If you’ve been reading my blog for more than, oh, a month, you would know a bit about the nightmares I have of the fat men devouring copious amounts of animal flesh. The villains’ faces had always remained piggish, yet vague and without identity. Today, their faces materialized right in front of me: they were those of people I care about.
Today was Sina’s thirtieth birthday. Somebody had chosen a restaurant called Espetus to dine at for the occasion. After checking out their site’s menu and finding nothing but a “meat selection,” I began to have my doubts as to whether I was truly welcome at the party. I tried to call the restaurant to see what, if any, vegan options they had. The phone was never answered. Roman asked Raquel whether they had anything for me, and she assured him that there was. I took a deep breath and tried to accustom myself to the idea of watching people feast upon the innocent for two solid hours. “It’s not my birthday,” I kept telling myself.
Roman and I reached the restaurant on time, but before anybody else. Wind annoying whipped my hair two and fro for half an hour before we were allowed inside. This was bearable, however much I wished to look nice today, but you must admit that it doesn’t contribute much to fostering a good mood!
We finally got in shortly after Junior and Erica arrived. Their presence, though they said little to me, helped my mood a bit. I have to admit that I like them both much, though I know them little. As we sat, the others slowly trickled into their seats. After the last people arrived, it was revealed, much to my horror, that the waiters would be bringing the meat on long, steel spikes, to the table and cutting up animals before my eyes. I felt sick.
The salad bar had less salad than dairy products and seafood. I eventually settled upon white rice, grilled eggplant, and tomatoes. One waiter in particular was very kind to me and personally pointed out everything that was fit for my consumption. He explained to me that he used to be a vegetarian, himself, but working where he did made him bend the other way. All I could say was, “It must be hard,” although I had wanted to say, “They beat the humanity out of you.”
I shoveled the rice down my throat as quickly as I could. I knew I had precious little time in which I could get food down before I’d be too sick to eat any more. Soon, the desfile del muerto arrived and I couldn’t bear to so much as look at the spectacle. I would periodically catch a glimpse of the defiling of the departed, and my stomach would turn. They all sat around laughing and joking, as though they were imprevious to the suffering of their supper.
It was too much to bear; my recurring hellish phantasm was playing out right before my eyes and all I could do was divert them. I was frozen, like in a dream before you realize that you are asleep. I sat there painfully twisting my cotton napkin around my hand until it turned purple. The pain in my arm did little to alleviate my conscience’s anguished cries. I tried telling myself, “It’s just that dream again. Nobody I care about is this cruel!” but I couldn’t make it stick. The faces were clear at last: the people in Roman’s family were the pig-men of my most chilling nightmares.
At last I came out of my head and ran to the restroom. The restaurant was of such a caliber where there were no stalls, as I had hoped: just one room for men and one for women. I had to stand in the hall for a while as waiters whisked the dead into the dining area and empty picks into the kitchen. Naomi stood beside me in line for a minute or two before I got in. I felt bad that I couldn’t talk to her – the tears had started to fall and I couldn’t stand to look anybody in that wretched place in the face. I got into the bathroom and heard a chain saw. I’ve seen enough and heard enough to know that they were sawing up an animal in the back. I cried uncontrollably. I looked at the monster in the mirror. I hate her. I don’t want to be her anymore, with the remnants of the dead she had eaten long ago still sickeningly disfiguring her body. I stuck my head into the toilet, fingers down the throat, let it go. I’ll be damned if I have to keep remnants of my old self around! I will never look back! I want my bones to stick out of my skin – the ultimate statement against the fat men devouring the innocent. That damn hospital got me eating again; I was stupid enough to think that my body may be fine as it is. Now I remember why I’m doing this: I have to reach my goal, gain control, set myself free of this world’s miserable confines. I will transcend it!
My mouth tasted like soap by the time I got back to the table. Soon, I had to hide my face behind my hair in order to mask the crying. I realize that they probably figured out that something was wrong, but thankfully nobody said anything. “Mila, what’s wrong?” What could I say? “You are!”? I pondered for a while the irony of the situation: Everybody else at the table was a Christian. Christians extoll the beauty of His creation and the sanctity of life, yet at this very moment they sit around a table devouring the sinless beings of His masterful creation. Maybe it’s suiting that they use the cross as their symbol? After all, it was the instrument of oppression, torture, and murder.
I began to twist the napkin again. One person whose name I forget but Ro says is Ruthie’s brother, kept eating and eating and eating. It took every ounce of control I possessed to ignore the scene. Damn you, conscience! Who ever heard of an Atheist so concerned with morality and justice? Why must I be cursed with such a strong sense of right and wrong? I guess this must be my cross to bear.
Naomi was kind enough to take Roman and I home. I felt bad that I still couldn’t look at either she or Ro, but that’s how it was. I hope her car seats weren’t real leather. After we got inside our apartment, I cried for a long time. Ro said that he would become Vegan, too. As much as I would like him to do so, I don’t want him to do it just so it’d make me feel better. He’d just go around eating animal products in secret and that wouldn’t be right. He says he’s honestly been thinking about it lately, but I have my doubts. I sat in the closet and listened to the videos about slaughterhouses that he was watching. After I came out, he seemed unhappy, but I cannot be sure if he was genuinely as upset about them as they had made me. I gave Ro some literature to read and urged him not to make a quick decision about the subject.
Why do morals have to be complex like this? Obviously, the moral decision would be to completely agree with him and induct him into a healthier, compassionate Vegan lifestyle, but some part of me cries out that he may not be happy with that. With all the obvious immorality of meat-eating, why am I apprehensive to rubber-stamp Ro’s sudden desire to go Veg? I know he’s been talking about cutting back his animal consumption lately, but I don’t want to force him into something good. The feeling is complex.
Do you remember being told as a child that despite wanting to be an adult, upon reaching adulthood, you’ll soon wish to return to your youth? I always thought that this sentiment had something to do with work, bills, taxes, and the like – I had no clue that it was about the moral obscurity that comes with it. As each day passes, I learn about one more thing to add to the collage that is life. Not one piece matches another. I asked my parents about this recently. They told me that they had indeed meant that the burden of adulthood was work, bills, taxes, et al. I guess I’m all alone in the quest for transcendence.
The picture shown here is of a passenger on an American Airlines flight, as taken by a concerned flight attendant. I have seen it passed around and discussed, usually in discussions of whether or not larger passengers ought to be charged for a second seat.