Tuna Fish

I stood in the kitchen, my heels locked down in defiance. I had stood in that spot stubbornly for several minutes watching as my grandmother prepared my sack of food. It was for the slumber party that I was to attend at the local YWCA that evening.

“TUNA FISH!” I yelled. “NOBODY is gonna have tuna fish at the party!” I held my nose in disgust. “I HATE TUNA FISH!” I screamed the words loudly.

“SHUT UP!” My grandfather roared from another room. “ENOUGH YELLING IN THIS HOUSE!" he shouted.

“Really…enough dear,” my grandmother said softly, still stuffing the bread with the foul fish.

“But I HATE tuna fish!” I pleaded.

“No, you don’t,” she said.

“Yes, I do!” I covered my nose again. It was beyond me how anyone could place something so rancid into their mouth and actually enjoy it.

“No, you don’t. You just forgot you liked it.” My grandmother wrapped the disgraceful, mushy flesh into a ball of greasy, recycled tin foil. She dropped it along with a bag of stale pretzels and a warm coke into a wilted brown paper bag. She held the sack out to me, her long arms waving it in my face. I folded my arms in protest. “Here child,” she said, shoving it at me. “Now…let’s get the rest of your things.” Her lean body breezed past me in the kitchen and headed towards the bedroom. I allowed the sack to drop to the floor. She kept walking.

“PICK IT UP!” My grandfather yelled. He could hear a pin drop on cotton. “PICK IT UP…I SAID…NOW!”

I hesitated for a few moments before I heard him instantly jump to his feet and begin ripping his belt from around his waist. Something he did often if I or one of my siblings moved too slowly when given a command. I quickly grabbed the sack and stood to my feet the exact moment that he rushed into the room. He folded his belt into a long, round, giant loop.

“Now you listen to me, girl!” he snapped “you take that sack of food, get into that bedroom, and get yourself ready for that party…you hear me?!”

I nodded.

He jiggled his belt.

“Yes, sir,” I said. I hung my head low and eased my way past him. I strolled slowly into the bedroom.

“There now,” my grandmother said. Her words were drawn out like warm honey. She placed the rest of my clothes into a small overnight bag. “I think that’s everything.” She turned to me. “Why such a long face, child?” she asked. “You don’t look like you goin’ to anybody’s party. That’s for sure.”

I stuck my lip out. I hadn’t wanted to go to the stupid party, anyway. It was my grandmother’s idea. She was always coming up with an idea that she thought was wonderful, but I always thought made me suffer. She’d packed all of my least favorite and most embarrassing clothing.

“I can’t wear FOOTIE PAJAMAS to the slumber party!” I yelled. In disbelief, I removed them from the suitcase. She quickly snatched them from my fingers and began to re-fold them.

“Yes, you can. It’s cold outside; it’s wintertime. You’ll be glad to have them on later. You wait and watch what I say.” She pushed them back into the suitcase with all of the other hideous items. I looked at the purple striped socks, green fuzzy slippers, and polka dot turtleneck from my great aunt that made me dizzy to look at. I sat on the edge of the bed sulking.

“Everyone is gonna LAUGH AT ME!” I cried. “NOBODY is gonna TALK to me!”

“That’s not true. You're gonna have a good time. I bet you're gonna make a great new friend.”

She closed the suitcase. “Now…get your coat.”

I grabbed my jacket and before I could scarcely put my arm into it, my grandmother began stuffing me inside of it like she did the clothes in the suitcase. She then pulled an old scratchy wool hat down over my ears.

She smiled down at me. “You look so cute!”

“You look a HOT MESS!” my little brother Billy yelled from the doorway.

“SHUT UP!” I screamed as my grandmother grabbed my hand and pulled me and my suitcase down the hallway.

My grandfather was waiting impatiently as usual. “What is taking so long?” He paced from one end of the room to the other. When we entered the doorway and he glared at us.

“She’s ready,” my grandmother said, fixing my collar and ignoring his intimidating stare.

He grabbed my suitcase and swiftly waddled out of the door to the car. He grumbled as I tumbled into the back seat. On the radio, B.B. King played the blues I was feeling as I was taken away hostage. The short ride to the YWCA felt more like a funeral procession. When we arrived, my grandfather, still grumbling, quickly ushered me to the bottom of the steps.

“Have a good time!” he yelled as he drove away.

I held the bag of stinky food inside my coat, hoping to squash the putrid smell. When I walked into the large gymnasium, children had already marked their territory with colorful sleeping bags and had paired off into small private groups. I made my way to the far corner of the large room and sat down with my homemade blanket and a tiny green pillow that my grandmother grabbed from the living room sofa.

I looked around trying to find someone I knew. I recognized some of the girls there, I did not know them personally, so I sat there alone still sulking and in great aggravation. After some time, I changed into my pajamas-feeling bored and somewhat hungry; I pulled out some comic books and my stinky food. I spread it out before me. Suddenly, I heard a voice call out to me.

"WHAT IS THAT SMELL?” The voice rang out. I looked up to find three of the older girls from the neighborhood towering over me. I didn’t know their names, but I knew them not to be nice, especially the one who operated as the bodyguard of the two with the big mouths.

“TUNA FISH!” The big mouth yelled. “WHO BRINGS TUNA FISH TO A SLUMBER PARTY?!” They pointed and laughed at me until I felt utterly ashamed. Then, the big tall bodyguard grunted at me and took her barefoot and squashed my tuna sandwich and my pretzels onto the floor before picking up my warm coke and walking away.

Feeling embarrassed, I quickly cleaned up the mess and tossed it away before sitting back in the corner alone. My stomach growled and called out to me, but I ignored it. Suddenly, my nostrils noticed a familiar scent. I turned to see another neighborhood girl standing next to me. She said nothing but held in her hand half a tuna sandwich. I took the offering. We sat there, both in our footie pajamas. I handed her a comic book, and we shared in silence together. That night, I discovered that maybe my grandmother was right. Maybe I did like tuna fish, and certainly, I had made a new friend.