POINT FIVE
Elizabeth Kite
From: Nia Gonzales (nia@shantyshack.com)
To: Estrella Mendez (estrella@shantyshack.com)
Subject: Padlock on freezer (read me first)
Sent: 0636 Thurs 24 March 2016
Dear Auntie Estrella,
By now, you’ve probably noticed the padlock on the restaurant’s walk-in freezer. Please stay out of there for now. If you absolutely need more salmon fillets defrosted, the key is in the same spot my dad used for storing his collection of “Jerry Garcia” seashells. You shouldn’t need more fillets; Neil and I moved enough to the prep fridge before we left.
On that note, Neil and I will miss lunch. I’ve called Navarro and he super-promised to wait tables through the rush. If he asks you for cash, I’ve put $40 in his apron pocket. I also paid his phone bill this month. If you need another hand, call Natalie. She didn’t respond to my texts.
If you keep the freezer door closed, I promise I’ll explain everything when I get back.
If you open the freezer, please don’t call the cops. I’m going to send you a longer email while we’re on the road. Call Natalie first, then read the other email.
––
Nia Gonzales
Sous Chef
Shanty Shack
20476 Breeze Blvd.
Seaside, CA 93955
* * *
From: Nia Gonzales (nia@shantyshack.com)
To: Estrella Mendez (estrella@shantyshack.com)
Subject: Padlock on freezer (read me if freezer is opened) (please don’t open freezer)
Sent: 0945 Thurs 24 March 2016
If you’re reading this, you’ve opened the freezer and have a few questions.
Please know that I’ve always considered you my favorite aunt and am immensely grateful to you for paying for culinary school and letting me cook in Dad’s old kitchen. I don’t know what I’d ever do without you.
That said, I’ve not been entirely honest. I am only human for 29.5 days out of every 30. During that measly, occasionally important .5, when the moon is full, I turn into a starfish.
Yes, it’s Mom’s fault. Dad didn’t know she was selkie-esque (sealionkie?) when they got married. I don’t know how he could have missed the clues. I’ve seen her clapping for food in the old home videos and she wears her coat everywhere, but you knew Dad. He was oblivious to everything except the fish on the grill.
I’m also not the only one who changes. Natalie turns into a sea lion, same as Mom. Neil becomes a shark. (He’s driving right now. Says hi.) And Navarro’s a bottom-feeding stingray. I just happened to get the short shrift on the sea creature selection chart before birth.
There is some benefit. I can taste food with my fingers. That is how I can tell if a shipment’s too old when I touch it. So, in an odd way, Mom has saved the restaurant money.
Well, last night was the family’s .5. Usually I spend that time in my own saltwater bathtub with an assortment of mussels stuck to the bottom, but Natalie wasn’t having it. She kept barking on about how I “never visit anyone” and I “don’t take care of myself” and I “need to spend time in the ocean so I know what it means to be a real were-starfish.” Arguing with a sea lion is as pointless as you can imagine. I met Neil at his house and he drove us to the old harbor.
It doesn’t hurt to change, Auntie. I know you’d think so if you watched us, but it doesn’t. There is a point where my brain slides into my stomach and my sex drive possesses my arms and legs, but if school has taught us anything, it’s that humans also get used to their bodies over time. And, when I’m a starfish, clams taste amazing.
I found a tide pool with a great selection of my favorite invertebrates. For the first few hours, I thought everything would be fine. How silly of me to forget that Spring Break is a ‘thing’ when culinary school doesn’t have one.
Something you should know, Auntie: starfish need salt water for circulation. It is their blood. It is their life. If there was a biology major among the crowd of drunken jobless imbeciles, then he failed basic echinoderms. Thanks to both the primitive eye I have at the end of each arm and a game of Ultimate Starfish Frisbee, I can now sympathize with hula hoops.
By the time I unwillingly boarded some frat boy’s speed boat, I was half-dead and dizzy enough to vomit. I used my tube feet to grab on to whoever was holding me at the time and expelled my stomach onto their hand. My carrier, also not a biology major, freaked out and tossed me off the back of the boat.
You know the surge you get when you slice your hand, Auntie? That feeling right before the blood escapes? That’s what the propeller did to me. After that, I lost all sensation and plummeted.
The tide must have carried me to shore. I woke up human and crawled out of the water. It was still dark out, but late enough that the college students had collapsed into drunken nap huddles in the sand. At the time, I figured some homeless drifter had stolen my clothes and my phone from the locker, so I covered myself in kelp and walked to the nearest landline. Of course, no one in this family answers collect calls. I walked barefoot for two hours before reaching the restaurant.
Oh, the window. I’m sorry. I’ll fix that too.
I finally got Neil to pick up his phone. He told me to stay right where I was. I threw out my kelp bikini and put on my chef’s jacket. Since I needed to channel the frustration somewhere, I chopped vegetables until the back door slammed open. Neil stomped in and stared at me the same way he stares at horror movies on Wednesday night. I didn’t understand his face until my copy walked in behind him.
Another thing you should know, Auntie: starfish can regrow missing body parts after colliding with propellers. All they need is a leg and part of their core.
Now that I’ve had time to think, I should have put down the knife. My copy must have thought she was me, what with having my clothes and my phone and my brand new Happy-Birthday-Nia Coach bag hanging from her elbow. I’d probably think I was me too. Her eyes darted to my knife. She picked up the frying pan. One of us screamed. I swear she swung first. I nicked a vein in her arm while blocking the pan.
It was all over the moment Neil smelled blood. The moon hadn’t set. If you go back to the freezer, you’ll see the bite marks under the saran wrap. Don’t worry, blood only freaks Neil out during that special .5 time of the month, and he’s usually swimming during that time anyway.
Neil says I have to wrap this up. We just parked. I guess all I have left to say is: I love you, Auntie. Please don’t let my dead copy freak you out. I’m shaken enough as is. The possibility of three other copies wandering naked through a beach full of drunk college students doesn’t help. Neil and I are going to search for them. I have extra outfits with me, just in case. I left the knife in the sink.
If a copy does come in and starts my shift, tell her the veggies are prepped and waiting in the fridge.
––
Nia Gonzales
Sous Chef
Shanty Shack
20476 Breeze Blvd.
Seaside, CA 93955