I was still grinnin’ like a fool about the zombie in a wheelchair when I heard Mr. Freize say Ma’s name. And right after, the whole room broke out in applause. Big applause. Like my ma was the winner of some important award.
Was I missing something?
A few folks stood up, still clapping, and then more folks stood up. Pretty soon all the families were standing up, clapping. I looked around in wonder, then gave Isaac a little shrug and stood up, too.
When folks started sitting again, the director laughed and said, “I was going to suggest you give our team a round of applause, but I can see that you already understand what an incredible job they do. So this seems like a good time to remind you that our caregiver Christmas donation box is in the foyer. In the spirit of giving and thanks, remember to give generously!” He picked up a glass and lifted it. “Thank you for coming tonight. Thank you for trusting us with your loved ones. Now please enjoy our Brookside Thanksgiving.”
So all the clapping and cheering wasn’t just for Ma. But it was partly for Ma, which still left me feeling partly stunned. And then Isaac’s ma leaned over and caught my eye. “You have no idea how much I appreciate your mother. She’s an angel, she really is.”
Ma? An angel?
Guess she’d never seen Ma draggin’ home after work. Or been hollered at by her for running late. Or been cuffed for sassing.
I was still wrapping my head around all the standing and clapping and folks thinking Ma was an angel when food started appearing in front of me. First a little plate of salad slid in. Then metal tongs came over my shoulder and left a roll on another little plate. Then a big plate with a turkey slice and mashed potatoes and marshmallow yams and green beans got delivered. It all happened so fast that I was still busy with one thing when the next showed up.
“They are efficient,” Mrs. Monroe said with a smile.
I guess most folks were busy trying to keep up with the deliveries, ’cause there was more clinking of dishes than talking going on. You could even hear the background music. It was the fancy kind, with violins and horns and cellos and stuff.
And I was just thinking how the horns sounded like someone was playing them into a pillow when a voice broke through like reveille, shouting, “Stop that!”
I looked over in time to see Sir Robert fling the water from his glass at Teddy C. Teddy got hit, but not as bad as Pom-Pom Pam, who got a big, wet splat on the side of her hair.
Teddy C looked stunned, but Pam was up like a shot.
Like she was back on the field, cheering again.
Only she wasn’t cheering.
She was flinging mashed potatoes, shouting, “You ruined my hair!”
I’m pretty sure she was aiming at Sir Robert, but her throwing arm was probably not in practice, ’cause she missed by a mile and hit Alice instead.
Alice didn’t waste time calling her sweet pea. She broke into language so nasty she’d have been suspended from school for life. And with her words came food, flingin’ through the air. Potatoes. Rolls. Green beans. Yams. She threw everything she could scoop up but still couldn’t seem to hit Pam. She hit everyone around but Pam.
Then the volcano erupted. The oldies who’d been hit started hurling food and insults.
“Take that, you wrinkled prune!”
“Who you callin’ wrinkled?”
“You, you ugly, shriveled pile of wrinkles!”
“If I’m a prune, you’re a…a big, fat cauliflower!”
“Prunes?” Debbie Rucker called. “I love prunes! Can I have some?”
But while Debbie was asking for prunes, the rest of the room was going nuts.
“Stop stealin’ my food!”
“It’s my food!”
“I need seconds! Someone bring me seconds!”
“He means ammo! Don’t bring him anything!”
And all the while, food was flying.
“Who did that?” someone screamed. “Who hit me? You?”
“No! It was her!”
“Liar! I’ll sue!”
“I’ll sue you for calling me a liar!”
“Prunes!” Debbie shouted. “I want prunes!”
Mashed potatoes thumped against my head. Isaac saw and said, “This is crazy!”
I peeled the mush out of my hair. “Reminds me of ridin’ the school bus.”
“Yeah, right?” Isaac laughed.
“You ride the bus?” I asked, still peelin’ out mush.
“The thirty-three. Hate it.”
“I’m on the twenty-seven. Hate it worse!”
Ruby had been quiet until then, but she perked up now and started ripping at her blouse, singing at the top of her lungs, “Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down!”
“Mother!” Mrs. Monroe cried. “What are you doing?”
Buttons were poppin’ all over the place. “Medicine go down…”
“Mother!”
“Medicine go down!”
“Mother, stop that!”
“Just a spoonful of sugar—”
“MOTHER!”
While Mrs. Monroe tried putting Ruby’s clothes back together, Sir Robert—who was wiping food off his face with his neck scarf—shouted, “You’re as yellow as Jell-O!” at Teddy C.
“Jell-O?” Debbie hollered. “I want Jell-O!”
Food stopped flying.
There was a murmur of “Is there Jell-O?” and then the place went quiet.
All the oldies looked around.
“Can we have Jell-O?” Debbie asked.
All eyes turned to the director. His suit was spotted with potatoes. His face was twisted in terror.
“Sure,” Gloria said, taking charge. “I think we have some in the kitchen.” She gave a stern look around the tables. “But you have to behave. If you can’t behave, you can’t have Jell-O. Do we have a deal?”
All the oldies nodded.
The families let out huge sighs of relief.
And just like that, the food fight was over.