BELLYACHE

by Crystal Marcos

  “It’s a spitfire wooden straw. My dad made it because I would always chew on the plastic straws and destroy them. You wad up a piece of paper and stick it in your mouth, chew it for a few seconds to get it all wet, stick it in one end of the straw, blow air real hard in the other end, and out comes the paper at whatever target you have chosen.”

  “A spit wad!” Peter had seen spit wads from plastic straws in the school lunch room before, but never a wooden one. What a great idea.

  “Exactly!” Poke replied.

  “Can I try it out?” Peter asked eagerly.

  “That’s what it’s for. Let’s start shootin’!” Poke exclaimed.

  They shot around for a while and made sure to stay behind the bush so Carol Winston couldn’t see and make them stop. They did make sure to clean up as many of the spit wads as they could find afterward. They talked more about their families, friends, school, and the usual stuff, and before they knew it, it was time to go to Bella’s House of Food. After all that horsing around, they decided they both had ginormous appetites and agreed they would be eating tons of food at Bella’s.

  Peter reminded Poke, “Let’s not get bellyaches.” The two new pals laughed merrily.

  Bella’s House of Food

  The mayor picked up Mrs. Baker, Poke, and Peter. While the car hovered out of the driveway, Peter felt Carol’s burning eyes on him. He knew if he turned to look at the window, she would be there, no doubt sneering and watching him drive away. He dared not look. He shivered from head to toe. He sure was delighted she wouldn’t be joining them for lunch.

  Bella’s parking lot was full. “Everyone knows that when there is a full parking lot at a restaurant, it’s got to be good.” Mr. Baker said.

  Peter hoped they would be able to find a spot soon. He was stricken with hunger. The mayor drove directly to an open parking space in front of the restaurant door and parked. Lucky spot, Peter thought. Once outside the car, he saw the burger-shaped sign that read, “Reserved for the Mayor.”

  When they opened the lime green diamond-shaped doors, Peter was overwhelmed by the fabulous smells: some sweet, some savory. Peter figured the sweet smells were from the Candonites themselves. The entrance was packed full of waiting Candonites. It was impossible to see past them. Great, thought Peter, now I’ll starve to death.

  “Not to worry,” Mrs. Baker said to Peter as if she could read his mind.

  Within moments the Candonites stepped off to the sides to make a clear path. Peter followed the others in amazement. “It must be another one of the mayor’s perks,” he whispered.

  He heard voices saying, “Fine day, mayor.” “Hello, mayor.” “You look lovely today, Mrs. Baker.” A handful of Candonites said hello to Peter, as well, and he was surprised that no one stared at him like he did not belong. If a Candonite was to walk into a restaurant back home, Peter was sure there would be some staring going on, as well as some mouths hanging open, forks falling to the ground, waitresses over-pouring water glasses, and a crazy lady in the corner screaming, “Alien! Alien!” No, the Candonites were not like that. He felt especially comfortable and welcomed.

  The restaurant owner, Bella herself, greeted the mayor’s group. She was an older Candonite woman with the smooth curves of a donut. She had a hole in the middle of her stomach you could see right through, multicolored sprinkles and everything.

  “Where would you like to be seated today?” Bella asked in a raspy voice. Peter thought she sounded a lot like the lunch lady at school.

  Mrs. Baker said, “We will let our guest pick today.” She turned to Peter and then gestured towards the dining area.

  Peter’s eyes widened as he scanned the vast dining area. It was truly captivating; he saw what must have been close to three hundred Candonites enjoying their lunch in such an unusual place. He had never seen any restaurant quite like this.

  From behind him Poke said, “You get to choose what part of the house you want to dine in. Pretty neat, huh?”

  It was more than that; it was super cool! thought Peter.

  He saw brilliant signs above each section that read different parts of an actual house: bathroom, living room, dining room, kitchen, bedroom, study, laundry room, and even garden. Exactly as the names of the rooms stated, the décor matched in an exaggerated style. In the bathroom, Candonites sat happily on closed toilet seats, wiping their faces with toilet paper for napkins; in the bedroom, Candonites were being served while relaxing in beds, propped up by lush pillows; in the kitchen, Candonites sat on mini-refrigerators and mini-stoves, wearing aprons instead of bibs, among thousands of refrigerator magnets. Everyone looked thrilled to be dining at Bella’s. There was so much to look at, so much going on. It was an exhilarating information overload. How could he choose among all these enchanting rooms?

