Chapter 7

At home, I started a project, and got out the sausage grinder and the casings, and began to make sausage with bacon, turkey, apples and Italian spices. It was a messy job, but filling the casing and twisting up link after link of narrow sausages into coils of deliciousness on the newspaper waiting to catch it on the floor instilled in me a contentment and sense of accomplishment.

I was startled when the girls got home, I had lost track of time. They helped by getting their own snack, and since I wasn't prepared to make them anything, I didn't have much to say to their choice of toaster pastry. At least they drank milk with it instead of sodapop. I used up all the ingredients we had on hand, and hung the coils of sausage link in the pantry, a little well insulated room in the old-fashioned house which was much colder than the rest of the house. I put a few of the fresh links on to simmer with some halved new potatos and chunks of carrots, and went out to do my exercise.

I told the girls to turn the sausage over and stir the vegetables as I went off to shower, and by the time I was done it was time for the folks to get home. I cleaned up the mess I had made of the kitchen as the little sisters set the table, and had it all tidied up and washed my hands, just drying them as Dad and Mom walked in the door.

"Oh, what a lovely smell, Paolo, you make it so nice to come home, a warm house with such amazing smells of cooking!" my Dad praised me.

I brought the pitcher of water to the table, and we all sat down to eat. For awhile, the only sounds were clinking of dinnerware, and soft requests to pass thus-and-such. I should have made biscuits to go with the meal, and a green vegetable.

No one else seemed to notice any lack, though, and we ate it up to the final bite, with no one being hungry for more, or missing the missing dessert. After the clean-up, we sat in the living room and discussed our days. I mentioned I had a sort of date on Friday, and instantly was pounced upon by two intense whirlwinds of curiosity.

"Is she pretty? What color is her hair? Does she like you That way? What is her name? Have you met her family? (this one was contributed by Mom.) Is she nice? When can we meet her?" (this one was asked by Dad.) All the while the two terrors were climbing on me, peering into my face to judge for themselves the veracity of my replies, giggling and bouncing up and down, and generally being complete pests. I was really enjoying it, and felt pretty excited about it myself.

"I won't bring her around here if you will be acting like this!" I declared. "I expect you two to be little ladies, and not swarm her like ravening beasts!" I teased.

They promised that they would restrain themselves if they were privileged to meet my Miss Tiff, and I cautioned my parents that so far she was 'just a friend'. The girls told about their adventures in the performing arts, and how they were taking stage direction. They each demonstrated their lines, or in Beth's case, her character. Mom and Dad contributed little character sketches of people they worked with, and then it was bedtime.

In the morning, both of the sweeties were cuddled up with me, and I didn't have to pee for once, so I waited for my alarm clock to go off, enjoying the feel of their warm little bony bodies jammed against me in the crowded bed. I wondered why they weren't taking turns anymore, but sharing me instead. The alarm clock began its annoying buzzing, and I jumped out of bed taking the blankets with me.

They had no choice but to return to their own room. As much as I enjoyed them sleeping in my bed, it shouldn't be an everyday and routine event, but more of a special treat. That is why I was just a little mean after they had spent the early morning hours cuddled with me in my sleep. Plus, it was my duty as a big brother to be somewhat annoying, and I tried hard, but mostly failed to live up to my duties.

I decided to ride the bus, to make sure the class-ist breakdown continued. I sat in the middle of Sophomore country, and sure enough, Sandy came down from Junior land, and sat next to me when she boarded the bus.

"Did you get held back a grade, Sandy?" I teased her with a grin.

"Just looking for some nutrients." she replied archly, and we enjoyed each others company in silence for the rest of the trip.

In the Quad, I did nothing but observe, and engage in a few conversations when prompted. Yes, the ferment was getting more active, and not just outward from Sophomore territory. A Senior sister was talking about the upcoming holiday plans with her Sophomore brother, deep behind Sophomore lines, and the marching band was staking out multi-class neutral ground in no-man's-land in the center of the Quad.

As the first bell grew closer, more and more people, not even in band, or choir, or the debate society, began to invest the former no-man's-land turning it into a new common ground, a village square, a melting pot of cliques and grades. It was easily bigger than any one of the former territories, even the Senior's square.

It was amorphous, changing shape and milling about, now pushing in on the Juniors, then intermingling with the Sophomores. The Seniors lined up to defend their territory from the plebeian masses on their borders, trying to keep their territories inviolate.

Next year though, I bet that particular tradition would be moot, and there would be no encultured territory based on class. Oh, I was sure little groups would carve out niches, but it would be based on smaller political units than what graduating class you belonged to.