Fried Eggs at Night

Summer 2006

I was watching TV when I noticed the man approaching our home. He wore an odd sort of uniform. My brother and sister were both asleep but I quickly woke them up for safety. The man disappeared, moving out of my sight. Suddenly, the whole house went into a deep silence and our kitchen appliances stopped running. Our parents were both still at work. We were all alone. The man came back into view, walking quickly away from our house. My brother ran and flipped the kitchen light switch but it did not turn on. It was then we realized why this stranger had come to our house. Even as kids, getting our water and electricity shut off was not surprising. 

I called Dad. As the phone rang, I knew he would be upset I had not yet started cooking lunch for my siblings. Then, his voice was in my ear, sternly asking me a question. I told him the lights had been shut off. There was a brief silence, and his tone quickly softened. He told me prep sandwiches instead of cooking hot dogs. The bill was not going to get paid for a while as Dad only had $20 for gas that week. Without a working stove, I was going to be making many sandwiches for lunch. 

Our parents finally came home as the sun was setting. Mom announced we were having a cookout. Beyond that, we were not saying much; the five of us knew there was no time to complain or feel bad about our situation. This was our reality. Mom quickly gathered all the candles in the house and told us to bring them to the table outside. Then, she grabbed a few eggs and two cans of beans we had picked up from the food pantry last week. Dad went to the backyard, searching all over for branches. Eventually, Mom joined him. Their certainty and confidence made me feel less anxious. If they were stressed, worried or scared, they did not show it. I tried not to show it, too.

All the way in the back, there was a man-made brick oven that was falling apart. Dad put some of the bricks back together and made a fire over an oven rack he had taken from inside. My brother, sister, and I sat at the table by the back door in the cool air of the darkening night, the candles illuminating us. We sat close together, watching our parents move in the glow of the brick oven. 

Soon, Mom and Dad approached us with a plate full of fried eggs, beans, and toasted tortillas–just how we liked them. Eating together, my fear began to subside. My brother and sister were laughing and the lines of worry etched into the faces of my parents softened just a bit. We sat around dreaming about everything we wanted to do in this yard: my brother was going to learn how to mow the lawn; my sister explained where she wanted a pool; and my mom described the flowers she wanted to grow. For a few minutes, we forgot about the darkened house behind us.

As we put our plates away and brought the candles back in, I saw my parents exchange a look of relief. The lines had returned and I could tell they felt embarrassed and ashamed. I watched them without saying a word. I could not articulate to them how much I enjoyed our dinner. If I could, I would go back in time to this night and tell them those fried eggs were the best eggs I ever had.