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Authors: Peg Kehret
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headed toward the play area.
I put all of their things on the tray and carried them to a booth on the other side of the restaurant. I sat with my back to the play area, so they wouldn’t recognize me if they happened to look my way.
I ate the French fries first, drenching them with catsup and savoring every bite.
I stared at the half-eaten hamburger, and debated what to do.
The problem was, I decided awhile back to be a vegetarian. Aunt May said I was out of my noggin. Mama said, “Don’t be difficult, Spencer. It’s hard enough to get a meal on the table without worrying about some cultish religious beliefs.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with religion,” I told her. “I just don’t want to eat animals anymore. I like them too much. It’s like eating a friend.”
“Pigs are your friends now?” Mama said. “Chickens are your friends?”
“They have faces,” I said.
“We don’t eat the faces,” Mama said. “Those animals are raised to become meat. That’s their purpose.”
“That doesn’t make it right,” I said. “Animals feel pain and fear, just like we do.”
“That boy,” said Aunt May, “is going ’round the bend.”
“Suit yourself,” Mama said, “but don’t expect me to cook tofu casserole.”
“He reads too much,” Aunt May said. “That’s the problem. He gets crazy ideas from books, and he thinks about them. Why can’t he just watch cartoons, like my kids do?”
That first night, after I told Mama my decision, she fixed fried chicken. I took an extra helping of mashedpotatoes and green beans, and ignored the platter of chicken.
I had expected it to be hard at first, to pass up meat. I thought I would feel deprived. Instead, I felt peaceful. That’s the only word for it. Peaceful. I had wanted to be a vegetarian for a long time, and all that while I felt guilty every time I bit into a hamburger or swallowed a spoonful of turkey soup.
The plate of mashed potatoes and green beans was the first meal I’d eaten in months without imagining the eyes of the animal that gave its life for what I ate.
And so, with my empty stomach grumbling, I sat in McDonald’s and stared at that little girl’s hamburger. I knew if I did not eat it, it was going in the garbage can. It was too late to save the cow’s life, but what about my life? If I was going to survive, I needed to eat.
I decided it’s easier to have high moral standards when your stomach is full. I picked up the hamburger and took a bite.
I held it in my mouth for a moment without chewing, and then spit it into a napkin. I couldn’t eat it. Not anymore.
I could almost hear Aunt May saying, “That boy is daft, for sure.” Sometimes I suspected she was right.
I picked the remaining hamburger meat out of the bun, and ate the bun. I wrapped the meat in a paper napkin, and put it in my pocket. I couldn’t save thatcow’s life, but I could save Foxey’s, and I knew it wouldn’t bother Foxey one bit to swallow that piece of meat.
I decided to stay at McDonald’s for awhile, and offer to clear the tables for other people. There was probably a lot of wasted food in a place like this, and there was no reason why it shouldn’t go in my stomach, instead of in the garbage can.
I wandered slowly from one end of McDonald’s to the other, watching to see who was almost finished and what they might be leaving behind.
It took nearly an hour, but I managed to get most of a banana muffin, part of a chocolate milk shake, and two more half-full containers of French fries. I soon discovered that little kids were my best chance for leftovers, and I smiled whenever a family with small children placed an order.
Through all of this, I kept a close watch on my bike. Foxey’s box was tied to it and I didn’t want anyone bothering him.
It was past sunset before I left McDonald’s and began to search for a place to spend the night.
For the first time since the boys had stolen my money, I felt optimistic. There had to be
I put all of their things on the tray and carried them to a booth on the other side of the restaurant. I sat with my back to the play area, so they wouldn’t recognize me if they happened to look my way.
I ate the French fries first, drenching them with catsup and savoring every bite.
I stared at the half-eaten hamburger, and debated what to do.
The problem was, I decided awhile back to be a vegetarian. Aunt May said I was out of my noggin. Mama said, “Don’t be difficult, Spencer. It’s hard enough to get a meal on the table without worrying about some cultish religious beliefs.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with religion,” I told her. “I just don’t want to eat animals anymore. I like them too much. It’s like eating a friend.”
“Pigs are your friends now?” Mama said. “Chickens are your friends?”
“They have faces,” I said.
“We don’t eat the faces,” Mama said. “Those animals are raised to become meat. That’s their purpose.”
“That doesn’t make it right,” I said. “Animals feel pain and fear, just like we do.”
“That boy,” said Aunt May, “is going ’round the bend.”
“Suit yourself,” Mama said, “but don’t expect me to cook tofu casserole.”
“He reads too much,” Aunt May said. “That’s the problem. He gets crazy ideas from books, and he thinks about them. Why can’t he just watch cartoons, like my kids do?”
That first night, after I told Mama my decision, she fixed fried chicken. I took an extra helping of mashedpotatoes and green beans, and ignored the platter of chicken.
I had expected it to be hard at first, to pass up meat. I thought I would feel deprived. Instead, I felt peaceful. That’s the only word for it. Peaceful. I had wanted to be a vegetarian for a long time, and all that while I felt guilty every time I bit into a hamburger or swallowed a spoonful of turkey soup.
The plate of mashed potatoes and green beans was the first meal I’d eaten in months without imagining the eyes of the animal that gave its life for what I ate.
And so, with my empty stomach grumbling, I sat in McDonald’s and stared at that little girl’s hamburger. I knew if I did not eat it, it was going in the garbage can. It was too late to save the cow’s life, but what about my life? If I was going to survive, I needed to eat.
I decided it’s easier to have high moral standards when your stomach is full. I picked up the hamburger and took a bite.
I held it in my mouth for a moment without chewing, and then spit it into a napkin. I couldn’t eat it. Not anymore.
I could almost hear Aunt May saying, “That boy is daft, for sure.” Sometimes I suspected she was right.
I picked the remaining hamburger meat out of the bun, and ate the bun. I wrapped the meat in a paper napkin, and put it in my pocket. I couldn’t save thatcow’s life, but I could save Foxey’s, and I knew it wouldn’t bother Foxey one bit to swallow that piece of meat.
I decided to stay at McDonald’s for awhile, and offer to clear the tables for other people. There was probably a lot of wasted food in a place like this, and there was no reason why it shouldn’t go in my stomach, instead of in the garbage can.
I wandered slowly from one end of McDonald’s to the other, watching to see who was almost finished and what they might be leaving behind.
It took nearly an hour, but I managed to get most of a banana muffin, part of a chocolate milk shake, and two more half-full containers of French fries. I soon discovered that little kids were my best chance for leftovers, and I smiled whenever a family with small children placed an order.
Through all of this, I kept a close watch on my bike. Foxey’s box was tied to it and I didn’t want anyone bothering him.
It was past sunset before I left McDonald’s and began to search for a place to spend the night.
For the first time since the boys had stolen my money, I felt optimistic. There had to be
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