Cabbage

Cabbage. It was the cabbage’s fault, wasn’t it? Why did the cabbage sit at the back of the fridge all these weeks? Why did it go yellow and slimy? Why did it decompose and rot? Why did you have to smell like shit in the fridge? It’s all your fault cabbage. If you were gone, or thrown away mere minutes ago, none of this would have happened.

But it’s too late now, isn’t it? He saw it. And now he is angry.

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While we were waiting for dinner, I was studying for my finals. Biology is a captivating topic of mine to study, but the amount of information you had to memorize was uncanny. I kept staring at the diagram of how cancer cells proceed and spread. The ticking sound of my ballpoint pen going on and off in my room was the only profound noise, with a bit of drowned out slurs and sounds of frustration from my brothers’ room playing videogames, and from what I’m hearing, failing at that too. My eyes tend to wander off and blur most of the time, and my brain becomes a little foggy, so I tick my pen again. It snaps me back to reality. This is taking too long, I thought, and I am definitely getting hungry. However, I remembered my ‘reward system’ that I ever so eagerly apply on myself. The system declares as such, finish first two chapters and you get a cup of tea, finish the next two, you get chocolate, finish the following two, and you get a meal, and the system continues with random delights. It incentivized me a bit into getting things done with.

Focus, Mira, Focus. Looking at the top of my page, I read, “A cancer cell is a cell that grows out of control. Unlike normal cells, cancer cells ignore signals to…” -a shout- “Growing in an uncontrollable manner and unable to recognize its own natural boundary…” -sounds of broken glass- “the cancer cells may spread to areas of the body where they do not belong.” -screech-.

Okay. Panic started rising within me, my back felt cold, and my heart started beating fast. My eyes became blurry again and wandered to the door -more broken glass- I shut my book, crossed my hands on the desk and laid my head on top. My breathing became a bit faster than usual please not this, not now, not this, not now. I opened my book again and ignored the screams and quarrel happening below.

Focus Mira, Focus. “Cells become cancerous… -eyes becoming blurry- after mutations accumulate…” I traced my shaky finger on the lines, “in the various genes that control cell proliferation…” ­-sound of metal clashing and echoing on the floor- dad screaming – mom crying.

Oh, it was this AND now. The stress and anger are vibrating through the walls of the house. Anyone can feel and hear this calamitous energy from miles away. I got up so quickly the chair tumbled to the floor. I ran to the door, opened it, moved forward to the edge of the stair railings and looked below. The booming color of dark red from, what I smell, the tomato sauce is now painted all over the floor, cushions, books, and carpet. In simpler words, the food is gone now. I couldn’t help but sigh and stare up at the ceiling.

Like the reward system I initiated for studying, I created another system for these exact situations. The following system, which I call, MIT System (Manage the Tension) states as such: Step one, wear “the jacket” to lessen any potential blows. Step 2, take my 7-year-old baby brother to his own room, open YouTube and play nursery songs to drown out the noise, and close the door. (Side note: a big thanks to Nursery Rhymes for truly drowning out the noise for my baby brother.) Step 3, go to my two older brothers to discuss the next steps and regrouping. And then… honestly, I haven’t reached step four since it’s always a new problem and fight.

We went down the stairs to find broken glass, splintered furniture wood, and half cooked food strewn all over the floor. It was as if someone took brown paint and smudged it on a canvas, an incomprehensible mess. I tried stepping around the red tomato sauce where pieces of meatballs were rolled in all different directions, and a half-cut potato was squashed with a footprint on it. The fine smell of basil was all over the place, with a hint of roasted rosemary and garlic producing a delicious mix of aroma connoting the scent of BBQ in mid July. I noticed a meatball next to my foot, and I squatted down and picked it up, but felt a pinch to the soft skin of my thumb. I turned the meatball and found glass attached to its side.

Yup, the food is definitely gone now.

