Taco Night

It wasn’t supposed to end this way. That’s what everyone always said right? Somehow in the grand scheme of the universe we have all managed to live our lives with no regard for the consequences for our actions. We always assume things will work out in the end, and we always assume that the resolution will be less horrifying than the means that bring us to the bitter end. 

We are wrong to assume. 

People will fight wars and end lives in the name of peace and somehow, through it all, they still convince themselves that they are the heroes simply because someone else is a villain. The truth we all eventually grapple with is that more often than not we have made ourselves the villains we once would have fought against. 

Even though I had once preached this message on the streets, a message of tolerance and peace, I had fallen victim to the very principles I had once claimed I was above. 

The destruction surrounding me was vast and horrific. Walls splattered with dark splotches that shook me to the core. The bodies of those I had once known lay around our field of battle in haphazard ways, positioned in angles that were unnatural. Distantly I could recall that I had once called many of them my friends, my family, yet in my rage and in my selfishness any relation we had once shared had been forgotten. The line between friend and foe had blurred into nothingness in my desire for control, in my passion for victory. 

In the distance a teenage girl approached me, her hair sticking up in strange ways, slicked with the substance that seemed to be oozing out of every person that had fallen. Dirt smudged her face and rage burned in her hazel eyes. Another result of the havoc I had wrought, another evidence of how far every person was willing to fall for the sake of victory. Her name crashed through my mind like a jackhammer, Sarah. She had been my sister once. 

“What the HELL Hannah?” She demanded, crossing the field of battle to stare me down. 

I refused to wilt away like I would have before all of this, instead I stood as tall as I could manage, pushing the shame and regret away and surrounding my heart with a steel wall. Instead I merely shrugged, clutching my prize in my fist. Such a small thing to have brought so much destruction upon my family. Yet even now, I knew I would do it all again. No matter the cost this prize was worth it, even if family dinners would never be the same. 

“Look at this place!” Sarah insisted, gesturing to the mess that our house had become. Bits and pieces of ground meat had been scattered over the ground, cheese clung to the ceiling and salsa dripped from the walls. 

One by one each person who had found a home on corners of carpet, barstools, and assorted living room furniture pulled themselves to their feet, sour cream soaking their clothes and falling to the ground in dollops of frightening proportions. 

I swallowed hard, “Mom is going to kill us when she sees this mess,” I managed. 

Sarah and our friends glared at me as if they had not taken part of food fight. 

“Well maybe if you hadn’t killed everyone, taken the last tortilla chip, and ruined taco night this wouldn’t have happened!”

I shrugged once more, too terrified of the punishment that was on the way back from the store to speak. 

“That seems a bit dramatic right?” Danny asked, picking spare bits of lettuce from his ear. 

“It is not dramatic!” Sarah insisted, whirling on him and sending sour cream from her hair onto the table-top. “Mom will be home in twenty minutes!”

The sounds of bickering rose to levels never before heard of and I squeezed my fist even tighter, knowing in my heart that the last chip was long past saving at this point. 

“Enough!” I shouted, silencing the group. All eyes turned to me and before I could loose my nerve I pushed forward. “Danny, Alice, there are paper towels in the hall closet. Clean as much as you can as fast as you can.” I turned to Steven, the only middle schooler in the group and the only one to still have enough respect for authority to likely tattle. “I need you to watch Mr. Whiskers and keep him away from the sour cream, it makes him nauseous and he trusts you the most. We’re all relying on you.” Finally I turned to my sister, “Mom left extra meat in the garage fridge, can you help me cook before she gets back?”

Sarah eyed me suspiciously, refusing to believe I had truly found a way to change our fate. 

“I need you Sarah, I always have.”

My sister nodded once. “Damn right.”

I clapped my hands, “Then lets’ go people! We’re burning daylight and mom never drives less than five-over!”

The five of us swirled into action with all the efficiency of teenagers who had a near crippling fear of disappointing the nicest mom in the friend group and an absolute disregard to the digestive issues of a cat feasting on sour cream. Danny and Alice scrubbed the floors with fervor that was only akin to the janitor at East High when the seniors had done the glitter bomb prank two years prior. Sarah prepped the taco supplies in such a way that Gordon Ramsey himself would be taking notes, and Steven gave his best cat yowl towards Mr. Whiskers which, while terrifying, was surprisingly effective. 

I heard the car pull into the driveway as we finished the last of our cleaning tasks, throwing a trash bag full of scraps of food and near endless paper towels out the side window and into the trashcan. Footsteps approached the door as we frantically put plates on the table and polished the glasses with the only clean hand towel we had left. The lock turned and I power-slid back into the kitchen, staring Steven into the eye with such intensity that he looked like he was about to wet himself. 

“Steven,” he shook as Mr. Whiskers quaked in his arms, “Don’t tell ANYONE, and certainly do not tell mom.”

He nodded in the slightest possible motion. 

“Swear it on dino chicken nuggets!”

“I swear it on the Dino chicken nuggets!”

Mr. Whiskers howled as the door opened, escaping from Steven’s hands and rushing my mom. 

“Hey kids!” She hefted the brown paper grocery bag and smiled at the group of us, “Sorry I took so long, traffic was insane, but!” She plopped the bag on the counter, “I’ve got mint chocolate chip!”

She put the ice cream in the fridge and we all gathered at the table to eat our tacos, and just like that, the great Tortilla Chip War of 2024 faded into legend, never to be mentioned again. That is, until the great Thanksgiving Incident of 2046.