Chapter One

Chapter One

Elbow Macaroni and Meat Stew

½ box elbow macaroni
½ lb. ground Meat (preferably fore-high limb)
2 cup shaved carrots
Chicken broth

1.      Begin by boiling the elbow macaroni, heating up the chicken broth with the carrots, and frying your Meat. The fore-high limb works very well for this dish, though any preferred section works.

2.      Mix the elbow macaroni and Meat with carrots and broth and add dashes of salt and pepper.

3.      Let the stew simmer for 20 minutes.

4.      Serve and enjoy!

I was born in Des Moines, Iowa in the early ‘90s and spent my days as any normal child from a mid-western lower-middle income family did. I went to school and played with my two brothers and sister. All through school, up until I went to college, I never had many friends; perhaps only one or two any given school year. I was picked on and bullied a lot for being a quiet and introverted boy, with a couple bigger incidents stuck in my mind throughout the years.

On one of these occasions, I was sitting in the lunchroom in eighth grade, when, for no discernible reason, the boy sitting across from me spit in my face. The feel of the saliva on my forehead and nose disgusted me as I walked up to the cafeteria line and wiped it off with a napkin. Thinking of the incident, I can still feel the wet spit between my eyes and I shudder with the phantom feeling.    

The other large incident of bullying that has stuck with me all of my years was one day, my sophomore year of high school. I was sitting in my Physical Science class, the period right before lunch, when I heard snickers. I looked up from my work and saw that many of my classmates were looking at me. And then began the comments. You see, I had long hair, trying to conform to the style which many boys my age had gladly embraced. Because of this long hair, I had a bad case of dry scalp. As I sat in class, trying hard to work on my assignment, many of my classmates began making “snow” and “Christmas” comments to one another and giggling. I knew that the laughs were not innocent, friendly ones, but rather malicious and mocking ones, even before they had started their comments. There is a fine line between the two types of laughs, but one who has a lot of experience dealing with the latter can easily tell them apart.

As the boys and girls laughed and made their comments, my eyes began to well with tears and I looked to the teacher for help, but he was engrossed in something on his computer. Did he even hear the cruel jokes the children were making? I know he must have, but why didn’t he say nor do anything? That question has always been with me, along with the vivid memory of the mocking laughter.

Many people reading this will think that these incidents, among others in my school days, have played a large part in where I am today. That is simply not true. I am what I am and where I am today because of my own choices. Yes, the bullying and the teasing hurt me deeply and had some impact on how I grew up, but I know that there are two roles of the schoolyard. There are those who do the mocking and those that are mocked. While the roles are not at all fair, they are not going anywhere. And while it hurts to be one of the ones being mocked constantly and incessantly, I would take on the role again and again over being the one doing the mocking. Because I know the hurt and the scars the mocking can burden its victim with, I could never be one of the mockers. So, again, yes, the bullying of my youth did cause me some problems, it did not bring me to where I am today.

I was raised, after nine years old, predominantly by my mother. She nourished and loved my siblings and I and taught us to love everyone and to be open minded. Because of my dear and loving mother, I believe that everyone, regardless of their differences, has the right to be happy. We should cherish the differences and learn from them, not discriminate and damn them. I am not necessarily Christian, but I do wholly believe in the idea of “love thy neighbor.”

            Growing up in my mom’s house, we always had delicious meals. There was meat loaf and pot roast and chicken and mashed potatoes and, growing up in the mid-west, corn on the cob. There was one dish that I remember the most distinctly, however: elbow macaroni. Sometimes it was in the goulash dish, other times it was in macaroni and cheese. Whatever meal it was in, there was something about the elbow macaroni noodle that fascinated me.

            Sitting here, I have nothing but time to think, and, though sometimes it’s incredibly difficult to think about anything, I spend a lot of time thinking about elbow macaroni. Throughout the years I’ve spent here, I believe that I finally realize what is so special about that particular noodle; why I have always been so fascinated by it. The reason is so simple I literally bopped my forehead when I discovered it. It is simply the shape.

            The shape of the elbow macaroni, a tubular curve, is so simple and plain that it is everywhere. The letters C and U, the lowercase N, doubled it is S, building block arches, the humps of a camel, piping behind walls, hills and mountains, eye lashes, blades of grass, the moon on several legs of its cycle through the night sky. The elbow macaroni is all around us, though many people don’t see it. I, on the other hand, see it hundreds of times every time I leave this place, which isn’t very often. I cherish the shape and have journals filled with every time I see it take on a form. Even here, the empty and dull place where I sit, there are at least ten different elbow macaroni forms. After years of being attracted to the shape of the elbow macaroni, I see it everywhere. In the forms I’m forced to fill out before eating any meal presented to me I circle ever instance of the C’s, U’s, n’s, parentheses, commas, semicolons, etc. It usually takes a long time, but I want whoever’s job it is to go through those forms to know just how special that beautiful curve actually is. Sometimes I wonder if it’s a waste of time, but those wonders are squashed whenever the elbow macaroni makes its way into my line of sight again. How could I think such things when I see that almost seductive contour? It’s peaceful in its simplicity and yet powerful in its reign over the many forms it takes on…

Throughout my entire life, I’ve wanted to be a writer. I’ve been in so many different writing classes over the years that they blend together to the point where I cannot remember any individual teacher or professor nor can I recall any particular assignment from one specific course. All of the lessons taught in all of these classes, however, stick out in my mind, clear and distinct as if I’d learned them all yesterday. And, in this heap of helpful information, there is one lesson that I am utilizing now.
            Every English teacher across America has taught their students the same thing: “Write what you know.” I’ve always thought that, being an average mid-western white male, nothing I knew what interesting enough to write about. I always stuck to the realms of fiction and nonsensical poetry. Until now, that is.

            Now, I am writing what I know because, only now, do I know something that is of any interest to anyone else. It’s been so long since I’ve had to do a nonfiction narrative assignment for one of those numerous writing courses that I might be a bit rusty. However, as I said before, I have all the time in the world in this place and, when I’m able to, I’m going to use it to tell my only experience that is at all fascinating.

…Isn’t it fascinating that the phrase “Elbow Macaroni” only as two instances of its enchanting shape in it…?