FOOD TALK
“Eat! Now!”
I look around but don’t see anyone. I’m all alone, spoon in hand, waiting for the oatmeal to cool down. Orange morning sun is peeking through the flowery curtains.
“Now! Eat!”
I look under the table.
“Mom!” I yell.
“I’m busy,” she shouts from the laundry room, “finish your breakfast.”
I turn to stare at my food.
“Eat me!” says the oatmeal. The words come out in a big gurgle in the middle of the bowl. This surprise knocks me off my chair.
“Mom!”
Mom hurries up the stairs, “What is it now?”
“The food – talks!” I point at the quiet, steaming oatmeal.
“Ohhh…” she says, like when she can’t find a parking space, shaking her head. “Finish, then you can go out.”
She goes back downstairs.
I stand next to the table and tap the bowl with my spoon. Clunk!
Nothing happens.
I do it again – Clunk! Clunk! Clunk! -- Nothing.
I sit down staring at the bowl. Then I ask my breakfast, “Eat now?”
“Yes!” shouts the oatmeal.
“OK!” I shout back and eat the ogre oatmeal all the way to the bare bowl. Now, it cannot talk. My plan works. I run out to play.
“Eat! Now!” says the soup.
It’s lunch and this time I don’t look around. I know who’s talking.
“Now! Eat!” says the middle of the soup.
“Mom, come here!”
“What?” she asks from the kitchen.
“Eat me!” gurgles in the soup.
“Look!” I point to the chicken soup bowl.
“What?” mom enters and asks, and stands beside me, her cute crazy son.
I tap the bowl – Clunk! Nothing happens.
Clunk! Clunk! Clunk! – nothing but a little steam from the soup.
“Just finish!” she says and returns to the kitchen.
“EAT ME!” screams the soup.
I eat the screaming soup quickly to shut it up. And it works.
I run out to play.
I tell Teresa and Toma about the oatmeal and the soup.
“Sure…” they tease me.
“I’ll show you!” I say, embarrassed, and run back inside.
I ask mom for more oatmeal and soup.
“It’s all gone, wait til dinner -- go play,” she says.
“But mom…”
“Go.”
“No.”
“Why not?
“Because…” I can’t go back out without the talking food.
“Because why?” she asks.
“Just because…” I go to my room.
After a few minutes mom brings me a bowl of noodles.
“Here, you sound hungry,” she says.
Noodles with a little salt and lemon juice is our favorite snack, especially since she lost her job and then grandpa died and we moved into grandpa’s house. She gives me a kiss and returns to the kitchen.
“Eat! Now!” says the bowl of noodles.
I poke it with my fork.
“Now! Eat!” says the noodles.
I stick the fork in the mouth of the noodles. I grab the bowl and run to the window. But Toma and Teresa have already gone to the park without me.
“Eat me!” the noodles try to shout. Hard to talk with a fork in your mouth.
“No!” I tell them, mad, returning to the bed, “You eat me!”
“OK,” says the noodles, and they start –
wrapping around the fork
through my fingers
up my hand
around my arm
climbing my shoulder
and sliming all over my head
and I scream -- AHHH!!!
“Corey!” mom shouts, standing at the bedroom door, “Stop playing with your food! Clean up this mess!”
“But mom, the noodles attacked me!” I say, eating the noodles off my face and neck.
“Oh, dear Lord…” she says, still can’t find that parking space, “Do we need to see Dr. Snoogle?”
“Never mind,” I say licking my hand and arm. It must be the bowl, grandpa’s bowl – a haunted bowl – I’ll need to tell someone, but not mom, she’ll freak out.
"Food Talk" excerpt from Corey Story ©2013 John Kirkmire
“Eat! Now!”
I look around but don’t see anyone. I’m all alone, spoon in hand, waiting for the oatmeal to cool down. Orange morning sun is peeking through the flowery curtains.
“Now! Eat!”
I look under the table.
“Mom!” I yell.
“I’m busy,” she shouts from the laundry room, “finish your breakfast.”
I turn to stare at my food.
“Eat me!” says the oatmeal. The words come out in a big gurgle in the middle of the bowl. This surprise knocks me off my chair.
“Mom!”
Mom hurries up the stairs, “What is it now?”
“The food – talks!” I point at the quiet, steaming oatmeal.
“Ohhh…” she says, like when she can’t find a parking space, shaking her head. “Finish, then you can go out.”
She goes back downstairs.
I stand next to the table and tap the bowl with my spoon. Clunk!
Nothing happens.
I do it again – Clunk! Clunk! Clunk! -- Nothing.
I sit down staring at the bowl. Then I ask my breakfast, “Eat now?”
“Yes!” shouts the oatmeal.
“OK!” I shout back and eat the ogre oatmeal all the way to the bare bowl. Now, it cannot talk. My plan works. I run out to play.
“Eat! Now!” says the soup.
It’s lunch and this time I don’t look around. I know who’s talking.
“Now! Eat!” says the middle of the soup.
“Mom, come here!”
“What?” she asks from the kitchen.
“Eat me!” gurgles in the soup.
“Look!” I point to the chicken soup bowl.
“What?” mom enters and asks, and stands beside me, her cute crazy son.
I tap the bowl – Clunk! Nothing happens.
Clunk! Clunk! Clunk! – nothing but a little steam from the soup.
“Just finish!” she says and returns to the kitchen.
“EAT ME!” screams the soup.
I eat the screaming soup quickly to shut it up. And it works.
I run out to play.
I tell Teresa and Toma about the oatmeal and the soup.
“Sure…” they tease me.
“I’ll show you!” I say, embarrassed, and run back inside.
I ask mom for more oatmeal and soup.
“It’s all gone, wait til dinner -- go play,” she says.
“But mom…”
“Go.”
“No.”
“Why not?
“Because…” I can’t go back out without the talking food.
“Because why?” she asks.
“Just because…” I go to my room.
After a few minutes mom brings me a bowl of noodles.
“Here, you sound hungry,” she says.
Noodles with a little salt and lemon juice is our favorite snack, especially since she lost her job and then grandpa died and we moved into grandpa’s house. She gives me a kiss and returns to the kitchen.
“Eat! Now!” says the bowl of noodles.
I poke it with my fork.
“Now! Eat!” says the noodles.
I stick the fork in the mouth of the noodles. I grab the bowl and run to the window. But Toma and Teresa have already gone to the park without me.
“Eat me!” the noodles try to shout. Hard to talk with a fork in your mouth.
“No!” I tell them, mad, returning to the bed, “You eat me!”
“OK,” says the noodles, and they start –
wrapping around the fork
through my fingers
up my hand
around my arm
climbing my shoulder
and sliming all over my head
and I scream -- AHHH!!!
“Corey!” mom shouts, standing at the bedroom door, “Stop playing with your food! Clean up this mess!”
“But mom, the noodles attacked me!” I say, eating the noodles off my face and neck.
“Oh, dear Lord…” she says, still can’t find that parking space, “Do we need to see Dr. Snoogle?”
“Never mind,” I say licking my hand and arm. It must be the bowl, grandpa’s bowl – a haunted bowl – I’ll need to tell someone, but not mom, she’ll freak out.
"Food Talk" excerpt from Corey Story ©2013 John Kirkmire