Flash Fiction Friday: Yesterday’s Meal

Published May 16, 2009

Make sure to read the gang's goes at this week's topic, which was picked by me! You've got Caiti, Gabe, and Robin.

During my childhood I never wondered why I had such a strong aversion to eating leftovers. It drove me crazy when we had to stretch every meal as far as it would go. Sometimes daddy felt sympathetic, but mom never did. She might’ve known my reasoning better than me; maybe she was more strict. Mom could have just known what was best for me, but in my paranoia I always thought her insistence that we eat every last boring bite of Monday’s meatloaf was punishment for pinching Lenny or staying up too late on a school night.

I was never spoiled but daddy definitely shared some of my weaknesses. We were driving home from gymnastics and I asked him what was for dinner and he said that mom was warming up some casserole. He responded to my pouting response by saying that he wasn’t that excited about it either and now that he thought about it, it probably wouldn’t hurt if we spun by Wendy’s.

After daddy set the precedent, my tolerance suddenly declined. It was the night after the first snow of the year and we were experiencing the first of what would be many returns of a Crock Pot full of chili. I was hungry but I just couldn’t bring myself to fill my mouth with one spoonful after the next of the same familiar taste. Pepper didn’t help, no matter how much she insisted it would. I had resorted to nibbling on a chunk of bread, and when mom noticed, she asked me if I planned to grow up big and strong by eating bread alone. I would normally have grumbled a bit and given in, resentfully swallowing each bite until she said I could be done, but this time I found new courage in what must have been a mistaken thought that daddy would stand behind me.

“Mom I hate chili!”
“You didn’t hate it yesterday.”
“Yeah but I want something else. Maybe if you didn’t make so much I wouldn’t have to keep eating it.”

She got really serious and explained how I should be grateful and how someday I would wish I had her leftovers in my fridge. I didn’t believe her and told her so, because I knew that I’d always want something new instead of what I had yesterday. She sent me to bed hungry, angry, and in tears. I was too distracted to be tired, and after ten minutes of sobbing I started to feel sorry. I’ve never been able to go to fall asleep with an empty stomach, but it was more than that. Even if I had lost my appetite I still would have wanted desperately to go finish my food, but knew better. I’d have to wait to finish my bowl the next day. I guess I learned my lesson.