Ethereal

The Trouble about Potatoes

I had barely made a dent in the potato pile when I heard the thundering sound of feet hitting the stairs. Crewmates shuffled into the small space, their bodies dripping with ocean spray and sweat as they formed a line and grabbed a bowl filled with a mysterious substance from Grouch-o before they began to sit down. I looked down at the pile of naked potatoes at my feet. Were we not having potato stew tonight? What the hell are they eating? Why the hell am I peeling a vegetable we’re not even going to eat?

Sensing my distress, Grouch-o waved a long ladle at me with his stubby hand.

“Get that pile of dirt out of here. The crew’s sittin’ down for dinner if you didn’t notice, ya daft bat.” He said.

“Why was I peeling potatoes if we aren’t even going to eat them? What was the point of that?” I asked, my voice coming out harsher than I intended it to. It was hard to feel guilty after spending the majority of my youth plucking out potato eyes.

“Those are for breakfast tomorrow. Now finish it up somewhere else while the crew eats – no one wants to eat next to that stink.” He said. I decided to pretend that he meant the potatoes.

“Can’t I eat first?” I said. My stomach grumbled at that precise moment, helping me to plead my case. Grouch-o, however, lived up to his name.

“Not until you’re done with your work.” he said and leaned forward as his mouth twisted into a smirk. “And I’d get going if I were you – crew gets seconds once everyone’s eaten. They don’t leave until the food’s all gone.”

I could feel the tips of my hair steam with heat as I dragged my bag of potatoes up the stairs and onto the main deck, my knife tucked between my teeth and my one free hand hauling the bucket of discarded peels. Grouch-o knew there was nowhere else that I could take my starchy stash besides going up on the top deck. My closet barely fit me.

I brushed past dirtied sailors who were too distracted with hunger to notice me as I made for the door. The wind had picked up as the sun began to set, the waves were choppier now as the sky darkened around me. Throwing my bucket and bag of potatoes to the side of the ship I took a seat on the staircase that led up to the stern. The ship was completely emptied of sailors now, everyone stealing below deck to eat whatever Grouch-o had made them.

At least I’m outside, I thought to myself as I set back to peeling the potatoes. And it beats washing the dishes in the gross sink water. Although I had a sneaking suspicion that Grouch-o was going to make me clean up after dinner, so there might be no escaping that.

“Having a good first day?”

I almost fell off my seat as I swiveled to the right, my heartbeat faltering as I saw Stew and Carlo appear next to me. Disappointment was sour on my tongue, though I couldn’t fathom why. In Stew’s hand was an extra bowl of soup, outstretched for me to take. I stabbed my potato with the knife and threw it back into the sack, greedily taking the bowl from Stew as I shoveled the food into my mouth.

At once I almost spewed the mush back out, the bitter taste of the watered-down soup tasting too much of pepper and lime. Not once did I see Grouch-o holding a lime – why did this taste so much like lime?

Stew laughed at my expression, and I noticed Carlo choke back a chuckle as well.

“Grouch-o’s cooking gets better with time.” He said.

“You mean after he kills off all of my taste buds?” I said.

“That too,” said Carlo. I tried to hold back the surprise that threatened to show on my face as he spoke to me. Maybe Carlo was finally warming up to me – and if I could get Carlo to open up, maybe Grouch-o would follow suit. I wasn’t going to hold my breath though.

“Thanks for bringing this to me.” I said, looking down into my bowl sheepishly. I had already given into the fact that I probably wasn’t going to eat tonight, and this little surprise greatly improved my mood.

“You can thank Cap’n for that. He’s the one who told us to take a bowl out for you. I think he’s got a soft spot for ya, miss. But don’t go around tellin’ anyone I told ya, or he’ll have my tongue.” Said Stew.

The news made goosebumps form over my skin as a new wave of what could only be described as giddiness swirled in my stomach. I might have wanted the captain to come out and deliver the bowl himself, but Stew’s words proved to be more than enough.

I chatted with Stew for a few more minutes before Carlo elbowed his side and motioned for him to go back below. Stew gave me an apologetic smile, which I returned with gusto. The fact that they even risked social scrutiny to bring me my dinner was gift enough, but spending their allotted dinner time with the new kid on the first day might cause future problems down the road. I waved them away and focused on stomaching the soup, which had cooled down immensely while I had been talking with Stew. This somehow made the soup even worse, as the liquid now crawled down my throat as it turned into a gelatinous form.

I forced several more spoonful’s past my lips before I gave up and returned to my stack of potatoes. The wind was whipping my hair back and forth now, getting strands of hair into my eyes and mouth. If only I had remembered to put a hair tie around my wrist before I was separated from my bag this wouldn’t be an issue. Nevertheless, the work had to get done. And with the increasingly darkening sky, I knew I didn’t have much daylight left before I’d be forced to retreat below deck and finish my work in my closet.

