Hank Sanders
Holly Walsh
Teal
11/17
Vignette
As I took a step onto the chair that stood in between me and the jar of applesauce that sat on the counter, I couldn’t help but remind myself what a great idea it would be to open the jar all by myself. With my mother occupied by my brother-Jack Sanders-who was passing out in our bathroom after slicing his finger open with a Mandolin Vegetable Cutter, the only way I could enjoy my snack was if I took off the lid of the metal jar all by myself. But instead of grabbing a tool whose job was to open jars-say a jar opener-I decided to use my teeth. Faster then my mom could scream “Jack’s fainting,” my two front teeth popped out of my mouth. Along with it came a shriek that practically opened the jar all by itself.
My Mom has always been a solid oak. She is there for me when the going gets tough and is never a negative force when I am in need. She shows no sign of stress when others would reek of struggle. But at that time, at that moment in time, with my brother in pain and now an unknown shriek piercing her ear drums, I saw a weaker and less thoughtful way about my mother.
Leaving my brother’s side, my mom sprinted across the cold ceramic floor with a panicked look on her face yelling “What happened?”
As I tried to explain what I had done, I began to realize the faults in my reasoning.
Because I realized that what I had done was extremely poor judgment on my part, I tried to convince my mom that my teeth had simply fallen out of my head, unassisted.
“Hank. I see the blood on the jar. Don’t hide it.”
As my mother looked into my eyes trying to decipher what had gone through my mind just before I lost a good portion of my mouth, my mind wandered and I replayed the moment in my head. Teeth hitting metal, ivory flying from my face.
When I apologized and told the truth, with blood and saliva pouring out of my mouth, my mother had a couple of words to share.
“Yeah, dumb. Really really dumb. You should’ve seen that from a mile away.”
It took me some time to calm down. The bloody face of mine that had an open gap where teeth used to grow was wet with tears. But after I calmed myself, I asked my mom to do me a favor.
“What can I do for you honey?” she asked kindly, kneeling down to my height so she could peer into my eye sockets. I could tell that with my brother bandaged up and no longer pale as a ghost, her stress level had gone down.
At the appropriate moment I asked my mommy if I could enjoy some applesauce out of a jar that she opened.
The applesauce was cold as it went down my throat. I took turns eating the yellowish sauce each time with a different style of consumption. At first, I licked the applesauce off the spoon and then swallowed a large amount in one gulp. Then I bit it and chewed the liquidy substance until all the fiber in the apple goop had turned to a watery apple flavored Capri Sun. The drinking was my favorite method of inhaling the healthy snack.
I ate applesauce and cinnamon ‘til the sun went down.
I ate applesauce and cinnamon ‘til the sun went down.
As it became time to go to bed, my mother tucked me in beneath a large bundle on cushiony bird feathers that would each night would have one or two quills that stabbed me in my unconscious body. My Father read me Shakespeare.
