ST1.11 | "Pin Bone Stew"

PROMPT: The dinner table—a place where families gather, where clients are charmed, where relationships begin and goodbyes are postponed. Breaking bread together is integral to the human experience. The poor do it; world leaders do it. Deals are made. Handshakes exchanged.

So many good things come out of these meetings: memories and progress and high spirits.

We don’t want a story about that dinner party. For November, a month that kicks off a bevy of dining-centric holidays, send us your stories of a meal that goes wrong, with dire consequences.

PIN BONE STEW

by Aidan Shousky

It was a hard thing, watching Jimmy O’Doyle eat. His hands piled food in between his crooked teeth, shoveling scarps of shellfish onto his tongue like a spit-soaked assembly line. He snorted every few seconds and cleared his throat of loose debris. The wet growl that dropped from his mouth sounded like a woodchipper grinding down trash bags filled with jelly. The lump of fat that curled under his chin like a water balloon swelled each time he swallowed.

Riley Byrne, Alfie Sheroka, and Patty McCauley sat around their friend and sipped whiskey. Drinking required little effort, allowing them to focus their collected energy on stuffing down the guilt and agitation that boiled in their stomachs like hot oil. Skins formed on the top of their own bowls of cioppino, thin layers of fish fat and butter sitting stiff like ice on top of a pond. Every time one of them exhaled, the booth that they sat in seemed to constrict. It was like sitting inside the fist of fate, squeezing them all, wringing the cowardice out of their pores like dirty dish water.

“Soup isn’t half bad, huh?” Jimmy said as he spooned chunks of cod and mussels into his mouth.

“Can you even taste it?” Patty asked as he sucked down the remainder of his cocktail. He slid out of the booth and walked toward the bar. “Anyone want another one?”

“Maybe bring a bottle over,” Alfie said as he lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “I can’t taste as much as I used to because of the smokin’. I’d stop, but it’s irreversible. That’s what my doctor told me.”

Jimmy gobbled down a hunk of bread and said, “I started goin’ to see this Chinese doctor. He’s a one-of-a-kind sorta guy.”

“What does that mean?” Riley asked.

“Yous know. Like a character. Just himself.”

Alfie shifted his weight so that he was leaning toward his left side. He stirred his spoon around the rim of his bowl and said, “We’re all just ourselves, Jimmy. Who isn’t themselves?”

“If you weren’t yourself, then you’d be somebody else,” Riley said.

Patty slid back inside the booth and sat a full bottle of Jameson down in the middle of the table. “Yeah, Jimmy. I gotta agree with everybody else on that," he said, wiggling his gut so that it wasn’t pressing into the edge of the table.

“I didn’t know I was sittin’ with philosophers. It’s a common fuckin’ expression.” Jimmy looked down at his bowl and began eating faster. “You wanna start pickin’ apart every little thing that I say? That’s fine. But you know what I’m gettin' at.”

Riley started to laugh and looked at Alfie. He nodded. Alfie adjusted his posture so that he could reach the .22 Smith & Wesson that was sitting inside of his jacket pocket. Riley said, “That’s how I know you’re full of shit. You say how we all know it already.”

Tension built in Jimmy’s jaw. He focused on his breath and said, “When it’s true, it’s true.”

“What makes it true, though? When you think it, say it, or do it?” Riley asked.

Jimmy nearly broke a sweat trying to prevent his hands from shaking. He said, “What does that mean?”

“I think I know what you’re gettin’ at,” Alfie interjected with an inflection as sarcastic as a slide whistle. He leaned forward and sat his elbows on the table, staring over the mountain of flesh and bone that his interlaced hands created. “You can think something. Spend a lot of time thinkin’ on it. Seein’ every angle. But that doesn’t make it a truth. It’s still nothing. You can even say something to somebody. Doesn’t make it true. At least not in its entirety. But if you do something . . .”

“I get it,” Patty said. ‘When you do the thing, that’s set in stone. It happened. It’s true. Is that about right?”

“In the ballpark,” Riley said.

“Like actions speak louder than words,” Alfie said.

Tension gathered in the air like mud. Jimmy continued to eat, keeping his eyes fixed on his bowl. “Almost ruinin’ my appetite with all this,” he mumbled.

“Didn’t stop you though,” Patty said.

“When did you get so antsy?” Alfie asked as he pointed to Jimmy’s shaky fingers.

“I’m not antsy,” Jimmy replied.

Patty smirked and said, “You looked like you were gonna break your teeth you were bitin down so hard. I saw a vein from your head to your fuckin’ neck ready to pop.”

Alfie slapped his hand on the table and laughed. “He looked scared for a second. Like for real.”

Jimmy scooped up a large piece of shrimp and ate it. He followed that with another piece, filling his mouth to capacity. Even with all the food sloshing between his cheeks he spoke. “There’s honestly something wrong with yous. Demented-like.”

As the others laughed, Riley sat still and let the levity in the air dissipate like smoke. He eyed Jimmy and said, “Some actions speak louder than words. Some.”

“I thought we’d moved past this!” Jimmy exclaimed.

“Who said?”

Alfie slid his right hand under the table and rested it on his thigh. Patty blinked, keeping his eyes closed longer each time. He was hoping that he’d get lucky and miss the action.

Jimmy looked at the bowls in front of his friends, still filled to the top. “Not eatin’?” he asked.

“In a bit,” Alfie answered.

“Have all you like,” Riley said.

