Chewing the fat

After a long gruelling week at College, I returned home to my parent’s spacious four-bedroomed house for the weekend. I felt satisfied retreating to a safe haven of relaxation in my pyjamas, T.V. and overindulge myself with sweets and cakes; storing up for next coming weeks.

My mother always made sure she stocked up. She knew I wasn’t looking after myself properly at College living off constant cheap ready-made meals from the local supermarket. The instant mash was abysmal; tastes like cardboard. It was embarrassing. I had fallen into that bracket that stereotype, that most half expect. I was a cliché. How everybody pictured a typical College student to be. No money, barely scraps to live off and sponging off my parents to make ends meet. I walked in from the small cloak room to the living room, where I was warmly greeted by both of them.

My dad concentrating on the local paper, his glasses perched on the end of his nose, searching through the obituaries, searching through the names looking for people he knew. Mum, on the other hand, parading in the background with a bottle of Mr Sheen in one hand and a rag of one of my old T shirts in the other. I was beginning to picture her in an apron and curlers, like something straight out of an old ‘Oxo’ advert shaking her ‘Shake n’ vac’ putting the freshness back.

I collapsed through the door with a large black over-night bag over my shoulder. I waved and smiled warmly, breathing in the delicious aroma of the large pork joint from the Kitchen. I had always appreciated my mother’s home cooked dinners every fortnight. The scent was mouth-watering. I couldn’t wait to fly in the steamy kitchen and sneak a taste while she was preoccupied; as she polished continually erasing any trace of dust from an ornament of a woman dressed in eighteenth century clothing made of bone china. Before, she made her way over to the net curtains and fan out the wrinkles. I hoped to fill the aching pain in my stomach I’ve had to endure this past week. I was starving. After two weeks of bland home-brand pasta dishes, I was more than ready for a good hearty home-cooked meal.

I threw my bag at the large blue sofa and startled my cat, Nibs. She woke suddenly from a nap; in a daze she stared, wide-eyed, around the room till her eyes fixed on me. She glared at me with a cold penetrative stare; I felt highly welcomed. She was not amused. I could only see her large green eyes peering from a mass of black fur like a hunter in the shadows; eagerly stalking my every move and occasionally flaring some teeth as a sign to back off.

“Sorry Nibs. I didn’t see you there”. I shrugged apologetically at a cat; trying to lighten the atmosphere. I went to stroke her. Her eyes fixed on my hand. She looked very uncomfortable. What a strange cat. I slowly moved my hand away; waiting for her to swipe with a sharp claw. But she remained perfectly still; standing her ground, as if I was some kind of predator embarking on her territory. Fortunately, she lowered her head again and went straight back to sleep.

‘Welcome home, Greg’. I thought to myself. ‘It’s good to see you to Nibs’.

I rolled my eyes and quickly skipped through to the Kitchen; away from the harsh beast, saturating the sofa with unwanted hair.

My mother shouted from another room, “Don’t eat too much. You’ll spoil your dinner”.

“I won’t”. I replied looking down at the floor; feeling like a fifteen year old again. I half expected to be grounded and sent to my room any moment.

I spotted the pork immediately. I eagerly watched it as its juices ran freely as it sizzled and popped; straight from the oven. I cautiously stepped over to the forbidden fruit, through the steamy air, and quickly reached for a nearby knife. It was too tempting to surpass.

I almost jumped out of my skin when my older brother, Sebastian, walked in.
“Jeez, Sebastian you frit me half to death. I thought you were mum”.

“Sorry”. I could feel him frowning in the background staring down at the floor feeling disgruntled; as he usually does. “How are you? How’s college?”

“Good thanks. How’s work?” It was awkward around Sebastian trying to make conversation. We’d soon run out of things to say.

“Good thanks”. He quietly murmured behind me. “If mum catches you, you’ll be in for it”. He tried to warn. I shrugged. I was famished; food was my only priority and plenty of it.

“Well she’s not going to find out, is she Sebastian?” I glanced out of the corner of my eye. Suddenly, silence again. We had a strange relationship, my brother and I. We were brought up together. Both were partially intelligent but we still had nothing to say to each other. I couldn’t understand why it was so difficult to hold a civil conversation. So the silence continued. Part of me always thought he doesn’t actually like me but that couldn’t be the reason. Everybody does.

I picked cautiously at small pieces of hot fat on the side of the joint; hoping mum wouldn’t notice the obvious gaps.

“The weather’s been good today. It looks like it’s going to be a nice weekend”. Sebastian quietly breathed trying to fill the uncomfortable silences.

I replied, chewing, with a mouthful of fat oblivious to what my brother had just said.

“Yeah, I totally agree”. I was hoping to salvage more scraps of excessive fat hanging over the edge.

Suddenly, he went silent again. Not one word for what seemed like decades. He didn’t even try. I was beginning to worry. Perhaps he felt comfortable with the silence. I know I didn’t. Speak. Say something. I was beginning to lose my patience. I turned expecting he had left the room but he was still there staring blankly at his feet.

I glanced back again; turning my attentions back to the succulent meat. He probably wasn’t too happy with me eating half his dinner. I really should stop before its devoured entirely. I couldn’t; an impossible task. One more piece won’t hurt, and then the knife hit bone.

In a distinct clear voice “I have Cancer”, he announced. Every pained syllable, cried in slow motion, and tore down the walls between us. Everything went still. In a split second our entire relationship changed. I abruptly dropped the knife, still chewing, and turned to face him.