  “Where shall we sit, Brussels sprout?” Mrs. Baker said, encouraging him to make his choice. “I don’t care where you choose, just not the bathroom. I simply can’t dine sitting on a toilet!”

  He was so engrossed in what was going on, he hardly noticed that he had been called Brussels sprout, which he knew Mrs. Baker meant as a term of endearment.

  “The laundry room,” he blurted out. It was the room he was staring at when she asked him.

  “Good choice!” Poke assured him.

  The tables were made of an old-fashioned washboard lying on its side, with clear plastic laid over it. The napkins were in fabric softener boxes. Salt, pepper, ketchup, and mustard were all in liquid detergent bottles. Washers and dryers lined one of the walls. Sheets, pillow cases, towels, rugs, and curtains hung from the ceiling on thin clotheslines. No clothes. Candonites did not wear clothes, so there was no need to wash any. It wasn’t odd. It seemed natural for them not to have on clothes. They would look ridiculous with them on, Peter thought.

  Bella seated them on huge, colorful laundry detergent boxes and left them with dome-shaped menus which said, “A side of fun with every meal!” on the cover. He did not open the menu right away; his eyes were too busy darting around the restaurant, looking at every brilliant detail.

  He saw Candonites thoroughly taking pleasure in their food, and his stomach growled viciously to remind him he was hungry. He wished he could look at the menu and the restaurant at the same time. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen. So he reluctantly opened his menu to find something worthy of satisfying his hunger. There were so many choices like the Attic-ding Tuna Sandwich, the Chair-Rib Platter, and Bella’s House Special Steak and Mash. He had a hard time deciding.

  Bella came back. She was taking Poke’s order when Peter’s marvelous mood was abruptly interrupted. It was like a scene pulled right out of a movie, the kind where a bad guy comes onto the screen and everything seems to be moving in slow motion. It was Joe and what must have been Joe’s father; they looked so much alike. They made their way over to the garden, diagonally across from where the Bakers were sitting. Peter followed them with his eyes. Suddenly, Joe turned his head toward their table and locked eyes with Peter. Joe took another step and was blocked by Bella’s body for a second, reappearing in the center of her hole with the most dreadful face Peter had ever seen. What the heck was his problem?

  “Peter?” a faint voice said.

  He refocused his attention on Bella, who was talking.

  “Sorry,” Peter said.

  “What can I get you?” she repeated herself.

  “I’ll have Laundry Piles of Clucks and Fries please,” he answered.

  “Great choice; it’s one of my all-time favorites,” Bella said. “And to drink, may I suggest a D.T.S? I believe you’ll like it.”

  “D.T.S.?”

  “You’ll love it, I promise!” Bella insisted.

  “Okay,” Peter said, convinced.

  Bella was off with their orders and turned around, heading straight to the garden. As soon as Bella reached her destination, she tilted her body to one side and Peter could see both Joe and his father sitting in lawn chairs on blue-green grass. Bella turned to Joe
and gave him a hug only someone who knows someone very well would give. Joe glanced directly at Peter and gave him a sinister wink. It gave him chills. What was that all about? After embracing Joe, she leaned over to Joe’s father and planted a kiss on his forehead, one like a mother or grandmother would give a child.

  Poke must have seen what Peter was staring at. He piped in, “That is Bella’s godson, Joe, and his dad.”

  Peter said nothing; he did not know what to say. He wasn’t sure if Joe and Poke were friends. He also did not want to trouble anyone.

  His thoughts were distracted by a crying baby Candonite sitting on his mother’s lap in the study. The baby’s face was all squished with anguish. Peter was pretty sure they were lollipop Candonites. His mother was trying to calm him down by handing him a book from a nearby shelf to look at. It worked; he soon forgot he was upset and happily pointed to the pictures in the book. The baby glanced back at his mother with every point to make sure she was looking at the pictures with him.

