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Itās chaos in the kitchen.
Yelling. Clatterā¦ shit boiling over.
Washing
Spinningā¦
A dog barking. We donāt even have a dog.
Like itās brown.
About yay big.
Yappy.
Keeps looking at me.
Iām worried itās hungry.
But itās mainly jumping around my little brother Jesse, whoās grinning like a moron and mirroring the stupid thing.
And itās the happiest Iāve seen him in months.
Which I guess is good.
And Devorah, my mother, pipes up from her prep every now and then.
Kinda absently telling them to shut up.
I lean down, rub the dogās head, kind of warily.
Devorah proffers a hi love, asks about the day
Thereās something too kind in her smileā¦
And the dog stares back.
With that lookā¦
Head to one sideā¦ cockedā¦
It looks cute but basically means I wanna eat ya.
Weāre not allowed pets cos of my allergies apparently, and I canāt imagine a world where Devorah would even allow it in her kitchen. Iām not sure itās kosher enough.
And itās adding to this sense of chaos and because tensions already feel high today, and Iāve got this slow creeping anxiety tightening across my chest, Iām mainly too scared to ask why itās hereā¦
Jesseās having fun though.
Which from an IQ standpoint makes sense. And itās nice the way my little bro seriously just found himself a soulmate. Heās making some kind of Scooby Dooby āyes he isā kind of noise at it. And basically looks a bit āsmeshā.
Itās Friday.
March.
About 4 p.m.
The weekly pre-Shabbat panic is officially in full swing. Devorah is frantically cracking individual eggs into a small clear glass. She holds it up to the light.Scans to the right, spins to the left. Lowers the glass to see it from above and then lifts back up to check below.
Satisfied with her inspection she tips the egg into her left hand.
And oozes the yolk back to her right.
Then left.
To her right.
And backā¦
The white of the egg drip-dripping into the bowl below.
She cracks and repeats.
Cracks.
And repeats.
Orders me to chop carrots and I begrudgingly begin.
Soon working out that Jesseās in shit again.
Devorahās berating him over this weekās misdemeanours ā including the dogā¦ Knew it. And something about detentionā¦ againā¦ and his general backchatting-attitude shit.
And thereās barking and jumping and chopping and cracking and Jesseās jigging about the place.And answering back. Thinking itās all a bit funny.
And it builds and it builds and it builds and it ā
Stop.
I fucking hate carrots.
Seriously like proper repulsed.
And she knows it.
They look gross. Orange actually offends me. And you cannotā¦ seriously cannotā¦ boil a carrot without it festering everything it touches with its limpity carroty bollocks.
They ruin.
Everything.
No one wants to eat your irritation, my darlingā¦
That sweet sweet smile again.
Well donāt make me chop the fucking carrots then.
Donāt say that.
Obvs.
Just tut, andā¦
Breathe.
And on my in-breath Devorah lets out an exasperated oy as she empties another eggy glass into the waste-disposal-unit thingā¦
Blood spot.
On the yolk.
She grabs a fresh glass. Stacking up the tainted, sullied glasses next to the sink.
And as she places it, the dog knocks into her and she lets rip at Jesse. She wonāt tell him again. Get that thing out of the kitchen.
And then back to beating the shit out of the egg whites.
Reuben, my father, walks in. He drops a bottle of Kiddush wine on the counter.
Grunts.
Leaves. Heās fun like that.
Devorah doesnāt notice.
I donāt think she notices him at all any more.
Itās like they somehow just exist in spite of each other these days.
In apsis. Apsides.
Aphelion.
Apart.
I canāt remember when I last saw them talk.
Whites now mixed I canāt help but pick up the rhythmā¦ I can feel it in my chest as she slaps in the matzo and starts forming the dumplings.
I put the knife down.
I need to just ā
Breathe.
Itās Bedlam.
About one forty-five.
Another Friday, shitā¦ nearly two years ago now and lunch is nearly done.
Teachers sweep in periphery, and weāre all in huddlesā¦
Itās muck-up day todayā¦
And the Year 11s, me and mine, get to bolt after next periodā¦
Study leave.
Or as we like to call it āgetting stoned with your mates all week then fully cramming with the geeky kids youāve hung shit on for the last four years the night of your modular science examā.
Then passing.
And thereās buzzing and manoeuvring and rowdiness in the air.
The kids in my year all excited ābout egg and flour and maybe the odd firework. Some kid trying to convince us to catapult chickens at the school walls.
I hope theyāre kosher.
And in the rabble I spot you.
Smiling, cool, somewhat removedā¦
Soaking it upā¦
Like, the day after we met, like properlyā¦ At that bus stopā¦
And youāre standing thereā¦.
Like. Grinningā¦
Like that.
Hot.
Blue-green eyes.
Messy hair. Cute smile.
Youāre fair.
Not like me.
Intellectual. Less like me.
A nice Ashkenazi boy.
Youāre deep. Literalā¦ Something of the artistā¦
Bit more like meā¦
Watching it all unfo...
