Steak and Potatoes [Are My Favorite]

Trigger Warning: Death and Potatoes

*Not related to prompt*

My name is Sasha, but my older brother, Ricky, likes to call me “Salsa”. He says it’s because I can be “mild” one day and “spicy” the next, whatever that means.

Older brothers can be a HUGE pain in the neck sometimes, especially mine, but I still love him anyway. I like to call him “Ole Rickety” because his bones creak so much. Back when we were younger, though, I didn’t have anything to call him, except “meanie”, but now that we’re older, his creaky bones have earned him a fitting nickname.

He’s only a year older than me, but he seems to think he’s a whole lifetime older. To keep him in his place, though, I remind him every now and then that because he’s older, he might die before me. He used to laugh it off, but now, as he’s approaching his 70th birthday, he tells me that I may be right -- for once. Looking back, I wish I hadn’t been right. 

**************************************

“Hey, Salsa! You mild or spicy today?” Ole Rickety chuckled at his own joke. 

I choked back a laugh of my own, but my subtle smile quickly turned into an open frown when I saw the look of pain on his face as he struggled to stand. His own chuckle turned into a wheeze as he tried to catch his breath.

“Ricky, please! Sit back down.” I rushed around, fluffing pillows and straightening up the room. “You really should see a doctor. You can barely get up without losing your breath.”

Ricky looked at me for a moment, then looked away. “Don’t need no doctor. I’m jest fine. Jest ain’t got the young body I used ta have.”

I sighed, knowing it was pointless to argue with him. I felt a prickle of unease, but I decided it was just worry. 

“Well, at least promise me you won’t be too active, okay? You know how much your bones ache when you move around too much.” I gave him a stern look, but we both knew he wouldn’t be getting up very much unless the president himself was here. 

He gave a small smile, then said, “Well, well. Lookie here, I’s got myself a mother again.” 

We both laughed, gazing at the picture of our parents that was hanging on the wall. Ricky’s voice became softer, and he said, “Yer jest like her, you know that?”

I blushed, shaking my head. “No. No one could be just like Ma.”

“Well then, yer as close to being just like her as anyone ever could be. She’d be right proud of ya, raising five kids- and taking care of yer ailing brother, too,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

I gave him a playful swat on the shoulder, then started for the kitchen. “I’m gonna make dinner for us, okay? You stay outta trouble now, you hear?” I grinned at him, and he grinned back. 

He saluted and said, “Yes, ma’am. You has my word for it.” He chuckled once more, then suddenly said, “I love you.”

I stopped, confused. “That was… random.”

“I know, but I jest felt like saying it. Jest had ta say I love you.”

I paused for a moment. “I love you, too, Ricky.” I gave him a kiss on the top of his balding head.

“By the way, Salsa…” he paused, a sly grin on his face.

“Yes, Ole Rickety?” I stopped in the kitchen doorway, wondering what he was up to.

“What’s fer dinner? My stomach’s jest dying ta know.” He rubbed his stomach, which growled as if to confirm that what Ricky said was true.

I laughed. Sometimes, older brothers are a pain, but sometimes they’ve only got one thing on their minds- food.

“Well, tonight seems special for some reason, so I thought I’d cook us up some steak and potatoes. Maybe some red wine and chocolate cake for dessert.”

Ricky looked pleased. “Good. Steak and potatoes are my favorite.” He nodded toward the kitchen as if to say, “Hurry up about it then. Don’t keep me waiting.”

I laughed again, then went into the kitchen. I set about making dinner, thinking back to when we’d last had this exact same dinner…

*********************************

It was a few years ago, and Ricky and I were celebrating something- I think it was the Fourth of July- when we got a phone call from a close family friend. There was a lot of crying on the other end, and we could just barely make out the words “John”, “Cathy”, “accident”, and “hospital”. We knew immediately that they were talking about our parents. We got the location of the hospital and we were soon on our way when the friend called back, sobbing. 

"They’re gone. Oh, Sasha. Ricky. I’m so sorry.” They ended the call then, crying hysterically. 

We were shocked, but my tears only came when our beloved parents were being lowered into the dark, cold ground, never to be seen again except in fading photographs and failing memories.

***********************************

A single tear trailed down my face, and a small sob escaped my lips. I glanced at the kitchen door, wondering if Ricky had heard me. I strained my ears for any sound indicating he’d heard, and when I heard nothing, I turned back to preparing the food.

As I wiped away the tears that were flowing freely, I realized something…. I hadn’t heard anything, but usually you can hear Ricky because he’s always coughing or wheezing. I wiped off my hands and hurried to the kitchen door. When I looked into the living room, he wasn't there. 

“Maybe he went to the bathroom,” I thought to myself. 

Creeping forward, I strained my ears, trying to catch any tell-tale cough that would tell me where Ricky was. Suddenly I stumbled. After righting myself, I looked down to see what I’d tripped over. What I saw made me scream.

“RICKY!” Oh my gosh! Ricky, are you okay? What happened?” I leaned down, turning his face towards mine. My breath caught in my throat- his eyes were blank and glassy. 

“No. Ricky, no.” I groaned softly. “You can’t be…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word. 

I felt for a pulse, knowing in my heart that there would be none. I’d seen that glassy, blank stare twice before, and I knew what it meant. 

After covering him with a blanket, I called the hospital, not knowing what else to do with a… dead person. Then I called my children and close friends. They all assured me they would be there shortly, and I was soon surrounded by loved ones as my only brother was carried out to the ambulance, on his way to the hospital so the cause of his death could be determined. Someone- I don’t remember who- drove me there, and all I could hear was crying, none more so than me. 

Suddenly, I began laughing, and I drew stares from everyone around me. I told them I was laughing at life, at how we were crying even though he was heading to a better place, but the real reason I was laughing? Well, I couldn’t stop thinking about my brother’s last words… 

“Steak and potatoes are my favorite.”