Drabble: The Pepper Story
“I’m going to have you stay on Dory Duty,” Arveldis chuckles, sparing a glance for the toddler at his side. The two-year-old sits atop the counter, swinging his feet and eyeing his father’s platter of vegetables with big, mesmerized eyes. Arveldis passes a slice of green pepper to the boy, who snatches it in his eager, chubby fingers and crams it into his mouth.
“He eats those like they’re candy.” Lhaeben pets back Sindorin’s fair, flyaway mane.
“Good,” Arveldis chuckles. “Ah – actually, Benny, can you mince those onions for me?” He lays a cutting board down on the other side of the washbasin where he’d rinsed the veggies. “I ought to open some windows,” he sighs, rolling up his sleeves. He pats Sindorin on the knee on his way past the counter.
Sindorin, the brilliant and crafty spitfire that he is, realizes that there is nothing standing immediately between him and delicious paradise. Boldly, he reaches for the platter, and he wraps a tiny fist around a full and dark green pepper.
“Oh,” Lhaeben sets his knife down, “Dory – no, child. Not that one.”
“What’s the matter?” Arveldis turns away from the window. “Oh, for Gods’ sakes, Dory, put that down.”
“No!” He clutches the nightmare fuel in both of his hands and takes a monstrous chomp out of it.
Arveldis presses his fingertips against his lips, watching in mute horror as his unsuspecting son crunches away. Parental instincts suggest he remove that wretched thing from the poor child’s grasp, but they are only seconds away from impending doom, and he cannot bring himself to move.
Slowly, Sindorin’s expression shifts from one of glee to one of utter betrayal. He gapes at the offending vegetable as if it has mortally wounded him, his jaw still going for the fact that he has not yet contributed this agony to his favorite food. Dory’s little face contorts and turns red, rivulets of drool already beginning to trickle down his chin. He draws in a shuddering breath, and he wails.
“Benny, get some milk,” Arveldis pulls a hand towel off the rack above the counter.
Confused, yet determined, Dory sobs and sputters as he takes another careful bite of the pepper. Arveldis laughs, a sad and pitying chuckle that is difficult to smother, and he starts to dab the drool off of his son’s chin. “Give Daddy the pepper, Dory,” he gently pries at the boy’s fingers. Lhaeben can hardly pour a cup of milk for his raucous, wheezing laughter.
Instead, Sindorin leans forward, and opens his mouth over Arveldis’s hand until the chewed-up green bits drip into his palm. Arveldis believes the worst to be over until a familiar and offensive aroma tickles his nostrils.
“Oh, you poor thing,” he scoops the coughing, weeping child into his arms, “I am never going to be allowed alone with you again.”
