Chowderhead Origins
~ A New England Tale ~
"The Bubbly Clam is a great place to work”, Charles said.
Ascending the fixed ladder, his shoes made little chiming sounds on the metal rungs.
"A great place”, he said. "The suits, they pay you well”.
His hands found the top rung and he pulled himself up onto the staging and then he stood there for some time, looking down into the vat of chowder, watching the white stuff bubble.
"They're giving you a second chance. Say you fit in just fine here. Say you're gonna’ be part of the Bubbly Clam... family”.
His last word rang from the metal scaffolding overhead and all along the grey-colored walls and then came back to him.
"Family. Family”.
He had been standing there for some time, listening to the echo, when the voice took on a different sound:
"-Lyy... you murdered... Murdered my family".
Someone coming towards him on the other side of the platform. He couldn't get a good look at the guy, obscured as he was in shadow, in the ropes of steam.
"The hell are you on about”? Charles said. "Can't you see I'm tryin' to work here”?
The man coming still. Slow strides, a pace of demented leisure.
"You murdered them”, the voice said.
When the man's shape passed beneath a quadrangle of yellow light from the eastern window, Charles got a better look at him. Not a man at all. Just a husky young boy with a down-turned face, saddened eyes that wouldn't look away.
"I'm warning your ass”, Charles said. "I been to prison. Don't mess with me”.
"Been to prison”, the voice repeated - mocking him. "Correct. After you murdered 'em... My mother and father both”.
If this kid wasn’t going to back down, Charles would make him. He lunged at him, grabbing him by the collar. They struggled. Charles broke free and sent a fist into his nose. Grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, holding his head over the vat of chowder. Blood coming from the boy's face. Dripping into the boiling chowder below, spattering it red. Steam bit at Charles’ hand and he could only imagine how the boy felt. The sensation of pain once again flooded Charles’ veins and he felt a warm familiarity with violence, like a clean addict getting his first fix in years.
“Don’t do this kid”, Charles repeated.
The boy twisted his neck, smiling up at him.
"You think it’s funny? How ‘bout this” -
He let go and watched the boy plummet. He wailed, splashing into the chowder - sucked in like some dinosaur caught in a primordial tar pit.
Work seemed to go well after that. He didn't hear anything about that night. He told nobody. Until he popped open a fresh can of Bubbly Clam Chowder and poured it into a bowl. He begun to dig in... A whispering sound over each chew. The chowder transforming dark red, as if bleeding. An eyeball floated to the top, quivered once, and stared at him. A little dimple in the water beneath it from which came the voice again:
"You murdered 'em". You murdered 'em"...
Ascending the fixed ladder, his shoes made little chiming sounds on the metal rungs.
"A great place”, he said. "The suits, they pay you well”.
His hands found the top rung and he pulled himself up onto the staging and then he stood there for some time, looking down into the vat of chowder, watching the white stuff bubble.
"They're giving you a second chance. Say you fit in just fine here. Say you're gonna’ be part of the Bubbly Clam... family”.
His last word rang from the metal scaffolding overhead and all along the grey-colored walls and then came back to him.
"Family. Family”.
He had been standing there for some time, listening to the echo, when the voice took on a different sound:
"-Lyy... you murdered... Murdered my family".
Someone coming towards him on the other side of the platform. He couldn't get a good look at the guy, obscured as he was in shadow, in the ropes of steam.
"The hell are you on about”? Charles said. "Can't you see I'm tryin' to work here”?
The man coming still. Slow strides, a pace of demented leisure.
"You murdered them”, the voice said.
When the man's shape passed beneath a quadrangle of yellow light from the eastern window, Charles got a better look at him. Not a man at all. Just a husky young boy with a down-turned face, saddened eyes that wouldn't look away.
"I'm warning your ass”, Charles said. "I been to prison. Don't mess with me”.
"Been to prison”, the voice repeated - mocking him. "Correct. After you murdered 'em... My mother and father both”.
If this kid wasn’t going to back down, Charles would make him. He lunged at him, grabbing him by the collar. They struggled. Charles broke free and sent a fist into his nose. Grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, holding his head over the vat of chowder. Blood coming from the boy's face. Dripping into the boiling chowder below, spattering it red. Steam bit at Charles’ hand and he could only imagine how the boy felt. The sensation of pain once again flooded Charles’ veins and he felt a warm familiarity with violence, like a clean addict getting his first fix in years.
“Don’t do this kid”, Charles repeated.
The boy twisted his neck, smiling up at him.
"You think it’s funny? How ‘bout this” -
He let go and watched the boy plummet. He wailed, splashing into the chowder - sucked in like some dinosaur caught in a primordial tar pit.
Work seemed to go well after that. He didn't hear anything about that night. He told nobody. Until he popped open a fresh can of Bubbly Clam Chowder and poured it into a bowl. He begun to dig in... A whispering sound over each chew. The chowder transforming dark red, as if bleeding. An eyeball floated to the top, quivered once, and stared at him. A little dimple in the water beneath it from which came the voice again:
"You murdered 'em". You murdered 'em"...