  A yellow haze made its way into Peter’s peripheral vision. Joe was making his way to the back of the restaurant. He waved cordially to Peter’s table and smiled pleasantly at them all. Peter reluctantly waved back with the group. He followed him with his eyes until he no longer could without turning his head; then he gave in and looked over his shoulder to watch Joe fling open the tangerine doors to the restaurant’s kitchen. Peter supposed Joe had the run of the whole place, seeing as how he was Bella’s godson and all.

  “Peter, the Mrs. tells me you think your grandmother may have been here in Maple Town. Well, I must say it is quite possible. However, I do not recall her. She may have been here before my time, or maybe I was very young then and don’t remember. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help to you,” Mr. Baker said.

  “That’s all right; I understand,” Peter assured him.

  Bella arrived with their drink orders. She placed Peter’s D.T.S. in front of him. Peter’s eyebrows rose as he admired it.

  “D.T.S., Dynamic Television Soda,” Bella said.

  “Wow!” Peter exclaimed.

  The drink was served in a marvelous mini-television set with two long silver straws sticking out from the top of the TV—antennas! Peter realized his mouth was hanging open and promptly closed it.

  “Go ahead, turn the knob!” Bella encouraged him.

  Peter saw the knob in the lower right-hand corner and turned it clockwise. The TV screen flashed on a picture, and he could hear faint music coming out of the set. Candonites moved around the screen, dancing.

  “They’re music videos!” Poke told him.

  “How cool is that!” Peter said, impressed.

  “Now go on and taste it,” Bella said, leaning in to study Peter’s reaction.

  He put his lips around the straw and felt all eyes at the table on him. He sucked up the liquid and braced himself in case he did not like it. He was pleasantly surprised. The sweet flavor of the soda was changing with every sip: lime, orange, cream, root beer. It was refreshing, and he did not want to stop drinking it. He forced his lips away so he could give his verdict.

  “I tasted different soda flavors with every sip! It is amazing!” Peter exclaimed.

  “I knew you’d love it,” Bella said, tickled. “I’d best go check on your meals now.”

  As Bella was leaving, Joe was returning to his seat. Peter tried not to look over at him. He did not want to make eye contact again. Instead, he drank more of his D.T.S.

  Bella returned carrying a large tray filled with their orders. Peter and Mrs. Baker’s Piles of Clucks and Fries came in little laundry baskets. It amused Peter that Mrs. Baker had picked the same thing. Mr. Baker had ordered an Oven-Fresh Burger with a side order of Garden Macaroni Salad. The Garden Macaroni Salad came in a terracotta pot. The utensils were a miniature rake and shovel. Mr. Baker’s food came in a tiny warming oven. Sitting on the top rack was a tray with a luscious burger on it, and on the rack below it were golden brown oven-baked chips. Mr. Baker explained that he wouldn’t get burnt taking anything out of the oven because it was kept at a low warming temperature. What a stupendous idea! Peter thought. Poke’s order was a Tub of Spaghetti with Meatballs, which arrived in a small porcelain bathtub. Their waters came in measuring cups.

  Some spread! Peter thought. He wished again that his family could be there with him at that moment. They would have a real blast. By the end of his adventure, Peter knew his eyes would be so dry from not blinking them as often as he should because they were so busy taking everything in.

  Peter looked over at Mrs. Baker, who was thoroughly at bliss eating her food. He politely asked Poke to pass the ketchup and squeezed a dollop in the corner of his laundry basket. He was famished by now and couldn’t wait to dig in. He grabbed a Cluck, dipped it in his ketchup, and began to devour it.

  Hot…burning hot…fire! His eyes watered as he swallowed and he began to cough as he reached for his D.T.S. His taste buds felt like they were melting off. His nose was inflamed with spices. How could Mrs. Baker eat that and not even flinch?

  “Are you all right, son?” Mr. Baker asked, concerned.

  He couldn’t speak so he just nodded his head up and down. He would be fine once he had a drink. He took a swig of his D.T.S. He had been sipping on his soda constantly and it was nearly gone. His throat was still scorching with spice.

  “My goodness, his face is turning crimson. Give the boy some water,” Mrs. Baker advised.

