It was hot sunny afternoon. I was sitting on our lawn, along with dad. The ice-box lay open, within arm’s reach. A blanket of ice cubes comfortably covered Eight pints of beer, preserving their cold sanctity. They appeared all the more appealing in the mid-day heat. Dad’s eyes were covered with dark sunglasses, but I knew that even he was eyeing the pints. We had no choice. It was mom’s rule that the beer was not be touched until everyone had arrived.
It was our fortnightly family barbecue lunch. We were waiting for my uncle’s family to arrive. Mom was huddled over the grill, marinating the meat with her special mix of spices. Meanwhile, I and dad, were sizzling in the sun, not unlike the meat on the grill. The only redeeming factor was the amazing aroma emanating from the grill. It made me drool more profusely than the sun was making me sweat. My eyes longed for the sight of my uncle’s car. I heard it before I could it see it. The red sedan made more noise than a road roller. The car halted next to our lawn with a bang and rumble. My uncle and aunt got out of the car, followed by my cousin. As always, he was glued to his phone. My aunt carried a brown parcel in her hand and my uncle lugged a crate of beer. Dad and uncle grunted at each other and shook hands. They were both men of few words. Rather, their words only poured when they had poured beer into their bellies. Mom and aunt were quite opposite in this respect. They greeted each other and started chatting away about events that had transpired in the past few days. Events which were entirely inconsequential, in my opinion. Mrs. Wilson’s new petunias, Mr. Boyd’s knee surgery and what not.
As soon as my uncle and cousin had settled down next to us, dad and me reached into the box and grabbed our bottles. My uncle and cousin followed suit. Now, it felt blissful. However, with mom in the scene, calm bliss is usually never long-lasting. No sooner had I taken my first sip of the chilled amber liquid, I heard my mom screaming at my aunt.
“Not again, Susan! How many times do I have to tell you, if you decide to get the leg piece, make sure it is well-cleaned. The next time you bring a homeless guy’s legs to barbecue, shave the hair off first.”
Well, she did have a point. Nobody liked hair mixed in a mouthful of tender, succulent human meat.
Word Count: 435
Merging two prompts here! 🙂
The first one is “Grill” by Stream of Consciousness Saturday May 26/18
The second prompt is “Sizzle” by my buddy Kristian.
Kristian is looking at starting a prompts project, do check it out! 🙂
Image Credits – https://www.pinterest.com/bbqexplorer/visualdrawings-paintings-bbqbarbecuebarbeque/