Peanut Butter Part I

Eli always found living in southernmost central Missouri a true adventure--especially being Jewish in the early sixties in the town of Advent. The use of outhouses he found intriguing to say the least. His family had indoor plumbing which was nice but he figured he was really missing out on something.

But that was only the third important memory of what he would finally recall of the place.
One had to remember that his mother was an over-planner. Everything that could ever happen had to be prepared for months in advance. Even disasters. Even deaths. Yes, it had gotten that bad.

Fortinbras' march through Hamlet's Denmark at a minimum equaled the jar of peanut butter debacle that had occurred that early August day. It was one of those skin sticky to the bone days that turned people into sloths who moved only when the sun did. And it was only six- thirty in the morning. Mom was still staying at home since Eli and his brother Rueben were in and out of trouble so much that the family got worried. Tipping cows, never bulls, and pushing over outhouses, sometimes with people still in them was frowned upon by the local residents. Especially by Westerners like they were.

Mom was also a cataclymist. Inherited it from her mother and so on back to Kiev or Odessa. That argument was never to be settled. The family had to lay in supplies just in case a siege like that of Stalingrad during a WWII winter came their unlucky way. There had to be at least a dozen of each item in reserve. Spoilage was never a real problem since most of the time the soldiers, as Dad called them under his breath and away from Mom's hypersensitive ears on such matters, trotted up to the front of the pantry in a well-timed fashion. It was a pretty solid arrangement. Even Eli could not pervert it which was saying somethin'.

It was a Wednesday morning around seven-thirty when it was drizzling outside. There was a pungent smell like decayed sweat socks mixing with unburied week-dead kitten. All the other kids were at school except Eli and Rueben, and Rueben as always was asleep. Eli thought Rueben was a possum-chile. Still a boy but possum nonetheless.

One thinks that way when they are four, nearly five.

That day, when Eli had gotten up, he just knew it was going to be a great day. His bratty sisters Susannah and Deborah were at school until three and that was nirvana to him. Always playing innocent and sweet and then getting him in trouble behind Mom's back. Like those Siamese cats in that dumb, girl Disney movie. If they were in an outhouse, he would tip it over no questions asked at all. Especially Deborah. Even his biggest brother Jedidiah would help him out if she were in there and that, yes that, would be a miracle.

The refrigerator was sweating on its sides when Eli opened the door. The bread bag was a siren that was calling sweetly but with wrinkles galore. Eli would have preferred not to have seen that at all.

To be continued . . . .

© Michael Cluff