I looked up to see my parents still fighting next to the dining table, ignoring us three staring blankly at them. Although I feel terrible for my mom, it is really difficult to step in. Next thing you’d find is flying hot pans and saucers at your face. This doesn’t stop us anyway. My brothers and I looked at one another, and I nodded at dad. We know what’s going to happen next. My brothers will try to calm my dad down, and I am for cleaning duty. The roles were assigned as such, since honestly, if someone can take a blow, it’ll probably be them, being the lanky younger sister.

I stepped away from my parents and into the kitchen to find the source of the mess lying on the floor, smashed, looking like stepped-on grass in the middle of winter. Cabbage.

At that moment, I heard my dad saying to my brother that mom is an incompatible, unclean thoughtless person who left that cabbage in the fridge for weeks, and now it has decayed. That fucking cabbage. It started it all. -more screams- Looking around the kitchen, I saw more victims of this fight. The salt and pepper shakers were now broken with the contents now immersing into the floor. They’ll probably remain years even after cleaning. Then fully cooked rice, that probably tasted nutty and with a full chewy texture that waters your mouth, is fully strewn around from the counter to the floor. -slurs- I bent down to see what can be salvaged, but all I saw were pieces of dirt and hair lodged around it. -sigh- I got up, took all the knives around the kitchen and hid them in the drawer. You know, it’s better to be safe than sorry. -raging shout- I picked up the pans, then took the large broken pieces from the floor and double bagged them. I took the mop behind the door and started wiping the kitchen. -loud slap- -my brothers’ shout.

I dropped the mop and ran to them, but all I saw was my dad screaming at us to go to our rooms and the echoing sound of the mop repeatedly bouncing off of the floor behind me. We really couldn’t get near him. He embodied a raging sea, with flaring veins analogous to mighty waves swimming around his skin, and destroying everything at his wake. We looked sadly at mom one last time and, she assured us to go back up. I checked on my little brother, and he seemed to have taken a nap. I went to my room and waited there silently, hearing consistent screams and shouts of actions done years ago. How are they related to the cabbage? Did the cabbage trigger years of pent-up anger and hate? Did the cabbage remind them of all the choices they could’ve made? the money they spent? the debt they have? You stupid Cabbage. It’s all your fault.

I went to the bed, laid on it, and covered myself with blankets. It was the middle of June, but nothing compares to the chilling screams echoing every few minutes. My eyes are blurry again, wandering between the fluffy carpet and brown-colored wardrobe. The yellowish patterns within it are scattered randomly around and barely seen. Sometimes, when connecting some of the dots with a hazy focus, you can see a face staring back. -screams increasing- I closed my eyes and pushed my face into the pillow with the smell of pink flowery detergent. The last thing I remember is the soft and shaky voice of my mother begging dad to calm down, and the phantom yet resonating sharp sound of the slap.

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Something was off. I woke up startled to my brother shaking my arm and calling my name. Mira, Mira, Mira – dad is calling us to eat.

Wait, what. Calling us to eat? What time is it? and eat what? The glass infused meatballs or dusted rice and potatoes? I wiped my groggy eyes, got up, and went down with my brothers to the dining table. It was a comical scene to be fair. Mom and dad were sitting next to each other, with her hand on his shoulder, and both of them smiling and laughing together. Glass, splintered wood, and a bit of food was surrounding them like a holy halo – oh, what a sardonic painting for the classics! As I was nearing the table, I was grinding my teeth, bit hard on my lower lip, with my nose flaring, and my pulse beating rapidly. I could see the same look on my brothers’ faces, and I am sure we felt the same. Anger rippled through us like sudden lightening. This is confusing – my brain started ringing like a loud drum, and I felt dizzy from rage. This is unfair.

I neared the table, and I was about to scream at my parents for an explanation. However, the smell reached me before the visuals did. I found the red tomato sauce with meatballs and cooked potatoes on a dish, with rice on the side and basil on top. And to my surprise, the fucking cabbage on a plate, staring mockingly at me with a wicked smile.