Appetites
by
Emma Goldman-Sherman
After the divorce, my mother started to take me to this bar where she liked to order roast beef sandwiches "au jus." She said it meant bloody. I was 11 and horrified by the idea of blood, any mention of blood. The word lurched in me. She enjoyed herself and flashed a knowing smile as if she knew that soon blood would come pouring out of me. She released a glob of ketchup onto her pickles.
Your father never liked a tart pickle, she said. Your father never liked a decent meal.
She wanted me to dip my sandwich in the blood they served on the side like a thin gravy.
Dip it! She growled, drinking beer.
I wasn't dipping. I wasn't anything. I wanted to disappear, to be someone else, someone - according to her and everyone - I could never be.
She dipped her sandwich and shook it at me. See how the blood seeps into the roll? Kaiser rolls, she told me. Hard. Kaiser's German for king.
Blood hit the straw wrappers. I had a thing about squishing them down to the tiniest possible accordions. I used to be the official family straw wrapper remover. But it had been a while since we'd gone out as a family. They never agreed on where they wanted to go or what they wanted to do, and then, one day, his closet was empty.
The wrappers started to move, expanding like snakes. I added Mountain Dew from my straw to see how big they'd grow.
She stopped me, saying, you're making a mess.
I said, you started it.
She said, don't blame me for your life. Men are dicks. And she stuffed her mouth with the pink flesh and the soggy roll.
We got mine wrapped to go.
Your father never liked a tart pickle, she said. Your father never liked a decent meal.
She wanted me to dip my sandwich in the blood they served on the side like a thin gravy.
Dip it! She growled, drinking beer.
I wasn't dipping. I wasn't anything. I wanted to disappear, to be someone else, someone - according to her and everyone - I could never be.
She dipped her sandwich and shook it at me. See how the blood seeps into the roll? Kaiser rolls, she told me. Hard. Kaiser's German for king.
Blood hit the straw wrappers. I had a thing about squishing them down to the tiniest possible accordions. I used to be the official family straw wrapper remover. But it had been a while since we'd gone out as a family. They never agreed on where they wanted to go or what they wanted to do, and then, one day, his closet was empty.
The wrappers started to move, expanding like snakes. I added Mountain Dew from my straw to see how big they'd grow.
She stopped me, saying, you're making a mess.
I said, you started it.
She said, don't blame me for your life. Men are dicks. And she stuffed her mouth with the pink flesh and the soggy roll.
We got mine wrapped to go.