Stuffed (2 page)

Julia put down her lunch bag. I knew what would be inside—salad, either a chicken or tuna sandwich and a bottle of water. She hardly ever ate anything that wasn't healthy,
so her threat not to eat at Frankie's again wasn't really going to cost them a lot of money.

“Where's Oswald?” she asked.

I shrugged. “He doesn't check his every move with
me
.”

“What does that mean?” Julia asked.

“Nothing.”

Nothing I was going to talk about, but I was getting mighty sick of him sucking up to her—agreeing with whatever she said, complimenting her, pretending he was actually interested in what she was saying. Man, it was ugly when friends became more than just friends. Oswald was being a chicken and Julia hadn't even noticed. At least she was pretending she hadn't noticed.

“I still can't get over you saying you'd still eat at Frankie's,” Julia said.

“Everything in moderation,” I said. “Socrates.”

“Socrates would have been smart enough not to eat at Frankie's.”

“I don't know,” I said. “Didn't he die when he drank poison?”

“Frankie's is poison,” Julia said. “I don't know why you can't see that.”

Looking beyond Julia I caught sight of Oswald. He was carrying a tray. On the tray—there in plain view—was a Coke, a burger and a side order of fries. I started to smile.

“You think this is funny?” Julia questioned.

“Nope, nothing funny here. You just can't expect us all to be as convinced as you and Oswald.”

“Convinced of what?” Oswald said as he put his tray down and took a seat.

“Convinced that…” Julia stopped talking, and her eyes got wide in disbelief as she stared at Oswald's lunch. “You bought French fries?”

“And a burger, and I do believe that is an order of onion rings…I think onions are a vegetable…aren't they?” I chided.

“How…how could you?” Julia demanded, sounding like Oswald had kicked a puppy or cheated on her.

He looked genuinely confused. “I didn't
do anything. I was just getting my lunch and—” He suddenly got it. “But I didn't get this from Frankie's.”

“It doesn't matter where you got it from. It's still all poison!”

“Don't forget about the onion rings. Onions are a—” I said.

“Shut up, Ian!” Julia snapped. “You're not going to eat any of that are you?”

“I…I…I guess not…but I am hungry,” Oswald replied.

“Wanna trade?” I asked.

“I spent five bucks on this meal,” Oswald said.

“Then you should have spent your money on a fruit tray or a salad or a yogurt and some juice,” Julia said. “You know they have all of those things in the cafeteria, right?”

“Sure, right, I know,” Oswald said.

“So…you want to trade or just toss it?” I asked.

Oswald shook his head slowly and scowled. “We can trade.”

He pushed the tray across the table and I slid my lunch back to him.

“You already took a bite,” he said, holding up the sandwich.

“Sorry. I didn't know we'd be trading. You want some fries?” I asked, holding them out. They were still steamy hot and smelled good.

“No thanks.”

“Don't say I didn't offer.”

“I was telling Ian that I was never going to eat at Frankie's again,” Julia said. “And I told him I wasn't the only one. You're not going to eat there anymore, right?” she asked Oswald.

“No, of course not.”

I made a little motion like he was being whipped—which he was. Julia didn't notice, but Oswald did and looked embarrassed.

“But you will eat at those other fast-food places, right?” I asked, tightening the screws a little bit more on him.

“Maybe…sometimes…but only the healthy stuff…mostly,” Oswald said.

“I'm surprised you aren't becoming a vegetarian, like Julia.” I was really enjoying watching him squirm.

“I'm not eating as much meat,” he said.

“Really? I'm only one step away from being a vegetarian myself,” I said.

“You are?” Julia asked.

“I only eat animals that
are
vegetarians.”

“Sometimes you are such a jerk!” Julia said.

“Sometimes? That's a serious step up from what you usually say. Besides, if you think about it I'm eating French-fried
potatoes
,
onion
rings, and I doubt there really is any meat in this hamburger either.”

“Seriously,” Julia said, “are you saying that movie had no effect on you?”

I took a big bite from the burger and chewed it slowly, swallowing before I answered.

“I think it was pretty powerful, and I really can understand why somebody would choose to not ever eat there again, or not as often. Really, I don't think I'm going to be going there for a long time myself.”

Julia gave a smug, satisfied little smile.

“I wonder how Frankie's feels about the film,” Oswald said.

“Not happy would be my guess. Really, really not happy,” Julia said.

I shook my head. “I don't think they could care less.”

“How can you say that?” Julia asked.

“It's just some little documentary film that hardly anybody is going to see. Did either of you ever hear of it before today?”

They both shook their heads.

“It wasn't in the movie theaters, and I doubt you can even rent it at Blockbuster. Frankie's is a multinational, billion-dollar company with thousands of franchises. Do you really think it matters to them if a few people decide not to eat there so often?”

Julia didn't answer right away, which meant she knew I was right and didn't want to admit it.

“Well?” I asked, pushing her.

“I can't control what other people do or don't do,” Julia said.

Other than Oswald, I thought, but didn't say it. I knew where the line was—even if I did choose to step over it every now and again. I grabbed a couple of French fries and stuffed them in my mouth. They really weren't as good as Frankie's fries.

“Well, I think that pretty well settles it,” my father said as he got up from the dining room table, taking his dishes with him.

“I'm glad you agree,” my mother said. “And it's a sign of your increasing maturity that you're able to admit defeat.”

“Defeat!” my father exclaimed, spinning around on his heels. “The only defeat here is yours! I very successfully defended my
position and exposed the faults in your argument!”

“There are no faults in my argument. Perhaps the logic was too refined for you to understand,” she said.

“Could you two stop it?” I said, cutting them both off before they could continue.

My father looked surprised by my outburst. “We're having a friendly debate.”

“Yes, a healthy exchange of ideas,” my mother added.