Jimmy reached for the loaf of bread that was wrapped in a towel next to the whiskey and ripped off a hunk the size of a softball. He used it to soak up the broth in his bowl. His front teeth tore into the soggy crust like the raw flesh of an animal. “How about we talk about something not fuckin’ creepy?” he asked. No one answered, so he continued to swallow bread and stuff panic down his throat. The fear in his blood shut off his brain like a car’s ignition.

“You talk louder than you think,” Riley said. He looked over to Alfie.

Alfie arched his back and sat up. Jimmy tried to speak, but it was cut off by a gasp and a noise that sounded like a toad wheezing. His hands shot up around his throat and he burst up from his seat like a Jack-in-the-Box.

“What the fuck is that?” Patty said as he exploded out of the booth.

Alfie got up and drew the .22. “Don’t fuckin’ move, Jimmy.”

Riley jumped from his seat and rushed over to Jimmy. He held the man’s back and asked, “What the hell are you doin’?”

“Is he fuckin chokin’?” Alfie asked.

Jimmy struggled to stand. His face began to turn red and then purple. He wasn’t speaking, but his mouth was open. All he could do was gag and grab at Riley’s shirt as he fell to his knees.

Riley smiled and said, “He’s choking.”

“Do yous know the Hemlock?” Patty asked.

“The fuckin’ Hemlock?” Alfie replied.

“Nobody’s givin’ him the Heimlich. Let him choke,” Riley ordered. “And put the goddamn gun away.”

“This is like a horror movie!” Patty yelled.

Alfie lowered the pistol and watched his friend struggle.

Riley listened to Jimmy gag and said, “Just let it be.”

Jimmy collapsed onto the floor. He continued to hold his neck and began to kick his feet. His eyes were bloodshot, and his pupils expanded. The skin on his face turned a dark blue, and as he squirmed on the linoleum, his hands slipped away and fell to his sides, twitching fast like he was being electrocuted.

The other men watched as Riley knelt by Jimmy’s face, more life leaving their friend’s body with every passing second. He put his hand on his chest and felt the struggle taking place beneath Jimmy’s skin, violent spasms making his ribs pulse.

“I hope you can still hear me a bit, pal,” Riley whispered. “Before you go, just listen real fast. This is what happens when you forget who your friends are. Hold onto this, wherever you’re goin’ and know that you’re alone.”

“Fuckin’ snake,” Alfie said.

Before Jimmy could look at Riley, his eyes rolled in the back of his head and globs of fish and spit bubbled in the corners of his mouth. He stopped struggling. His fingers curled and his chest settled. For several moments, he was quiet. After a final tremor, he was dead.

“I can’t believe that just fuckin’ happened,” Patty said.

“Sometimes, God gives you a break,” Riley added.

Alfie took a long look at Jimmy’s face and said, “Yeah, I don’t know if God makes people choke. I could be wrong, but I doubt it.”

“That was wild,” Patty said. “It was . . . Is he actually dead?”

Alfie walked closer to Jimmy’s body and stomped his foot. The body just jiggled. “Yeah. He’s definitely gone.”

“Christ, he went down quick,” Patty exclaimed.

“I feel pretty unsatisfied,” Alfie mumbled.

“Yeah. Lot of build up for that,” Riley added.

“What do you we do with him now?” Patty asked.

Riley stood up and circled the body. Alfie and Patty moved toward the bar and sat on the empty stools. No one said it out loud, but all three men were thinking the same thing. Jimmy’s sloppy habits and glutinous ways saved them the anguish that comes with murdering a life-long companion. It took dying for him to finally do something decent for somebody other than himself.

“I lined my trunk already,” Patty said. “Give me two seconds and I’ll back down the alley.”

“No. We don’t need that now,” Riley responded.

“Well, I’d at least like to get him up off my floor. He’s probably sitting in his own shit.”

Alfie lit a cigarette and walked back over to the table. His fingers grazed the handle of a spoon that was submerged under the thin red broth in Jimmy’s bowl. He saw the large chunks of cod and squid and said, “Who cooked this?”

“I got it from the Italian market. The fish place,” Patty said.

“Cut up all this shit kinda big, huh?”

“That’s why I didn’t touch it. Half of that probably isn’t cooked,” Riley said. He got up and looked into the bowl that Alfie was examining.

“I found a pin bone in mine,” Patty said as he got up from the stool and joined his friends. “Once I felt that in between my teeth, I was done with it.” He looked over his shoulder at Jimmy’s body, noticing the look that was frozen on his face. The eyes were dilated and bloodshot. The mouth hung open like he was trying to scream.

“This is gonna sound dumb, but I feel bad for him,” said Patty.

Alfie strolled past him, behind the bar to grab a beer. “I’m not sure I know why.”

Riley was staring at his own shirt sleeve and didn’t even seem to hear either man.

Patty stood over Jimmy’s body and said, “If you just would’ve shot him, I’d be okay with that. It’s what he deserved and all. But going like this, that’s just a friend dyin’. Does that make sense?”

“No. I can’t say it does,” Alfie said.

Patty turned around and looked at Riley. “What do you think?” he asked.

“About what?” Riley replied.

“My theory.”

Riley raised his arm, holding the end of his sleeve toward the overhead lights, and said, “Jimmy stained my shirt. Spit on my sleeve or something.” He moved toward the bar, stepping over the body like it was a piece of chewed gum.

“You never said what to do with him,” Alfie muttered.

“Call 911,” Riley said. “But first, get me some club soda. I gotta save this shirt.”

Aidan Shousky was born and raised in North Philadelphia where he worked part-time as an art teacher and private investigator. He graduated from Temple University with a bachelor’s degree in English and Film. While at the university, he was a member of Philadelphia Young Playwrights. He currently lives in Saint Paul, MN and works as an editorial assistant.