clip. - Chpt? - an end to the famine.

Abba began to feel bad for us. Especially when we began to quote Oliver Twist which we had seen with Abba the day before the whole fiasco. Unnee and I would put on our dirty laundry, position ourselves in front of the door as Abba came in with his briefcase after work, smelling like the indoored outside; like paper and carpet and coffee and the interiors of cars.
“Please sir, may I have some more?” we’d cry in our terrible cockneyed English. “Please sir, just a little more!” “Us poor paupered children” “nothing to eat but a bit o bread and cheese.

Unnee and I fought over who got to sit in the shotgun seat so we both ended up sitting in the back. And then when we got the bright, giant orange sign, we fought over who got to sit in the cart.

“Jean-a,” said Abba, as he lifted Unnee up and pulled each of her legs through the metal holes in the cart. “But why, Abba?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer. Last time I tried to force my legs through the cart, I got stuck, and they had to call a guy in blue overalls to come to the store and cut open the cart with these big, thick scissors so I could get my legs out.

Unnee smiled as she gave herself an elevated panoramic view of the produce section. I was sad because I did not fit in the cart. So I held on to one side of Abba’s jacket and walked from the warm outside into the exciting cold, fruity, mist. The happiness of wet fruit was contagious. Soon I was imagining different dishes with the raw goodness in front of me transformed.

Not all fat children are fat because they like to eat. I was fat. And I loved to eat. I opened my mouth at the cold grocery store air and pretended to breathe in all of the red, green, orange, and yellow peppers. “It has truly been a long time,” said a pile of overriped avocados from a small bin next to the stacked cherry tomatoes. “Indeed,” said the kiwis, their high pitched voices blending in three-part harmony. “Where have you been?” they sang. “Where have you been, where have you been?”
“A long way off,” I sang back. “Over the woods and through the mountains to grandfather’s house, a long way off.”
“But why so far, but why so far?”
“Because I had to get away and there was nowhere else to go.”

I wandered to the strawberries as Abba walked over to the plums. He picked up one of the brightest ones, and gave it a little squeeze, which made it giggle and giggle as it tumbled into an open plastic bag where it would surely find death by suffocation. The strawberries were not any better off. Their appearance was truly alarming, and reminded me of Puzzles, the giraffe with a tumor whom I had seen at our class trip to the zoo last Fall. I couldn’t bear to watch them suffer so I moved to the next section, where all the organic red, purple and green grapes were engaged in a full scale war. I must have walked in after the end of a particularly epic battle because the few grapes which had not tumbled onto the floor were either crushed or completely pulpified. All except one.
“What happened?” I asked the small green grape.
“Death to all insurgents!” he cried.
“But what does that mean?” I asked.
“Follow me, the most powerful of them all! Or prepare for death!”
“But you are only a grape.”
“Prepare for death!”
“But you are only a grape.”
“Prepare for death!”
“Were you the cause of all this?”
“Follow me, or to prepare to meet your maker!”
“Who is the maker?” I asked.
“The one who…makes…things.” He said.
“Did he make me?”
“Indeed, you insolent fool.”
“did he make you?”
“Well, I suppose so.”
“So wouldn’t that make him more powerful than you?”
“…prepare for death!”

I placed a finger on either side of his curvatures and squeezed. “Eeek,” cried a small voice from the bottom of the bin. “You have killed our poor little Freddy.”

I ran to the bakery. “Wait, Jean-a!” called Abba, but I was already gone, a fugitive grape killer, running to the haven of the glass windows shielding the sweet green dinosaurs, the dark brown mice, and, my favorite, favorite friends.

I leaned my right cheek on the cool, clear plate, and sighed. There they were, all of them molded with butter, sugar, flour, and unformed chicken babies.
And there was a fresh new tray of my favorite, favorite friends, the cupcake panda bears. “Would you like one?” asked a lady behind the counter. I nodded my head hard.

The panda bears’ bodies and heads were made out of Oreos. The Oreos were perfect circles, every single one of them. I held one up to my eye, in front of the brown clock on the wall. Then I pressed my middle finger and my thumb together and snapped. The smooth sharp movement, separated the Oreo halves. “Goodbye, friend.” I whispered.

When we got the checkout aisle, all that was left of the panda was a cupcake wrapper. I looked up at the white-haired lady at the cashregister, who wore blue circle glasses. Only she didn’t look as old as halmunee. She didn’t even look as old as Uma. But she was definitely older than me. I did not understand why her hair was so white.
“Why is your hair white?” I asked.
She looked down at me through her blue owl glasses. “Was that from the bakery?” She asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“What was it?” she asked.
“A cupcake friend.” I replied.
She quickly punched in $1.30 on the tab.
“What is this?” asked Abba.
“Your daughter has a cupcake.”
“Jean-a, where did you get that?”
“The bakery. My cupcake friend.”
“Your what?”
“A panda.”
“Who said you could get that?”
“The lady at the bakery. She is very nice.”
“No Jean. I never said you could get a cupcake.”
“But she gave it to me.”
“For free?”
I actually didn’t know for sure whether she gave it to me or expected me to pay for it. I really didn’t know for sure.
I nodded my head.
“You sure?” He asked.
“They don’t just go about giving free cupcakes to all the…” – she eyed my belly –"hungry children in the store, you know,” said Owl Lady.
“My daughter says she gave it to her. But I will pay for it.” Said Abba.
I began to feel ashamed because I did not want to make Abba sad and $1.30 was a lot of money. But I also felt less guilty because Abba was going to pay for it and that would make everything better because we would not be almost steeling. Though Abba would still be sad.
“Well if she said she gave it to her, then she gave it to her,” said Owl Lady. “I will just have to talk to Barbara about it.”


In the car, I felt sick. That was the only time I ever skipped dinner.