You Can’t Hide the Peas

Sitting at the dinner table, every bite was a battle. The peas—those tiny green…taunting with the obnoxious color, their texture, taste. I cringe at the mention, even still. It’s an all-consuming disgust, visceral. 

Mom served up a dreaded casserole with peas that night.

The perfect storm of my least favorite things in one plate: soft noodles, chunks of some sort of meat (I can’t remember, but I think it was chicken as Mom wouldn’t allow fish in the house), some sort of white sauce and — peas. I was stuck in a battle with my stomach, staring at the mound.

Dinner was routine enough—all of us sitting at the table, quiet conversation, table talk.

I sat knowing I was serving a short life sentence, the plate in front of me, quickly cooling. 

Everyone finished their meals, cleaned up, disappeared upstairs for the night, leaving me behind in the dim light of the kitchen.

The room was darker and colder. The kitchen and entire downstairs was dark. The windows, now black, were portals for the monsters lurking outside. 

And you don’t leave the table until you finish your food.

I did what any scared kid does in the dark.

I sang. 

Very loudly. 

Although I could sing and was on tune, it was about the noise, it was about making sure that anyone—anything— would know I was still there, holding my ground.

I sang, filling the dark first floor with my voice, chasing away the monsters in my imagination.

Impulse set in, I wanted to be upstairs with everyone else, in my bed with my paperback book and stuffed animals…Impulse is never a good idea, but I did it, yes I did. I shoved my entire dinner under the rug. 

Not sure what I thought was going to happen, I didn’t even have a plan after that, but of course Dad came down and knew I couldn’t possibly have eaten it - I didn’t hide the evidence very well…some of it had ended up on the wall.

I couldn’t even deny it.

He stood over me while I cleaned it and then returned to my place at the table to…a bowl of frozen peas.

He didn’t say much. I knew I had to eat it to get out of this.

I swallowed each bite whole, gagging, the dark hanging over us both as he waited. Chewing wasn’t an option, or there would have been more to clean up.

The bowl was empty. 

I was thankful for the warm glow of my little book light when I got into bed, with my book, the pages a safe escape. 

I had sung. I had eaten. I had survived.