Peas and Water Guns - A Short Story

One evening a young couple went to a friend’s house for dinner. It was nothing out of the ordinary – a relaxed meal, everyone seated at a nice table with stoneware plates and mostly matching silverware. Good food, pleasant conversation, all the usual ingredients. But on this particular evening, the host asked these two guests, Aaron and Sabrina, if they wanted any peas; now, instead of the usual response of “yes, thanks” or “no, thank you,” Aaron and Sabrina looked at him and then at each other, and burst out laughing. As you might imagine, the host was confused by this response and asked “what’s so funny?” Still laughing, Aaron said “oh, nothing, sorry,” and through a chortle Sabrina managed to say “you don’t have a water gun, do you? I love peas with a water gun.” Now everyone was confused as they both laughed louder. “Ok,” their friend said, grinning, “you have to tell us the story behind this joke. We want to be in on it.” And so, wiping their eyes, Aaron and Sabrina began to tell the rest of the people at the table the story behind it all. If there had been no peas and water guns, there would not be a story worth telling. But there were, and there is a story, which I will tell you now.

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One week before, Aaron and Sabrina, together for four months, had just sat down to have dinner after a long day of work and classes at the university. Not having much time, Sabrina had cooked chicken and peas, and they both sat quietly at the table, Aaron pushing the peas around his plate and Sabrina watching. “You’re pretty quiet tonight,” she said, eating a bite of chicken. “Everything go ok at work?” “Oh, it’s fine; just been a really long week.” “Dinner ok?” she said. “Yeah, it’s fine.” She looked at him for a moment. “I didn’t use butter on the peas this time, I tossed them in olive oil. Saw it on a cooking show. Could you tell a difference?” Aaron looked at the forkful of peas he was holding. “Oh, you did? That’s nice.” He glanced across the room and noticed two brightly colored water guns lying on the coffee table. “What are those for?” “Oh, those are James’ and Matt’s toys,” Sabrina said. “I got out of class early and picked them up for Liz. We went to the park for a bit and they played, then we came back here to wait for her. They forgot their guns. I’ll drain out the water after dinner and give them to Liz tomorrow.” “Was nice of you to pick up the munchkins for your sister” Aaron, said, still pushing the peas around his plate. “Thanks, they exhausted me. Think they could run circles around a squirrel.” He smiled. “Speaking of water,” Aaron said, laying his fork down, “Did you have a chance to wash my shirt today? I want to get out of this stiff button up. Oh, and I washed and dried the towels last night while you were at your class, so they’re taken care of.” “Thanks," she replied; "I saw them in the cabinet. Yeah, I washed your shirt; it’s in the machine still. I put it in with a basket of other stuff.” He stood up and went to the washing machine across the room of their small one bedroom apartment and lifted the lid to pull out his favorite shirt and put it in the dryer; it was a light colored t-shirt he had gotten in Mexico last year. He looked into the machine and said “I don’t think it’s in here, all this stuff is pink and red. Did you leave it in the basket in the closet?” “No,” she replied, turning in her seat to face him. “I put it in with that load. But I washed it on cold just like you said.” He quickly pulled some of the pieces out of the washer and a horrified look came over his face. “Sabrina, what did you do to my shirt?!” He held up the once light shirt, which was now a lovely dark shade of pink. “I don’t understand,” Sabrina said as she stood up and walked over. “I washed it on cold so it wouldn’t bleed.” He pulled the rest of the wet clothes from the machine and tossed them in an empty basket. A nice dark pink blouse sat in the middle of once light clothes. “Well, this is just GREAT, he said, holding his t-shirt in his hand. You don’t ever wash dark pink colors with lights! I loved this shirt.” “Well, don’t get mad at me, I didn’t do it on purpose. Besides, it still looks nice. Maybe you can still wear it. Pink will look good on you.” She half-grinned as she said it. “It’s not funny, Sabrina. This is the fourth shirt you’ve ruined in the last two months!” “Well I’m sorry my clothing skills aren’t PERFECT like your mother’s laundry magic; why don’t you take it to her?” “Don’t rag on my mother just because she’s detailed” he quipped. Her smile disappeared. She jerked up the basket of clothes and answered heatedly, “You know what, Aaron? I am so sick of trying to be perfect. Perfect with the laundry, perfect with the housecleaning, perfect with your family, with my family, at work, in class, perfect hair, perfect nails, perfect EVERYTHING. I am SICK OF TRYING TO BE PERFECT!!!!!” And with that, she took the basket of clothes and dumped it on his head. “What the – what is your problem?” Aaron said as he tossed the basket off; “nobody said you have to be perfect, and you are definitely NOT, so no worries in THAT department. And you know, I do a lot around here. I made dinner last night” - before he could finish she interrupted - “well that’s great, thank you, except that you got up for your little midnight snack and left the rest of it out on the counter so I didn’t have any lunch today.” “Oh, now it’s all my fault?" he snapped back. "Well, you’re a lousy housekeeper.” She balled up her fists at her sides.“Well, I hate the way you leave your gym socks on the floor! It’s disgusting. And why the hell do you leave the top off the toothpaste? It’s so juvenile.” "Well, you snore!” he fired back. “I do not!” “Yes, you do.” The tension was mounting as Aaron stormed over to the table and pointed at his plate. “You know what?” “WHAT” Sabrina retorted, following him. “I hate peas. I hate them! My mom always made me eat them growing up and she would never listen when I told her I didn’t like them. I HATE them! Everybody is always on my case, telling me what to do. I can’t even eat the vegetables that I like! Rules rules rules. Always going by the rules. Well, here’s to the rules. And with that he grabbed a fistful of peas and squeezed them until they oozed out of the sides of his clenched hand. Sabrina stared at him. “That's disgusting - and why didn’t you ever tell me you didn’t like peas?! The only reason I even cook them is because I thought you liked them. I mean, who doesn’t like damn peas?” She glared at him. “You - you know what this is REALLY about? This is about the fact that I can’t cook as good as your mother.” He looked at her. “What? Well, since we're on the subject - I won’t ever be able to fix things like your dad does, OK?? Accept it. I am just not great at changing the oil or fixing a headlight. I can fix software problems and play all kinds of music, but don’t ask me to work on the car, OK? I am not superman.” “No, you’re definitely NOT” Sabrina retorted. They stared at each other for a moment. The atmosphere was so tense it felt like high noon outside an old western coral with tumbleweed blowing across the street. He looked at her a moment. “Well, this chicken is DRY.” “WHAT???” Sabrina snapped. “THIS.CHICKEN.IS.DRY.” He pointed with his non-goo hand to his plate. Sabrina’s face was red now. “Oh, the chicken is dry? It’s DRY? Well, let’s do something about that!” And with that, she walked briskly to the coffee table and picked up one of the water guns and promptly aimed at the plate in front of Aaron and started shooting the chicken with a “zap zap zap” as water and peas and chicken were sent projectile. “What the hell are you doing?!” Aaron shouted as bits of wet chicken and peas flew about everywhere. “On second thought,” Sabrina said, “YOU look a little dry.” “Sabrina, don’t even think about” -- and with that, Sabrina aimed and hit him square in the chest with the cold spray. He ran over and grabbed the other water gun and with an “Oh, it’s on now,” proclamation, started shooting at her. They both ran around the living room of that tiny apartment shooting water at each other like juveniles in a schoolyard. They ran into the bedroom and ended up standing on the bed shooting at each other point blank until the water ran out.

