THE BLOOMING ONION
Sifting through the ashes to find a new life blooming
from a tragedy.
By
Grant Walters
for Literary
Non-fiction, ETSU
* * *
About the
author: Grant Walters is a sniveling depressant who writes
about sniveling depressants. He was the
head writer of a student produced drama series.
Grant also has two writing credits in independent films. They are The Bed we lie in, and The
Café Vuh. Grant plans to finish his
undergraduate degree hopefully in the not so far future, then he has plans of
organizing a secret society with goals of taking over the world.
* * *
The
The year was 1998 and I was a junior
in high school searching for something to believe in that was more than what I
could find at a country high school. My
grades were slipping, but what could I do, I was working more than I attended
school. I had motives of course. This was the time period of my life when I
actually understood why people saved money. I had not made it to college yet,
where all you need do is sign your name to a piece of paper to receive plastic
money. My motives were simple. I wanted a car. My parents couldn’t afford to purchase me one
because my father had just been laid off after 16 years. This was a hard year altogether. I kept asking myself why so many other people
had so much more than I did. I became
resentful from these observations. The more time I could spend away from home
was for the better. I worked my shift to
save every penny for what would one day become the lamest mustang on the road.
Until then one of my parents would have to drive me around. This was my life, it wasn’t fancy by any
means, but at least it had structure to it.
Structure is something I longed for.
The kind of structure my brother Ben had found in the Navy. I was proud of him although I would never
admit it.
Ben was a good chap if you get right
down to it. Sure, we had our battles
just like every other sibling’s do. It
was normal to throw knives at each other or to push or be pushed out a
window. I was younger, so he usually got
in trouble before I did. My parents
would always tell him “You should know better Ben, set the example”. It was hard not to smile in victory during
that speech. Things began to change little by little as his departure date for
boot camp started closing in. Our parents
would say that we actually began to like each other’s company. The only thing that was keeping us apart
during this time was the other company Ben was holding. He was dating this completely horrid
individual by the name of Liz. It was a little scary because this was the
first girl who had lasted more than a week with him. She was also the only girl
who I had ever had a true dislike for.
All I could see in here was the complete materialism of someone trying
to buy happiness, and the constant put downs she made on my brother. It was funny.
Just a year before I would have found all the insults at Ben’s expense
to be funny, but people change I guess, little by little over time. The two were to be married and Liz was to
move with him to
When
Ben was living in
Due to the distance of the move, the
Navy saw fit to give extra time in between so that Ben and his wife were to be
in transition for many days before the voyage.
What this meant to my family and me was that they were to use my
parent’s house as some kind of dumping ground for personal belongings. I decided I was going to try something new
during Ben and his wife’s visit. I was
going to be the bigger man, and no matter what conversation was going to take
place, I decided to keep my mouth shut.
Honestly, I didn’t want to mess up my chances of going to
We arrived at our house and the
normal hugs and so forth pursued. The
smell in the air was that of fried sausages and peppers and onions. The smell was a little think, but for the
first time I actually thought the dinner might not only be edible, but actually
might taste good. We all talked in the
small kitchen in the middle of our split foyer house. I started to sweat from the congested room
and high heat of each stove burner. My
sister-in-law was cutting a big onion and by this point I was starving to the
last inch of me. It didn’t help that my
dad was already sneaking bites of sausage from the plate. Every time I try to
sneak food someone always says “can’t you wait, inconsiderate”? My brother was getting drinks as my Sister-in-law was dipping the nicely cut
onion in the make at home batter. My dad
and I hung back to talk. We always have
some kind of inside joke going on between us.
The jokes usually keep us busy and out of trouble during certain
situations. These situations include
sister-in-law visits, holiday’s with certain family members, and ignorant
people we encounter. During this time
mom was the only one attentive enough to react when a small flame arose from a
black cast iron skillet full of shorting oil.
She pulled out a lid from under the cabinet of the stove and covered the
fire distinguishing it. She lectured Liz
for the mishap, a normal occurrence with my mother. She is the kind of person that would iron my
white t-shirt on pajama day at school.
There’s a wrong way to do things, then there is her way of doing
things. No one was disputing her being
wrong on this occasion however.
It happened instantly; no one could
have reacted fast enough. The lid was
removed after what seemed to be sufficient time. The fireball went upward into the cabinet
above the stove. Everyone was
chaotic. My mother was trying to get the
flour out of the cub bard already engulfed in flames. My father grabbed a kitchen towel and was
swatting at the fire that was spreading around the square kitchen we were all
standing in. Ben rushed town stairs to
hit the emergency breaker to turn of all power to the house. I watched in confusion wondering why no one
was going for any water, but in my ignorance I discovered why grease and water
don’t mix. It couldn’t be controlled, our
house was filling up with smoke and my asthma was closing my lungs. It wasn’t until Ben ran back in the room
screaming for us to leave that everyone finally realized the severity of the
situation. We ran to the front yard as
our mother ran to her car. In Our
confusion we watched both her pilling away down the driveway of the house, and
the horror of a ceiling fan falling from our kitchen. It wasn’t but a few moments when I realized
where my mother had gone. The distinct
rattle of her car was driving back up our road followed by the sound of sirens.
My mother was a hero that day. Without
her quick thinking we would have lost our entire house to flames.
We were all alive. Our possessions were damaged from smoke and
water damage. My lungs also didn’t work
properly for a while, but for some odd reason the fire would help me. It made me realize how much I take for
granted. I say this up until the point
in my life when a finally realized a dream and bought my first car. That Mustang wasn’t the safest car to
drive. Not only did it take oil and
transmission fluid every other time I got gas, I also tried to burry myself in
my coat again. Driving is a little hard
when you cant see over the steering wheel.
The fire also gives me more explanation to people when they ask why I
dislike my sister-in-law. I simply say
“she burned down my house”. I exaggerate
because the fire wasn’t all her fault, and my house wasn’t burned
completely. I still like to watch the
reactions from people.
Every time my sister-in-law cooks a meal,
every time I see a 16-year-old kid driving a bran new car their parents bought
them, and every time I pass by the small apartment me and my parents lived in
for many months, all I say is “damn you blooming onion”.