Non-fiction / A Little Pepper
Black pepper is the most disgusting spice on the planet. At least, that is what I thought as a young child. I never saw the purpose that it served as it sat in its shaker next to the salt on the table. My older sister, Laura, used to play a nasty little game with me. She would tell me to close my eyes, which I always did obediently, and then ask me to point at one of the shakers on the table. I would point, not knowing if my finger aimed at the salt or pepper, and then she would hand one to me. Without peeking, I sniffed the shaker, which always turned out to be Pepper, making me sneeze uncontrollably. From then on Pepper was my enemy.
I insisted on playing the game with my sister repeatedly, but I always found myself ending up with the same result – watery eyes and an itchy nose. Of course, it was not until many years later that Laura informed me that she had cheated during those many rounds of Sniff the Shaker. While I kept my eyes closed, fair to the rules, Laura had always handed me the Pepper shaker, even if I had not pointed at it. Nonetheless, I continued despising the spice, and would beg all adults cooking for me to keep it out of their food. All of them obeyed, not seeing any harm in my childish request. All of them except my grandmother, that is. She insisted on using it, always telling me the same thing. A little pepper never hurt anybody.
“Parents Beware: Grandchildren spoiled here.” I smiled a toothless grin as I walked up to the door. Immediately the familiar scent of fresh homemade cookies reached my nostrils and, clutching my precious stuffed panda close to my chest, I sought out the snack that was always worth the two-hour drive. At the ripe age of five, I was sure of very little in my life, but I knew one thing: Going to Grandma’s meant having fun.
Upon entering the house my grandmother instantly enveloped me in her arms as my grandfather’s voice, happily belting out the chorus of “Home on the Range,” could be heard while he came down the old creaky stairs. I followed my grandmother into the kitchen. It was there that she offered me cookies, pecan rolls, a juice box, and some chocolate chips. I stuffed my face happily, and gladly took more when offered. My parents brought my sister’s and my things into the house, and then headed to the door. They were going back home for a week. I gave them a quick goodbye, hardly half of what they deserved, but I am confident they understood. Grandma’s home was a wonderful place; practically magical. With everything so perfect, I went to bed that night happier than a chubby kid on Halloween.
The next morning I woke up to more delectable scents, among them were bacon, eggs, and toast. A picky eater in the morning, I treated myself to a cereal called “Puffins” instead as my grandmother told me all about the birds they were named after. I must admit that most of her words went in one small ear and right out the other. My five-year-old self was not interested in the knowledge she had to offer, only food and fun. Then she mentioned something that caught my interest. Grandma did not have enough supplies to make lunch, which could only mean one thing. A trip to the grocery store.
I made my bed faster in record time and threw my clothes on, practically bouncing off the walls as I thumped down the stairs. My grandfather patiently helped me tie my shoes as my grandmother reminded my sister and I that we must be on our best behavior. The pair of us nodded obediently, but on the inside, we bubbled with anticipation. Shopping with our grandparents meant purchasing good food. Shopping with our grandparents always implied lots of candy and soda, two things my sister and I valued quite a lot.
The ride to the store seemed extra long for the pair of us, even though the trip was less than a mile long. Laura poked me in the ribcage, making me laugh loudly, and causing my grandmother to hold a single finger to her lips. Even I did not have to ask what that meant. I obligingly quieted down for a few moments before forgetting her warning completely and retaliating, jabbing Laura back. This childish warfare went back and forth several times during the short car ride and continued as we trailed behind grandparents through the store.
Perhaps my grandmother had been having a bad day, or perhaps my sister and I behaved far worse than usual. The latter is the most plausible. To this day, my grandmother is one of the kindest people I know, and yet, it was not long into our shopping excursion before my grandmother found herself entirely frazzled. After several more rounds of shushing and a lot more scolding, my grandmother had finally had enough. “You two need to calm down now,” she told us, her voice more serious than I had ever heard it before, “If one of you makes a sound in the next five minutes you will be walking home with Grandpa.”
