Les Oeufs

prompt: write about a scene that involves scrambled eggs


 I push the yellow chunks of congealed rubber masquerading as food around on my green plastic plate.
It's the one with the funny dent in the side because one day it fell to the bottom of the dishwasher and touched the drying element and melted a little.
I hate this plate. And I hate scrambled eggs. She always makes me scrambled eggs when she's sad, and lately that is a lot. Pretty much all the time.
She's sobbing into her plate of scrambled eggs right now.
I wonder if her salty tears will make hers taste better. I'm not allowed salt on mine.  It's not good for me she says, but I can't see how this blubbery, revolting gloop can be good no matter what you do or do not put on them.

The phone rings and I know this is my chance.  I look around frantically for a place to hide what's on my plate. She's crying again. Good. Well, not that she's crying but this buys me more time. She's not paying attention.
Then it hits me.  An epiphany! A moment of sheer brilliance. The first in this 5 year old's life.
I call for Vader. He whines and I hear the clip of his nails on the cracked linoleum floor.
Without taking my eyes off her sobbing into the phone, I slide my plate to one side and with an unceremonious splat they are on the floor.
If she notices it can be claimed an accident. If not... 5 , 4, 3, 2, 1.
I glance down quickly.  Vader looks at me whilst licking his own snout and then pushes his wet nose into my lap, whining for more.
YES! Victory!

Mother finally gets off the phone and looks at my empty plate, then squeals with joy.
"You finished it! Good boy! You'll be so strong. And you ate it so fast!  Do you love them? Here, let me make you some more."
My heart sinks as she begins to clatter around the kitchen- happy for once- but making another gelatinous mess.  I don't have the heart to tell her I don't want anymore. I don't want any. EVER.

My saving grace is that Vader, faithful best friend, has stayed by my side.  We develop a rhythm as I slide fistfuls of mother's awful scrambled eggs under the table and into his eagerly awaiting mouth, every time she turns away from me. He in turn learns to quit whining and put his head down on the floor quickly, pretending to only be lounging by my feet. A warm and furry footstool.
Yes I remember the day that Dad left.  I learned a lot that day. I learned that cooking was my mother's best distraction even though the only thing she could make was scrambled eggs. I learned how much I hated scrambled eggs. And I learned that Vader loves them.  I learned that Dad wasn't coming back, but I knew we were going to be okay. We had eggs, Vader and each other and that was enough.