Strange Tomato (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
strangetomato) wrote2009-06-01 12:34 pm
strangetomato) wrote2009-06-01 12:34 pm
Strangetown, Here We Come: Chapter 31.5
Somehow, I knew it was going to be a bad day as soon as I woke up. Sometimes you can just feel it.
I've always had pretty good intuition that way. I could usually tell, within five or ten minutes, whether Ripp was going to get into it with Dad or there was going to be a blowup between him and Tank, or some combination of the two. Brother, father, fighting. Lather, rinse, repeat. What difference did it really make?
I guess I would have been safe in assuming that on any day, but anyway... I always knew.
When I think back to that morning, I remember looking at Jill while she was still asleep and thinking how peaceful and happy she seemed, and how I didn't want to do anything to break her out of that, so I was as quiet as I could be. Not that I ever make much noise. I didn't inherit the stomping gene that Tank and Ripp both seem to have.
Jill seemed so serene, and I couldn't bear to wake her. It was like I knew she needed it. The peace would be broken all too soon.
Thankfully, the bathroom is on the other end of the apartment. It's hard to puke your guts up quietly.
It was the dinner with Lucy and Beau and Frances, most likely. It was a potluck. Lucy's casserole was best described as "interesting" - something from her mother's quick and easy brand name recipe book. Something made from canned cream of something soup. I must admit I had to lie a little to make her feel better when she asked me what I thought of it.
Then there was the concoction that Frances and Beau put together. I don't even know what to call that.
Regretable, maybe.
Unfortunate.
Whatever it was, it seemed very likely to have given me food poisoning. It was like I couldn't throw up enough. My stomach was turning and turning. I just couldn't catch a break. I was there for the better part of an hour, still thinking I might throw up again.
I couldn't even get to the phone when it rang. Luckily, Jill was stirring by that time and she answered it. I could tell by the sound of her voice that it was Jenny.
I tried my best to clean myself up. I've read that brushing your teeth after you vomit isn't good for your enamel, but it always made me feel better, and less nauseated. I can remember my mother cleaning me up and brushing my teeth for me when I had the stomach flu.
Maybe that's why it seems soothing to me now. It would make sense.
When Jill went quiet, I knew something was wrong, but I didn't go out right away, because I still felt like I was going to be sick. I wouldn't have been much help to her if I had thrown up all over her, I figured. I drank some water, and washed my face. Slowly, I managed to put myself back together. By that time, I could hear her crying.
Looking back, I can say that I did sort of know that PT No. 9's death was going to set off a chain of events that would change us all in many, many ways. It was hard not to see that. I just didn't know the extent of it. One day, many years later, we'd come to understand it more fully. How it was that moment, the events behind it, and what came after that changed so many things for us.
For my part, there were many dark clouds, some which began on that very day, but there were silver linings, as is often the case with these things. Ripp was hit really hard, unsurprisingly, but he also came out of it pretty well too. Well, eventually he did. He went pretty low before he bounced back, but I think he was much better for it, in the end.
And then there was Tank.
At the time, I didn't think it had affected him much at all. I thought maybe he felt some guilt, our father's guilt more than his own, for having quarreled with Mr. Smith, and for holding onto our father's hatred. He attended the funeral, but he kept to the back. He didn't draw attention to himself. I thought he was just going through the motions for our sake, honestly.
No, it didn't seem like it at the time, but Tank was probably the most affected by that day, and what came after it. We just didn't know anything about it until years later.
As it was with many things, the weight on Tank's shoulders was a private weight.
There is one thing I had always suspected, but has only now become completely clear to me, many years later: The Grunts and the Smiths have always shared a destiny. PT's death was just another piece of that puzzle. By that point, we had already become so entangled that we could never fully free ourselves from those bonds, even if we wanted to. No matter what, all roads would lead back to Strangetown, and to each other.
Our lives became irrevocably linked the day the Grunt family moved to Strangetown.
(Continue to Chapter 32)
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