The River

1.

I remember the day it all started, early last year. When I got the itch to go into the wild. Or rather, when I told my parents about it. I'd had the itch for several days by then, and I had started making plans. Without, of course, their knowing.

We were having supper at the time. Spaghetti. Not the ordinary kind of bloody red, sweet-sauced spaghetti with sliced hotdogs, ground beef, and grated quickmelt cheese that you'd think of, if you lived in the Philippines like we do. Mom makes her own sauce out of tomato paste, and uses lentils instead of meat; and, if there were any, some basil from the garden. So you can see our diet is healthier than ordinary city folks'––most of the time.

The supper conversation went rather like this.

[Enter Dad (D.), Mom (M.), Sam (S.), Joseph (J.), and Me (Me).]

Dad: Well, shall we eat?

(Mom brings pot of spaghetti to table.)

Me: Let's eat.

D.: Sam, Joseph, wash your hands.

Sam: Wait...

M.: Sam!

S., reluctantly: Okay, okay.

Me: C'mon, Jo.

Joseph, splashing S.: Water-bending! (Laughs.)

(S. splashes him back. J. squeals.)

M.: Sam––!

D.: Joseph––!

S.: He started it!

J.: No I didn't!

S.: Yes you did.

J.: I did not!

D., impatiently: Will you cut it out? Do you guys have to squabble every time we eat a meal?

M.: Sit down, you two.

(S. and J. sit down at opposite sides of the table.)

D.: Let's pray. Thank you for the food, Lord. Bless us––keep us––give us peace.

(all together): A-men!

(S. reaches out to help himself.)

J.: Hey! Mommy first!

S.: Oh yeah––? (Catches D.'s look. Subsides.)

(D. serves M., then J., then S., then himself. I help myself.)

D.: Mmm, this is good! (To M.) How much lentils did you use?

M.: A cup. And I used a whole packet of tomato paste.

Me: How much spaghetti?

M.: Half a pack.

S.: Can I add some salt?

(D. grunts. S. goes and gets salt.)

Me: Not so much!

J.: I want salt too.

S.: You're just copying me.

J.: I am not!

Me, warningly: Sam...

M.: I need some salt too.

D.: Give us all a pinch, Sam.

Me: Not me.