  Poke thrust Peter his measuring cup. Peter took it and began gulping down water. He wasn’t getting it all in his mouth; water was splashing everywhere. Poke tried slapping him on the back in case he was choking. With every gulp, his mouth grew hotter. Sweat was building on his brow, and a tear ran down his face.

  “What’s wrong, Peter?” Mrs. Baker squealed.

  Peter tried his hardest to tell them but he could only muster up one word between gulps: “Hot!”

  Poke grabbed the Cluck Peter had bitten into and examined it. “It doesn’t feel hot.”

  Peter shook his head furiously.

  “Let me see that,” Mayor Baker said, holding out his hand. Poke handed the Cluck to him and the mayor held it to his nose.

  “It smells very spicy. Is your mouth burning, Peter?” he asked.

  Peter nodded, relieved. Mr. Baker handed him the top bun of his burger.

  “Eat this; you’ll feel better.”

  By then, Bella had come back to the table to see what the commotion was about. Mrs. Baker explained everything to her while Peter ate the Mayor’s bread, which soothed his mouth.

  “Oh my.” She inspected a Cluck. “I do believe you have mistakenly received a high dose of my special hot spice that is so potent it only requires one dash per recipe. I don’t understand how this could have happened, though. I keep the stuff on a separate shelf, and it only goes in specific entrees, and yours was not one of them.” She shook her head, perplexed. “I do apologize. This has never happened before. I will make sure you are well taken care of. This meal is on the house, and I will personally get rid of this and make you a fresh batch lickety-split.”

  Before Peter could say anything, she was off, and she took his rejected meal with her. Peter was beginning to feel better now. His eyes were starting to grow clear, and the fire in his nose and mouth was at a dull burn. He wondered if anyone else had caught sight of the embarrassing scene. It did not appear that way. Wait. His eyes locked on Joe…laughing. A silent laugh where his shoulders raised up and down but no sound came out. He was looking right at Peter. Peter took note of Joe’s father, who seemed to be preoccupied with his food and wasn’t wondering what his son found so funny. Joe took his fork and pretended to be seasoning his food plentifully with it. Joe’s father looked up from his food, and Joe immediately stopped his charade.

  Peter was infuriated. He could feel his face turning red all over again. So, that’s what Joe was up to when he went in the kitchen earlier. What a total…

  “Are you feeling better?” Mrs. Baker asked hop
efully.

  Peter wanted to say something about Joe, but he decided against it.

  “I feel much better, thank you,” Peter reported even though his pride was squashed.

  “I assure you nothing like that has ever happened here before. It must have been an honest mistake,” Mr. Baker said.

  “I believe you, I really do. I still think this place is totally great.” Peter flashed everyone at the table a genuine smile. After all, it wasn’t Bella’s fault. Peter decided he wouldn’t give Joe the satisfaction of looking over at him again.

  Everyone at the table let him sample their food, and it was all delicious, better than any restaurant back home. Quite possibly better than his mother’s and Nana’s home-cooked meals. When Bella brought back his food, it was piled higher than last time, and she even brought him another D.T.S. After the sampling and the bun the mayor had given him to calm his taste buds, he couldn’t finish half of his food. Mrs. Baker told him he could take it home for dinner if he wanted, which of course he did.

  “Dessert, anyone?” Mr. Baker asked.

  “I believe I have a little more room,” Mrs. Baker replied.

  “Me, too!” Poke said enthusiastically.

  “No thank you,” Peter replied honestly. He was stuffed, plus he remembered that their idea of dessert wasn’t ever going to be his.

  “Well all right, let’s go pick something out,” the mayor coaxed.

  The three dessert eaters got up from the table, and Poke said to Peter, “Come check this out.”

  They walked up to some washers and dryers along the wall. They weren’t actually washers and dryers at all. The washers dispensed cold desserts while the dryers dispensed hot desserts. Looking inside the windows on the door fronts, Peter could see lovely desserts moving slowly round and round on conveyer belts. There were several different kinds. Peter figured they must be coming out from behind the wall. He imagined a rather stout-looking Candonite chef loading the desserts onto the conveyer belt every hour. A panel on the side of each machine contained flashing buttons with numbers zero through nine, and right below them was a set of flashing buttons with a list of the rooms in the restaurant.