The Crawfish Boil

It was the summer of 2008 and we were celebrating the campaign of Barack Obama in our Southern town. It was 12 o’ clock and my family and I were visiting a family friend who invited us to her crawfish boil. As a huge fan of seafood I couldn’t wait. My mom put on her pearl necklace and her bright yellow summer dress. I love my mother; she is so pretty, with her strawberry blonde hair in waves and her full lips. Dad was so lucky he married her.

“You ready?” she asked me.

I nodded. Mariana, my sister, wouldn’t be coming because she was at a friend’s house.

We walked down the block. Mrs. Weathers, the family friend, didn’t live too far away, only five minutes down the block. Even from down the block I could smell the Cajun spices and the barbeque. It tantalized my taste-buds and my olfactory senses.

Mrs. Weathers came out and I saw she was heavily pregnant. Her bump swelled under her turquoise maternity summer dress, and she wore these beautiful white-rimmed sunglasses. She put the sunglasses atop her head, and walked over to us.

“Hiiiii!!!!” she squealed as she and my mom hugged.

My mom let go after five minutes and she introduced me.

“This is Kayla,” she said, nodding for me to shake Mrs. Weathers’ hand.

“Nice to meet you,” I nodded, staring at her bump.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Kayla!” she gushed in her Southern drawl. “Please dig in! We’ve just started cooking the burgers.”

A tall tanned gentleman with wavy black hair and a wide toothy grin turned to us as he grilled juicy hamburgers. A table piled high with steaming crawfish, corn on the cob dripping with butter, and a bowl of creamy potato salad called to me.

“Help yourself!” he laughed as he saw my hungry expression, his eyes darting to the table.

“Thank you,” I said shyly, becoming more aware of my manners.

Mom handed me a plate, and I piled it high with food. She leaned over to me, and whispered “Save some for others. You don’t want people to think you are greedy.”

I sighed.

“Yes, Mom.”

I have always been a little overweight and I understand my mom was trying to help me lose some pounds, but I couldn’t help feeling self-conscious. I went over to Mrs. Weathers.

“Excuse me, ma’am, do you know where the drinks are?”

“Oh!” she laughed. “Come on with me, I can show you!” She motioned for me to come into the kitchen. On the linoleum floor sat a cooler full of perspiring cans of soda taking a bath in a melted pool of ice. I kneeled down and picked up a chilly can of Seven-Up.

“So do you work?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am, I work at Chili’s part-time.”

“Please, hon, call me Stacy!” she guffawed. “‘Mrs. Weathers’ or ‘ma’am’ makes me feel so doggone old.”

I tried to force a grin. Calling her anything other than her last name or a polite Southern title felt awkward.

“How is the school year going?”

“It’s ok. Algebra is challenging but my teacher is nice.”

“What’s her name?”

“Mrs. Rizzolo.”

“Oh!” she clapped her hands excitedly. “She and I are good friends. Her and her daughter live across the street from us. She had the flu though, so she couldn’t make it to the barbeque today. Poor thing, bless her heart. I called her to see if she was coming, and she had just finished puking in the toilet..”

I nearly gagged on my 7Up.

“Oh, sorry, that was a bit TMI.”

“It’s ok,” I coughed.

“Oh!” she laughed, putting her hands on her round stomach. “That was an elbow.”

I knew she was talking about the unborn baby.

“May I touch it?” I asked.

“Yes, of course!” she smiled. I placed my hand on her belly, and felt a sharp jab against my hand. It felt weird, like an alien was inside her.

“Does it hurt?”

“It’s rather uncomfortable at times, especially when I am sleeping. She kicks more after I eat ice cream, for some weird reason. That’s one of my cravings, by the way. The other day I had a whole tub of Ben n’ Jerry’s by myself. I felt so bad,” she laughed. “But you get used to it. If you’re wondering it’s a girl,” she winked. “Todd and I just found out this week when I went for my ultrasound.”

“What will you name her?” I asked.

“We haven’t decided yet. Maybe Elizabeth or Caitlyn.”

After a few moments, I didn’t feel anything. I took my hand away from her stomach.

“Sorry, I didn’t know if it was uncomfortable for you to have me touch your stomach.”

“Oh, no, darling! You don’t have to apologize at ALL!” she laughed. She placed a hand gently on my shoulder. “But I appreciate you asking. Your mother clearly brought you up with good manners.”

Good manners or not, I still felt like a perv.

We went back out, Mrs. Weathers cradling her bump as we walked. Mom was sitting with Mr. and Mrs. Rose, who wore Barack Obama “Yes We Can” buttons on their T-shirts. They sat around the table with half-finished plates of potato salad. A few flies danced around the mounds of greasy chicken bones and crawfish skeletons with shredded skin.

Mom turned to me.

“Where were you?”

“Oh…”

“Don’t worry, Sherri! I was just showing Kayla where the drinks were.”

Mom nodded.

Mr. Rose checked his watch.

“I am so sorry, Sherri and Stacy, but we gotta head to pick up our son from baseball practice.” Mr. and Mrs. Rose got up from their chairs, and embraced my mom in huge hugs. Then they went over to Mrs. Weathers and gave her hugs, too.

“Congratulations, Stacy!”

Mrs. Weathers beamed.

“Thank you so much, John! Patricia, thank you both for coming. Tell Little Earnest good luck for me.”

“We will!” they waved and trudged towards their silver minivan parked outside on the side street.

I went over to the table, which was running out of food.

“Oh, I saved your plate,” Mr. Weathers came over to me. “I saw you put it down and didn’t want it to get cold.”

I gently took it from him. That was really sweet of him.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Haha, please, call me Todd.”

I nodded. I went over to a table and sat with Stephanie and Rachel, two of my classmates in Mr. Brian’s English class. They sat and coolly watched a young blonde man standing and talking to 95-year old Mr. Paterson.

“Jesus, he is so fucking hot.” Stephanie licks her lips, and sips her Diet Coke. “I would totally tap that.”

“Is that Jesse? I thought he was dating Erica Brien,” Rachel said, turning to Stephanie.

Stephanie shrugs, then smirks.

“I heard they were breaking up. Apparently, Erica slept with Ricky on the basketball team and everyone found out all over social media…”

She lolls her head over to mine and giggles.

I continued to listen to them as they shared their fantasies about fucking Jesse. I really had nothing else to do and nowhere to be. Clara hadn’t scheduled me for any shifts today. I grabbed one of the crawfish from my plate. It was lukewarm, but I bit into the spicy flesh of that tiny crustacean and my mouth lit on millions of fires. I hurriedly spooned some potato salad in my mouth. I felt embarrassed, but Rachel and Stephanie weren’t really paying attention to me. They were probably too busy checking out Jesse’s Instagram to care.