Chapter Ten: Never Eat Strange Pies
"Something like that isn't important," I said, my way to doing so overflowing with venom, if releasing deadly chemicals vocally were possible. "What does matter is that this is an act of injustice."
The clouds in the sky were also among my audience, and the whiteness of their make seemed to encourage me to continue, despite all else. Big Bob snorted, like a dragon releasing steam from his nostrils before an attack.
"You are taking something that has been in a family for a few generations, and making it into a cold, hard, impersonal square of bricks. This is not a factory, or a store, or anything else. Would you like it if somebody came and kicked us out of our house?"
He took a second to think about it, though the answer could be predicted. "Nobody would dare. I'm the Beeper King."
I sighed, my blonde hair tickled by the wind. Perhaps I looked the brave figure; perhaps I looked like a pathetic, little lost girl, on that hour on that day.
I almost wanted to spout poetry from my lips. The emotion was so strong in me, and being a writer (albeit a secret one) how could I not be tempted? But of course, this was a terrible idea and could worsen an already bad situation.
"Is making and selling a few extra beepers really all that important? I mean, is it really?" I lowered my head to the ground, as sometimes I had difficulty coming up with what to say if I was looking the person directly in the eyes. To some, it might've appeared that I was about to attack, or cry my eyes out. Neither was true.
"In this world, lives pass so quickly. Some last longer than others. But, money doesn't stay with you." My eyes surveyed nearby shoes, their unpolished souls caked with dirt from city life. It was depressing. To think: someday those shoes would be thrown away, or given to a second hand shop on what some would call "the other side of the tracks." Memories, imprints left on former land they once passed; happiness, scuffed knees and realizations, appointments and celebrations. Was it really so simple to forget such things? Was this place, such as the shoes, so easy to toss aside for someone to destroy or buy, without knowing the pure tenderness and adventures they once held, thus not able to give it proper care?
I closed myself from the shoes, from everyone. I closed myself from the world, from the realm of control. I simply stood there, waiting for the right thing to come without my control, to cleanse this.
The clouds shifted, stretched like warped cotton candy. A message came to be, something nobody could've predicted.
"Gee, you're absolutely right, Dad."
If this were the old west, a tumble weed might've drifted by, with no particular destination.
"Huh?" a collection wave of confusion hit from all sides. But I stood firm, quite aware of what I had said. I hadn't gone insane.
"How could I be so foolish? Of course, you know everything. Trying to save this dump was a waste of time. It's better put to profit use." I stomped on the floor to emphasize my point. "This flimsy old thing doesn't deserve respect."
The old man was overjoyed, and if this were a cartoon, dollar bill signs would've flashed before his eyes.
"Cripes, finally, the girl sees the light!"
I put my right hand out, as if to stop him, even though he wasn't coming towards me.
"Not so fast. If you'll follow me into the kitchen, we can resolve this."
I had another brilliant Pataki plan.
As we all made the "climb," (down to Arnold's room, then down to the kitchen, obviously) I could tell by the tension that nobody was the wiser. They probably wanted to call me a hypocrite or toss me out the nearest window. There were aggressive murmurings and exaggerated steps. I'd like to see them try anything like that. Old Bessie would break their fingers, but good. Arnold was quite silent, and blameless in that. But, yadda yadda, that's just repetitive, right?
"Don't worry, Arnold," I said in a harsh whisper to reassure him. "It's not what you think. Tell your grandma to make a special meal," and so then moved on give him specific details.
--
"So what's this all about, eh?" Big Bob grumbled, sitting at the table with a hand on his stomach. "If its food you're making, I'm starving."
I rolled my eyes. Why else would we be in there, for a card game?
"Yes, Mr. Pataki, and I think you'll like it. It's my grandma's homemade," the blonde-haired boy winked, "raspberry pie."
It's a wonder how a pie can be baked so fast, but she found a way. It was soft and steaming, red sauce pouring out of every available pore. It even gurgled a bit; something that should've been a "Don't eat me! You'll die!" signal, or something out of a twisted fairytale.
Someone brought over a glass filled with milk, another with a plate and fork. Dad licked his lips hungrily.
Putting my hands on the table, hunched over, I said, "Go ahead. Take a big bite."
And he did. After a few bites, the death sentence on a plate presumably gained access to his stomach, and he flinched, dropping the fork with a clang.
"What's… in this stuff?"
"Oh, you know. Flour, eggs…" I used my fingers to count. "Raspberries… laxative."
Arnold's grandmother laughed. "Lots and lots, so you can fight crime and find the lost jewel of Tibet!" She then ran out of the room, as if forgetting what had just happened.
Big Bob's face turned the most sickly green I've ever seen. He covered his mouth, as if doing so would prevent him from losing everything all over. But it wasn't long before his stomach made an odd sound, and, getting out of the chair fast as lightning, he headed towards the bathroom. Thankfully, Arnold beat him to the sacred room's door.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Pataki, but I can't you in."
"And why in criminy not? Let me in there, Arnie!"
I called out. "No, Dad. Not until you agree to stop what you're planning."
Another odd sound, louder and more urgent than before. "No. I told you, no!"
"And then what? Are you going to explode in the hallway? You won't make it outside!"
His legs bent, and he almost reached the floor in pain, eyes bugged out, whole body trembling. It was only a matter of time. Hopefully soon, so we wouldn't have a mess to clean. Ew.
He threw his hand up in defeat. "OK, OK! I'll do whatever you want! I'll sign anything! Just let me get in there!"
"Remember," I reminded him, "you promised, and we have witnesses."
As soon as he was inside, door slammed, cheers rang out. I couldn't help but laugh heartily and loudly, arms at my side, teeth exposed to the ceiling, not caring who saw.
Gasp - Almost a full year since my last update! And I could kick myself and college for it! I know this was painfully short, but it's the best I can do at the moment. If there are ANY errors, please let me know. This was written when I was quite tired, and though I looked it over, I might've missed something. The last chapter will be up late week/early the week after, after I finish some exams. Thank you all so much for continuing to read this trite. Feedback is not required but, good or bad, is always appreciated.