Perhaps it was a sudden gust of wind, or a rogue wave that had a tremendous amount of force behind it, but one moment I was sitting horizontal on the staircase, and the next I was flung across the deck as the ship dipped in towards the sea. I managed to catch myself before I could roll across the deck, but unfortunately for my potato sack, all of my little turds were now rolling across the deck in every direction.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I screeched, grabbing the emptied sack and throwing as many potatoes into it as I could. My misfortune only seemed to grow, however, as the ship hit another series of waves and began to rock violently, making myself and my poor potatoes tumble across the deck. I quickly developed a system of retrieval, however, and waited for a sudden tilt of the ship in one direction before I held open the sack and waited for the potatoes to literally roll back into my lap.

Just as the sun had completely set behind the sea, the last potato made its way back into the sack. At least what I hoped was the last potato. Many of the potatoes were still unpeeled when they fell out of the bag, and their dark brown skin blended in terribly well with the wood of the deck. Tying off the top of the bag with a solid knot to prevent any further disasters, I almost let out a cry of defeat as the ship tilted backwards and I heard the distinguishable roll of a potato hurling itself across the deck.

Abandoning the potato sack, I dove for the damned thing, my fingers wrapping around its bruised skin. But there was something odd about this potato, as I realized a moment too late that it was because someone’s foot was pressed on top of it.

“I see you’ve been busy.” Said Jax.

My eyes nearly rolled into the back of my head as I tried to look up at his face. He stepped off the potato and watched me with a flat face as I picked myself up from the deck and stood in front of him, potato intact and clutched against my chest. He looked from the potato to me, raising an eyebrow in amusement. I felt my shoulders relax – he thought it was funny. He wasn’t upset that I nearly lost an entire sack of potatoes to the beasts of the sea. What a shame that would have been too – I’m pretty sure oceanic creatures didn’t even eat potatoes anyway.

“It’s been a long day.” I finally admit to him, breaking the silence between us. I turn around and grab the sack, untying the knot and placing the official last potato with its kin. Hopefully they would all stay together until morning.

“I’ve gathered.” Jax said. His gaze was unwavering as his eyes seemed to pick me apart.

I frowned at him, his facial features almost indistinguishable in the growing darkness. Was he being sarcastic? Was he mad at me for my mistake?

“Well, then, uh – I’ll just go down, I guess.” I said. What else was there to say? Jax was just standing there, expecting me to say something more, when there was nothing left to say. Was he expecting a thank you for the bowl of soup, perhaps?

I stopped short at the door and turned. Jax was still facing away, his gaze now focused on the invisible sea that stretched out in front of him.

“Thank you, by the way,” I said. Jax turned his head only slightly, as if it were his way of saying he was still listening. “for the soup I mean.” I finished, feeling my cheeks redden. Hopefully it was too dark for Jax to notice. Without waiting for a response, I threw the bag of potatoes through the door and closed it behind me, pressing my back against the wood as I willed my thrashing heart to still, the heat in my cheeks only intensifying. The boy had barely spoken three words to me and I was like putty in his hands. I needed to get my act together – how long had I even known him for, anyway? A day? Maybe two? This developing crush needed to be snipped by the bud, or I’m in danger of becoming woefully distracted. Mistakes can and will land me in trouble if I’m not careful.

I ignored Grouch-o and he did the same for me as I grabbed a lantern from the ceiling and dragged the potatoes to the end of the hallway towards my closet. The kitchen was now emptied of any signs of the crewmates, despite a large pile of dishes stacked next to the sink.

“Those dishes and potatoes better be done by the mornin’!” Grouch-o said.

I waved him off, already knowing what was expected of me. But my back ached from bending over and picking up fifty thousand potatoes rolling across the entire length of the ship, and every inch of my body was begging for me to lie down.

I opened my closet door and threw my potato sack over the buckets and mops, my shoulders burning with effort as the sack landed at the end of my hay bed. Plopping down in front of them, I tucked my legs towards my chest and laid back, letting my tensed muscles ease into the itchy straw beneath my skin. I set down the lamp on top of an overturned bucket, giving me plenty of light to finish my humble potato work.

It was a tight fit, but working in my closet wasn’t as bad as I originally thought it would be. I’d rather work in here than out with Grouch-o, who grunted at me every few minutes to remind me that I wasn’t liked.

The oil in the lantern had dipped to a thin line by the time I finished the last potato. Knowing more work awaited me in the kitchen, and that my night had just begun, I flung the finished potato sack back under the counter and turned to the sink.

But every dish was already washed, dried, and neatly stacked into a pile next to the sink.

My face heated as I was about to cry. Someone had already done my load of work for me, but surely it couldn’t have been Grouch-o. And I couldn’t well imagine Stew or Carlo both slaving over the sink, bickering over who was supposed to wash and who was to dry.

I tumbled back to my closet and practically fell into my bed as the question lingered at the edge of my mind. Even though my mind still spun with the different possibilities of who could have done my chores for me as I drifted off into sleep, I knew deep down there was only one person who could have done this for me.