Flying aubergines

I had never before looked at a pair of eggplants as a tool, until the day my mother used them as a weapon. It was Sunday afternoon, lunch time, and neither one of us was in the mood. The kitchen is a despised place in our home; a laboratory in a house full of books; a pottery studio for useless hands. And yet, there it sits, always waiting for the next meal to be conjured. And we reluctantly comply. But you know what doesn’t help? August in Barcelona. So, there sat two perfectly plump eggplants on top of the fruit bowl, begging to be eaten once and for all. My mother finally dragged herself out of the office chair and onto the tiled floor at around 2pm and rummaged in the fridge to cool off and come up with a meal. The sound of ruffling travelled across the hall and into my room, and I became aware of my stomach's growls. A glance at the time, and hangryness established itself.

Sigh.

Before coming out into the living room, I held on to the door frame and stretched. Ready for battle. There’s a game we play, Mom and I, in which we make the other feel guilty for letting it get this late, for not taking initiative. She had earned herself a point by going into the kitchen first, but I had my own deck of cards to play.

“Wow, it’s so late. No wonder I’m starving.” (Touché).

“Yeah, well, I’ve been busy dealing with bills.” (Counterattack).

“... so, what are we having?”

“I don’t know hun, that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

Silence has always been my ammunition. So I poured myself a glass of water and started making my way back to my room, my slippers becoming heavy. My mother, on the other hand, is the queen of making snide comments under her breath; quietly enough so that you’d miss it if you weren’t paying attention, but just loud enough so that I myself never miss a beat. “Oh, of course, the princess expects to be waited on”. Taking a big gulp of water I walked it off, slumping onto my desk chair once again. By the time 2.45pm rolled around, I decided to go back into the battlefield, purporting to get more water. But when I did, Mom was in the early stages of chopping up some onion, nothing in the pan but some herbs tossed in olive oil. Indignant - utterly consumed by my hunger - I took a bowl from the cabinet and the box of Kellogg’s from the pantry.

“What are you doing?”

“Having lunch.”

“I’m making lunch.” 

“Well, it’s taking too long,” I immediately felt her gaze burning through my skull.

“Excuse me?”

I responded with the sound of the corn flakes hitting the bottom of the ceramic bowl.

Scoff. “Unbelievable. This entire time you could have been helping me put lunch together, but god forbid I distract you from your videogame.”

“It’s fine Mom, I really don’t mind just eating some cereal.” 

“Yeah, well, hun, I’d rather be doing a whole list of other things instead of standing around the kitchen trying to come up with something to feed you.”

“So don’t. I can feed myself.”

She scoffed again, in disbelief. Then she pointedly turned on her heels and began storming off towards the terrace. Mumbling under my breath has never been my forte, but I let one slip. “Crazy bitch.” 

That was the trigger that sent her over the edge. She had reached for the fruit bowl, knocking some peaches to the floor. As I turned around to see what the racket was about, one purple blob was already propelling my way. I ducked down instinctively, all the while keeping my eyes on her left hand still gripping the other eggplant. She slammed it against the stove and slid the glass doors shut behind her. I got out of my crouch. 

My sister was standing by the hallway, dumbfounded. 

“What’s going on?”