When i was a little girl, and while my father was in between prison sentences- he would wash trucks and go town to town selling shrimp for a private shrimp boat owner.

My job was always the tires, i remember the arm and hammer, the crumpled newspaper with ink bleeding onto my fingers.

My dad would pocket the change he found in all of the trucks and take us to 7/11 for taquitos and a coke to share. He hated sharing with me because i backwashed as a kid –but there is only so much change.

One truck wash day, the business man was making a big meal, he had shrimp, potatoes, corn and all the fixins. He gave my father a plate wrapped in foil to take home and share with grandma and me.

oh god, i had never seen joy like that on my fathers face. he couldnt wait to get home. He peeled back the foil, balanced the plate on the edge of the open truck door window. He began picking at this hot plate with his fingers, hungry, desperate.

It’s important to note, that cats stuck around the property due to the constant bits of shrimp and sea spilling out from the trucks and ice chests. So, here this cat was, hangin out as usual. Watching my dad dig into this plate of food.

then, I dont know how or why, but gravity/karma/ superstistion works its way and the plate of food slips from my fathers grasp and somersaults onto the pavement.

face down.

I stiffen as an instinct, ready for the blow.

“YOU FUCKING CAT, YOU GAVE ME OJO!”

My father melts into a different anger than I’m familiar with. His face is tinged with powerless desperation.

Of course that burned a memory into me and I’ve come back to analyze it a few times over the years but i finally understand.

It was more than an inconvenience. It was a loss. My father was hungry. He wanted to be worth more than a backwashed coke and gas station taquitos.

It was a warm, flavorful meal he could’ve never afforded-with money, time or patience.

And he had to blame superstition because his pride was too big to admit the position he was in was a place he chained himself to.

I cook from scatch, even if its just for myself. The smell of dough fills my tiny kitchen. It couldnt be any more different, and most the time that makes me happy. But sometimes, i feel sad i cant make him a meal.

It would be rich.