“No, you're not. You're holding a full trial. All you need is a judge and a jury to deliver a verdict.”

“A judge,” my father said. “That would be a good thing.” He looked at my mother and then they both looked at me and smiled.

“I'm not being the judge,” I said, figuring out what he had in mind.

“Why not?” my father asked. “We trust your judgment and you heard our arguments.”

“I heard
some
of what you both said. I drifted off a couple of times.”

“Even better,” my father said.

“How can that be better?”

“Half the judges I've ever appeared before fell asleep on the bench.”

“It doesn't matter. I'm not giving a verdict here. Couldn't we have the occasional supper conversation that didn't end up as a trial?”

My mother got up from the table and started to help my father clear the dishes. “I guess us having these discussions is an occupational hazard. If you had two parents who were doctors instead of lawyers, we'd be talking medicine.”

“Actually, if we were both doctors you wouldn't even
be
here,” my father said.

“He has a point, Ian.”

My parents had met in a courtroom. He was the lawyer for one side and she was the lawyer for the other side. They started fighting there in the court, continued fighting afterward when they went for a friendly drink and didn't stop until they were married six months later. They went on to form a partnership—Cheevers and Cheevers. Now they were just about the best-known—and feared—trial lawyers in the city.

“Do you want to wash or dry?” my mother asked.

“I'll do whatever you want,” my father answered.

She slipped her arm around his waist and gave him a kiss on the cheek. People who didn't know them and heard them arguing with each other would have thought they hated each other. They didn't. They were almost sickeningly in love. Twenty-seven years of marriage and four kids later they still held hands and giggled at each other's bad jokes.

I got up and cleared my dishes away. “It would be nice to just have a normal family discussion over dinner sometimes,” I said.

“What do you mean?” my father asked.

“You know, talking about what's on TV, or a movie, or what I did at school today.”

“What
did
you do at school today?” my mother asked.

“Nothing.”

“Thanks for sharing that,” my father joked.

“We could just talk. Especially when
we have someone over for dinner. It can be confusing for them.”

“Julia never seems to mind,” my father said. “I think she enjoys our discussions.”

“Julia likes arguing even more than the two of you do,” I said.

“She does enjoy a good discussion. That girl would make one fine lawyer.”

That was just about the biggest compliment my father could ever give. My not wanting to follow in the family tradition bothered them, even if they didn't say much about it.

“Speaking of Julia, we haven't seen much of her lately. It's been weeks since she joined us for dinner,” my mother said.

“I think she's at Oswald's tonight.”

“Oswald's? We haven't seen as much of him lately either,” my mother said. “It wasn't because of something we said, was it?”

I shook my head. “Actually it was something Oswald said to Julia. He said, ‘Do you want to go to a movie, and do you want to be my girlfriend?'”

“Julia and Oswald are dating?” my mother questioned.

“I guess that's the word.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Officially about two weeks,” I said, although I wanted to say “way too long.”

“Funny, I can't picture the two of them together,” my father said.

“Me neither,” my mother agreed.

I could see their point. I'd actually seen the two of them together and still couldn't picture it.

“I always thought Julia would end up with you,” my mother said.

“Me?” I exclaimed.

“Yeah, I thought the same thing,” my father agreed.

“But Julia and I do nothing but fight!” I argued.

“Sounds like your mother and me,” my father said with a chuckle.

“I had visions of someday changing the name of the firm from Cheevers and Cheevers to Cheevers and Cheevers and Cheevers and Cheevers and Cheevers.”

I shook my head. “Could we just go back to arguing legal issues?”

They both laughed.

“Nothing wrong with a little healthy debate,” my father said.

“Tell that to Mr. Phillips,” I muttered.

“Healthy debate stopped when you swore at him,” my mother said firmly.

“If either of us had said to a judge what you said to your teacher, we'd be jailed for contempt of court,” my father said.

“What would you have said to a judge who was so clearly wrong?” I asked.

“I'd politely point out his error,” my father answered.

“And if he didn't listen?”

“Well…”

“He wouldn't have sworn at the judge,” my mother said. “Your father would have appealed the judge's error.”

“That was my problem. Nobody to appeal to.”

“Your principal explained that you could have spoken to her to try to correct the situation,” my father said.

“My principal is a bigger idiot than Phillips!”

“This discussion is getting us nowhere. How about since I'm washing and your father is drying that you put things away?”

“How about if I finish my homework first?”

“I guess that makes sense. The witness is excused.”

I went downstairs to my room. I'd recently changed rooms—from upstairs, where all the other bedrooms were, to a room in the basement that used to be a guest bedroom. I opened the door a few inches. It wouldn't open much more than that because of all the stuff on the floor. I squeezed through the gap and then closed the door tightly after me.

Every piece of clothing I owned was spread out across the floor. The only exceptions were
a suit I wore for weddings and funerals, which was hanging in the closet, and a laundry basket that had some newly washed, clean clothes. The basket sat at the end of my bed.

To the uninformed observer it would have looked like my room was in complete chaos, as if it had been ransacked and robbed, or a small indoor tornado had swept through. Neither of those was true. There was a system in place. Sweaters, hoodies and long-sleeved shirts were in the far left corner, by the window. T-shirts were in the far right-hand corner. Pants and shorts were in the near corner, by the closet, and socks and underwear occupied the final corner. The four clothing groups then spread out from their respective resting places and met, sort of merging, in the very center of the room. That's where I stood when I was getting dressed. Everything was within my reach. It was, as I said, a system.

My mother had other words for it, but we had a deal. It was my room and I could keep it any way I wanted as long as she didn't have to look at it. That was why the door was closed all the time. Actually I wouldn't have
minded the door being open to allow cross-ventilation with the window. The place could use an airing out.