Karnival of Kidz
When I was in middle school, 6th grade actually, I decided to make egg salad for lunch the next day. The time was about 7pm. I was very tired. I had put 2 eggs on to boil. My father was finishing up the dinner dishes at the sink. Mom was in her bedroom getting ready for work the next day. Who knew where my brother was?
All I know is that I am tired. So...so...so very tired that I tell myself I will just go lie down on my bed and rest my eyes for just a minute. My father leaves the kitchen. I leave the kitchen table and collapse on my canopy bed just to rest my eyes. I will get up in just a few minutes and finish making my egg salad.
My eyes opened to pitch blackness with a hand covering my mouth tightly so that I could not scream. It is my mother. She is whispering. What I do not know. I just woke up and do not know what is going on. She whispers some more and will not remove her hand until I understand the whispers.
The whispers are orders... over and over again orders--to get up, to not speak, to tiptoe and come with her. I get up and follow her out my room into the hallway. There in the darkness is my father with the shotgun aimed ahead of him. There is my brother as well. My mother places us in the correct order. She gets behind my father, I am behind her and my younger brother is behind me. We all tiptoe down the hall toward the kitchen.
I hear sounds now and we are all terrified. Sounds like someone is moving in the kitchen and looking for something. It was a burgler. Why else would my father have the shot gun and why else would the four of us be tip toeing in the pitch blackness toward the kitchen. Why didn't my parents simply call the police? That was the only thing I could think. We were going to die or get shot with that gun or would have to fight for our lives.
We continued to tip. The sounds got louder. Popping sounds like a gun going off in the kitchen. We got to the entrance of the kitchen and my father fired that shotgun blindly into the night. I grabbed my brother and tried not to scream. I think my father fired all the bullets. I heard a click and no more firing from his gun.
We only heard silence from the kitchen. We all stood frozen in the hallway for what seemed like an eternity. We still only heard silence. My mother whispered for my father to turn on the light. He did. I was expecting to see dead bodies and blood. Instead, I saw gunshot holes in the walls, gunshot holes in the cabinets and more on the floor. There were no dead people in the kitchen.
The only thing of any great notice in the kitchen was just my pot sitting on the stove, black from heat. It was devoid of all water and had been for quite some time as noted by its black color. It was also devoid of eggs. The burglar sounds we thought we heard was the sound of eggs exploding right out of their shells. They had burst wide open and yoke and egg white was strewn all over the cabinets and the floor.
My parents turned to look at me. My legs turned to jelly. My father had shot up the kitchen for the love of egg salad! Back then parents gave their kids spankings and believe me I got a good one. Whelps and all. I never made egg salad again until I was an adult and had graduated from college. To this day egg salad still haunts me. I rarely make it but if you like I can come over and make up a batch for you. Just let me know. I will wear my chef hat and all!
What I do is kick them in the pants with a diamond buckled shoe!
~~Aileen Mehle~~
