“Almost all our misfortunes in life come from the wrong notions we have about the things that happen to us. To know men thoroughly, to judge events sanely is, therefore, a great step towards happiness.” (Journal, Dec. 10, 1801)

For two weeks, Tony and I did not look at each other. He blamed me for his shame, while I believed it was his fault.

Carrying my bag lunch, I stood behind Henry, the nose-picker, with Tony behind me. No one wanted to stand next to Henry, since everyone thought he was gross for eating his boogers.

At first, he used to make me sick when he performed his disgusting habit, but as long as I did not have to hold his hand, Henry was charming.

Everyday we would walk home from school. Henry and I were like peas in a pod; we talked about all kinds of stuff. Whenever we found a cluster of flowers, Henry would help me pick them so I could take them home. If Henry found a penny or a nickel on the road, he would give it to me. Henry thought he was my boyfriend and I really did not care. It was nice to have someone to talk to on the way home from school.

When we entered the cafeteria, Henry turned around and said, “Here, I’m not hungry,” opening his hand to reveal a quarter.

“No,” I replied shaking my head before walking over to the table. I sat at the end of the table, which was my assigned seat.

Opening the paper sack, I took out the wrapped peanut butter pancake sandwich in an old bread bag. Removing the stacked pancakes, I sniffed the bread bag, hoping to remember the taste of white bread. I had to eat the pancakes before the class caught a glimpse of my lunch. I took several bites trying to pry my tongue loose from the sticky peanut butter. Desperately, I needed some water to swallow it down. Mother had packed a plastic cup, so I could ask for water. I would have to wait until Mrs. Brown sat at the table.

Behind me, I saw Ellen, a neighborhood friend. She had brought a lunch, too. Ellen took out a sandwich wrapped in wax paper, a banana, two cookies wrapped in a smaller sheet of wax paper along with a thermos containing grape Kool-Aid.

“She always brings her lunch,” said one of my female classmates.

“Yeah, that’s because her family lives in Slab Town,” replied another.

Quickly, I jammed the pancake mess back into the paper sack along with the bread bag.

Holding onto the cup, I looked in the direction of where Mrs. Brown was sitting and motion for permission to get water.

I walked over to the water fountain. I waved at Ellen. Ellen waved back inviting me to stop at her table. Cautiously, I looked back at my table. Good! No one would ever know.

“Here.” Ellen held the two cookies in her hand.

“No, that’s okay, you eat them,” I mumbled.

“I saw what you stuck back in the bag. Take them!” Ellen put the two cookies in my hand.

Blushing, I wanted to say, ‘Oh, lord, thank you.’ Instead, I mumbled, “thanks.”

I sat in my seat and began nibbling on one of the oatmeal cookies.

“Hey, there’s Ellen’s older sister wiping tables,” someone said.

I did not look to see who spoke. Instead, I looked to see if it was Ellen’s sister, Lizzie.

Yes, it was Lizzie wearing a hair net. When she finished wiping the tables, Lizzie would receive a lunch tray. She was a sixth-grader and why she was not with her class, I did not know. I began to wonder what is worse, cleaning tables to get a free meal or having the words ‘feed me’ stamped on one’s forehead.

A year ago, I ignored the taunting hurled at the kids from Slab Town. Mother always reminded me, we live two blocks away from Slab Town. We do not live in Slab Town! We live in Plant City. I wore new clothes and bought my lunch like the rest of the Plant Citians who were non-Slab Towners.

In the blink of an eye, life had drastically changed. Father had a nervous breakdown caused by flashbacks of being an officer in World War II. He could not forget being one of the only two survivors in his unit. His comrades were wiped out from the exploding bombs. Bombs that did not fall from enemy planes, but from our very own. Father was intuitive. He knew before it happened. A secret he would carry to his grave.

I tossed the paper bag into the trash bin. Oops! I forgot! Oh, well, too late now. Mother would be upset! She needed those items to pack tomorrow’s lunch. Well, there was only one thing to do. I would have to tell her the teacher made me throw it away.

For the rest of the school day, I was hungry. On the way home, Henry began to look like a nice, pork roast. No, no, no, I must not think like that.

Before reaching the back porch, I knew I would see him there. I could feel him! Snapping chips of white paint off the side of one wall was my younger brother, Joey. He began nibbling on a piece.

“Hey, I want some?”

Joey gave me a large piece and said, “It tastes just like ice cream.”

I bit into it. I spit it out. It tasted like chalk! Joey rolled on his back laughing.

“I fooled you,” he chuckled.

“You, worm,” I screamed knocking him down and tickling him on the stomach.

The story continues next week with a new chapter, Survival.

Check out Saturna Brown’s website: http://alieninthekitchen.spaces.live.com/