The Last Friday of Winter Break

photo by sophie mcleod

The Last Friday of Winter Break 

by fourth-year marilyn cottom

The still, calm silence of the archives seems to have followed us to the car. It sits heavy on my mind as we drive home, like a thick woolen blanket. I listen to my music with one earbud and look out the window. Mom listens to her Bruce Springsteen radio station. Occasionally we talk, mostly commenting on the more absurd things Bruce shouts out during his live performances. He tells stories, Mom protests, and I say, yes, and sometimes those stories are a bit silly. 

We start cooking almost as soon as we get home. She measures rice, ground beef, and tomato sauce and fills a pot of water to boil. I dice the onion and combine spices in a small bowl. The scent of garlic and chili powder is sharp and comforting as I sift the seasonings into a single mixture. We pool our ingredients together to make the filling. 

The air from the pot is steamy and warm as we lower the cabbage into the boiling salt water to blanche. A free facial, I tell Mom. Remember when I used to make you stand over a pot and breathe in the steam to help with congestion, she says, and I tell her I still do that when I’m sick at my apartment. Dad, who is home from work by now, peels the cabbage leaves apart with small exclamations as he burns his hands. Mom shows me how to cut the stems and watches as I scoop the filling into the center-base of the leaf, saying, just a bit more, not too much. She shows me how to roll the leaves quickly and smoothly and places them in the pot. We work side by side. 

The weak winter sunlight filtering in from the window is fading fast. Mom hums her annoyance as she sets the timer to remind us when the food’s done. I don’t understand how my mom had the patience to make this stuff, she tells me, but I know she’ll be happy once it’s on the table. We still have to make the sides. 

We have plenty of time, though.