Casserole

Chicken tortilla casserole is made of corn tortillas that my mother rips into little pieces in a big white bowl and bits of chicken she has pulled from the bones of several boiled chicken breasts. The sauce is poured from a can of store-brand cream of mushroom soup. She slops it into a glass pan and spreads it out with a wooden spoon. Then she sprinkles shredded cheese on the surface, mixes it all together, and sprinkles more cheese. The pan goes into the oven until the top is browned. My job is to watch her, because I'll have to cook for a family someday, and then I fill glasses with ice cubes from the plastic tray in the freezer and tap water from the sink. Sometimes I lay out food-stained place mats. Half of the table has a spring flower pattern, and the other half has laminated maps of the United States. The casserole is set in the middle on my mother's pot holders.

My father gets up from the couch down the hall and says, hold on, I've got to change out of my suit and my little brother and I sit waiting for him in second-hand t-shirts monogrammed with horses and skateboarders. My older brother's chair is empty as he yells from his room that chicken tortilla casserole is SICK, GROSS, UP-CHUCK and then he rumbles down the stairs and starts flicking Dylan in the head. I say stop, he flicks me, now we're all flicking but we quit because my dad is pulling on his University of Kansas Jayhawks sweatshirt and calling to my mother that it's time to pray. My mother enters and turns the lights down a little and folds her hands.

Sit down Sharon, says my dad. Not until Wyatt apologizes for what he called my casserole. WHAT THAT'S SO STUPID, Wyatt's voice cracks and he pulls at his red hair. Come on, just apologize so we can eat, sighs Dad. Come on, I say. SHUT UP LARA. Apologize to your sister. SORRY. My mother stays standing. I SAID I'M SORRY GEEZ. Don't take the Lord's name in vain. How is geez taking the Lord's name in vain? It's short for Jesus. My mother sits down. After we have lifted our heads and opened our eyes from the prayer, Dad dishes big mounds on everyone's plate. My mother says Lara's little friend Brian loves chicken tortilla casserole. No one answers because we are eating. The casserole is cold. When it gets cold you can make out the pieces of tortilla and chicken with your tongue. The tortillas are grainy and the chicken is not soft enough. We go the kitchen, even Wyatt, and wait in a line for the microwave.

Sometimes I went to Brian's house for dinner. The street lights would come on while we were on the playground, so we ran to his house and up the stairs to the attic where we put on “Free Willy.” His mom came up after a while and gave us chicken fingers on paper plates. I liked to hold them in my palm before I ate them. They were neat and bumpy and sometimes came with zig-zag french fries. They left little bubbles of grease on the plates. His freezer was full of bright bags of frozen balls meat and potatoes that could be warmed and dipped in ketchup, just like they did in slow motion on the commercials. Brian's mom made us wash up before and after we ate the chicken fingers so my hands smelled like soap whenever I came back home from across the street.

Oh but when I open the door, there is my mother. There is a plate warming in the oven, a plate of casserole in thirds with two vegetable servings. I blurt it out, rip it off quick like a bandaid. I already ate dinner. She presses saran wrap around the edges of the plate and places it in the refrigerator. Later I can't sleep and tip toe up the stairs to her room where the voice of a Southern pastor croons from her clock radio and I say Mom? What. I'll eat the casserole tomorrow okay? Okay. She turns to her other side.

Tuna casserole is similar to chicken tortilla casserole. Tuna casserole is also made with cream of mushroom soup from a can, and thick noodles, tuna, peas, and shredded cheese. The noodles are boiled and then smothered in cream of mushroom. The peas are put in a glass bowl of water in the microwave until they are hot, and then blended with the noodles. Then the can of tuna is opened and drained of water, and then my mother removes the chunks with a fork. The noodles are spread in the same glass pan and put in the oven until they are one big blob, but if you tried you could take out the crispy noodles one by one.

Tuna casserole was for Sunday afternoons. I'm hungry, Mom, I say sitting on the red velvet pews of Topeka Bible Church and she whispers why didn't you have a bowl of frosted shredded wheat before church? I did have a bowl of frosted shredded wheat. The communion is coming around in a second. Here it is, three giant crackers on a silver plate and I know it tastes like cardboard soaked in grape juice but I'm hungry. She slaps my hand when I try to take the whole cracker. My brothers and I are racing in the parking lot towards our van and Dad says let's go to Tortilla Jack's. Yeah! Let's go to Tortilla Jack's! We're in the car bouncing and chanting Tortilla Jack's, Tortilla Jack's and my mother wipes the bread crumbs away from her seat and slams the door. We have tuna casserole at home, she says. NO MOM GOSH NO ONE WANTS TO EAT THAT. We can have that for dinner Sharon. I made tuna casserole this morning for lunch. MOM JUST LET US HAVE GOOD FOOD FOR ONCE IN OUR LIVES. We rejoice when Dad takes a left towards the restaurant and later that night Mom and Dad sit quietly and eat the tuna casserole while we have peanut butter sandwiches.

My dad is usually the last one eating and Wyatt is in his room cleaning his bow and arrows so Dylan and I crawl under the table and into his lap. My little doggies, he says, and he sets down his fork to pat our heads. Mom scrapes the uneaten casserole into a tupperware. I stand up and follow her into the kitchen. I say it's okay, I like your casserole. Thank you, sweetie, and she takes her apron off and puts it in a drawer. Wyatt comes down and we watch Home Improvement in the living room. Mom stands in the doorway and watches with us and does the dishes during the commercials. She likes Tim Allen. It's good to hear her laugh.