out there who don't eat certain items because they get offended too easily?")
5) I have a headache. It seems like my concussion hasn't gone yet.
"Melody, you haven't eaten a single thing today. Are you alright?" Mom questions, lowering her tone so she won't interrupt Grandmother's rant on how all gay people should go to hell.
Melody shrugs and continues to pick at her food.
To be honest, I'm doing the same thing. I carefully separate the chicken - which was put on my plate no matter how much I protested - and the mashed potatoes before spearing some of the salad on my fork and shoving it in my mouth. I regret it immediately. The lettuce has been pampered with sugar and water, so it tastes more sweet than healthy.
"Girls these days are too afraid about gaining weight that they don't eat," Grandmother abruptly switches the topic. She glances pointedly at my full plate, then continues. "Thank god you're not one of them, Bettie."
Bettie, who's busy chomping down on a piece of turkey, blushes.
Aunt Sue giggles. "Too true, mom. Girls today are too busy starving themselves to notice that they resemble stick figures in the mirror."
I gulp down water, trying to push away the sickly feeling in my stomach.
"How do you stay so pure from all these teenagers, Bettie?" Grandmother asks.
"It's not like I'm doing anything. Girls today try too hard. I rather not try and be anorexic like the rest of the people from my school, thanks."
Both Melody and I scowl.
"You don't have to try and be anorexic," IÂ mutter under my breath, so that only Bettie can hear what I'm saying. An image of Irene, when I first met her, pops into my head when I say, "It's not something that you control."
Everybody ignores me.
"Oh, Bettie," Grandmother smiles fondly. She looks like another person right now. "We're such a lucky family to have somebody like you. I'm so glad that you can appreciate what good food is instead of taking on a ridiculous vegan diet-"
"I'm a vegetarian," I say. "And it's not a diet. It's a style that I choose to adapt because my views of how unfairly animals are treated these days-"
"Peyton, how many times have I told you not interrupt a conversation? And, as for your living style, it's unnatural. There is no possible reason to endanger your health because you feel compassion for runts with small brains and big disease. In my opinion, if they're not breed for food, all animals should be put down. It's a useless waste of taxpayers money -"
I slam my fork on the table.
The left side of the table, where all the men were joking earlier, hushes. Mom gives me a warning glance, but I'm too angry to care.
I try to calm when I say, "I'm not going to stop being a vegetarian just because somebody tells me not to. I've lived for three years without any meat and am still perfectly healthy today."
"Humph," Grandmother mutters. "I knew there was no use in convincing you. See now, darling, why I put these precautions?"
My mother rubs her forehead. "I thought you said we weren't going to mention them."
"What precautions?" I demand.
"We all agreed that a growing girl needs some protein in her diet, so I had some of the ladies put a little bit of meat in everything. That why, no matter what you ate tonight, you'd have some nutrition."
"Excuse me?"
"I mean exactly what I said.
Heart thumping, I pick apart my dinner. Sure enough, the spinach and onion ravioli has chicken hidden inside it, the salad that my mother promised was vegetarian has tuna in it, and the turkey sits at the corner of my plate, untouched.
For a second, everybody's quiet, including me.
There's a thousand things going on at once. My face is burning from the heat of everybody's gazes, as they wait for my reaction. My mother reeks of betrayal. My grandmother's presence takes up the entire to room. There's an urge, deep inside me, to take her neck and wring it like a chicken until her eyes budge out -
I stand up.
The plates on the table rattle as I slam my napkin on it. Breathing heavily, I toss my chair back and run towards the back ground.
"Oh, don't put on that wounded animal act!" Grandmother calls. "Stop making a scene and come back here, you ungrateful child!"
I slam the bathroom door behind me and scream into my heads.
How could she do such a thing? How did I not notice it? Sure I noticed the taste and texture was off, but mom promised that there wasn't any meat. I can feel the dead animals wriggling inside my stomach.
I splash water over my face, but it isn't enough. A sickness grows inside my stomach until the thought of getting it out consumes. I know a way. Irene showed me when we were still freshman, when she was still sick. When she got better, she promised never to use that method again.
But I haven't.
I lift up the toilet lid and crouch down. This situation is familiar and I feel disgusted with myself already. Somebody knocks on the door - it's mom - yelling my name. It gives me all the resolve I need.
I stick my finger down my throat.
Almost instantly, the chewed up food comes rushing back. The sensation of suffocation and choking take over me as I bend over the toilet, spilling the contents of my dinner out. My throat burns. After a few seconds of gasping, I flush it down and rinse my mouth with water.
The acidic taste is still in my mouth when I swing open the door.
There's chaos outside. Babies are crying, grandmothers are yelling. Melody's screaming at Bettie, James is yelling at all the people who put meat in the food, dad's trying to get his voice heard over everyone, but that isn't working either. Mom's face is red as she follows me into the living room.
"Sweetheart, sweetheart, please wait!"
"DON'T BOTHER TALKING SENSE INTO YOUR DAUGHTER, LUCY!" Grandmother storms up to me. "What do you think you're doing, performing such vile acts! I've never seen anything so disgusting in all my years -"
"Try looking in the mirror then, you old hag!"
"Why I -"
"How dare you call me disgusting, you bitch. Your laugh sounds like a hyena going to hell, your smell reeks the entire room and you make everybody's ears bleed when you open that nasty mouth of yours. If there's ever an animal that needed to be put down, it would be you."
I inhale. Then, with everybody's wide eyes on my me, I storm outside.
- () -
I just realized that a lot of my scenes end with Peyton storming somewhere. Poor Peyton. ¯\_(ã)_/¯
"..."
(0.0)
/)....)
""
Crackers is getting well fed recently. Anyways, this week's dedication goes to the lovely _Jayda14_, put_thegowndown, and Kuro-rin! Thanks for the votes and comments, guys!
And thanks for reading!
QotC: Favorite member of Peyton's family (besides Peyton)? Least favorite?