Silence fell as they both stood on the bed, holding the empty water guns and looking at each other, chins dripping and hair drenched. Lowering their guns, a long silent pause filled the room. “Uh,” Aaron said, somewhat embarrassed, “what just happened?” “Um,” Sabrina answered, “I’m not really sure.” More silence. “Your hair is soaked,” he said, and, reaching to pull away a strand stuck to her cheek, he forgot about the smashed vegetables still on that hand, and the wet peas smeared on her face. “I, uh, I’m sorry – there are uh, there are peas on your face, Sabrina.” They were both quiet again. A small piece of wet chicken had stuck to Aaron’s forehead from the table incident, and it was at this very moment that it fell off, in between them, onto the bed. A grin slowly spread across Sabrina’s face, and then Aaron’s. They both started laughing, first low, then louder, and then laughed and laughed until their sides hurt and they had to sit. Tossing the water gun to the side she said “what do you say we just cook some Ramen noodles tonight?” “Yeah, that sounds perfect” Aaron said, face red and eyes watering from laughing so hard. They kissed and he hugged her tight. She promised never to wash a pink shirt with whites again and he said he’d try to remember to put the food up at night when he had a snack. And they decided to frame that pink shirt and hang it up on the wall in their bedroom, just for kicks.

And that, my readers, is the story of the peas and the water guns.

And that is that.