Both of us were silent immediately. Our mother made similar threats all the time, and never followed up on them, but the look on Grandma’s face seemed to work as a warning, and neither of us were willing to test her limits. For two or three wide-eyed minutes the two or us were angels. We followed closely behind the cart obediently, and did not ask for one single thing, even when we walked down the snack aisle. I soon grew more comfortable with the silence, and it was no longer difficult to keep my mouth in control. That is, not difficult until Laura threw herself into the mix. As both of my grandparents reached up to grab something from a high shelf, my sister lifted her hands, pulled on her ears, and puffed out her cheeks, resembling a mutant monkey in a surprisingly accurate manner.
Naturally, I burst into a fit of giggles, but only for a moment before I remembered Grandma’s words. It was too late, though. I had broken the rule. Grandma scolded me and let me know that I would be walking home, and that was the end of it.
To say I was furious would be an understatement. How could she punish me for something that was clearly not my fault? As my grandfather firmly took my hand and began leading me out of the store, I tried to argue with her. When that failed, I tried apologizing, even though I had done nothing wrong, at least not in my eyes. My grandmother ignored my pleas, simply telling me to go and that she would see me at home. Angry and hurt, I said a few mean things to her, though I do not recall what they were. As I began to understand I would not win this battle, I irritably followed Grandpa out of the store, resolving to stay angry the entire walk home.
For the first few minutes I ranted on and on about how it was not my fault, how it was not fair. My grandfather, a soft-spoken man, merely chuckled and responded in always carefully neutral replies. I told him that I wanted to go home to my parents, hoping to spark anger or hurt from him, but he only smiled and told me that I would have very strong legs by the time I got there. Finally, I fell silent, finding it too much of a challenge to stay mad while holding a conversation with him. Cars whizzed by us impatiently. After many minutes, a cloud shifted and offered a few blessed minutes of shade. Finally, the familiar house came into view, and though my legs felt a bit tired, I began to run until I reached the door.
Grandma was in the kitchen, as always, helping Laura unload the groceries. I ran up and hugged her, apologizing for how I had acted. She forgave me instantly, and with a kiss on the forehead offered me a cookie while Laura excitedly informed me that French onion soup was on the menu for dinner. As I nibbled on the cookie, I made the same request as I always did. I wanted Pepper off the ingredients list. My grandmother smiled and gently refused, telling me as she always did that a little Pepper never hurt anyone. I sighed, but let it go.
French onion soup never tasted so good.
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Your style of writing is simplistic and easy to understand. Your details on each paragraph is interesting and kept my attention.
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Cute so cute as the story goes on I can really see and little girl playing with her sister and getting sweets from her grandmother. The chubby kid on Halloween gave me a really good filling for myself. Why does the grandma sound like me at work (Substitute Teacher). So much fun to read, I think 3rd grades would love it. They need help getting over things like that.
“made my bed faster in record time and threw” – I would choose one or the other; made my bed faster than ever or made my bed in record time.
“reminded my sister and I that we” – I should be me (a test: she reminded me that, not she reminded I that…)
I think you need a better transition into the grandparent visit. You start off with why you hate pepper and then spend 3 pages on happy Grandparent memories. I kept wondering what happened to the pepper story. Although you do bring it back around at the end you need to ‘pepper’ you story thoughout with the original thesis
Usually I can’t keep interest in a piece of this length, but I couldn’t stop reading this one. And this is a true story! Wow, with so much detail. You appeal to the imagination with the pictures and scenarios like in the grocery store. This is a very relatable piece. I enjoyed it very much.
this was a nice littel anecdotal story, the scene you paint is one that is recognizable to many people and the reoccuring theme of pepper seemd to tie everythign together well. i’m kind of curious as to why you capitalized “pepper” it is actually kind of interesting as it lends this element an air of increased importance, good stuff overall
”..“Puffins” instead (comma) as my grandmother..”
”..only mean one thing(:) A trip to..”
”..bed faster in record time..”—lose ‘faster’
”..resembling a mutant monkey..”—good description, humorous
- good story. a nice flow and easy dialogue. hope these suggestions help.
This is good, but for some reason, I was expecting more, with the pepper. This story would have been better if it was solely about the pepper, and how your sister tormented you with it. Nonetheless, the details were good.
E.
Sweet story, well told. Few notes:
A little pepper never hurt anybody—this line should be in quotes.
“I made my bed faster in record time ” either remove faster of record time and explain what you are faster than.
Exceptional work. Very keen descriptive skills. I would like to read more from the author. Keep up the good work.
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