Sea Breeze

Photo by Pixaby

Dad brought home a live crab from the Sea Breeze fish market. I’d never seen a crab up close before, its ginormous claws bound tightly by thick rubber bands. Huddled in the bottom of the bucket, it looked less like a sea monster and more like a sad armored spider, its eyes squinting against the sunlight.

"I don't mind if you look at it," Dad said. "Just don't get too close. If one of those rubber bands got loose, this big fella could snap your finger right off." He put the crab in a bucket of water and set it on the patio.   

"What are you going to do with it?" I asked.   

"Your mom and I are having crab for dinner," he said.

"You're going to eat it?" 

Brother was giddy to interrupt. "When a crab gets boiled alive, it screams like a girl. You have to make sure you put the lid on real tight while it's thrashing around, or it will jump right out and pinch your nose off!"  

I was horrified.

"Don't worry, this big fella won't feel a thing," Dad said. "Just think of it as a big, ugly bug." 

How could a bug or a crab not feel pain? When Brother set ants on fire with a magnifying glass, they squirmed and wiggled, not because they enjoyed it, before they burst into flames.  

"When the crab is finished cooking in boiling water, its shell turns a beautiful shade of orange. My favorite part is the legs. Crack them open and dip the flesh in melted butter; oh, so delicious," he added. "Maybe you'll try it someday."

I stared at the helpless creature. 

He blinked. 

I would never kill a crab or eat one.

"I don't mind if you sit out here and watch him, but no making friends with my dinner," Dad laughed. He went back inside the trailer.  

I never crossed Dad.  

Before I went to bed that night, I sat on the trailer steps one last time, watching the crab at the bottom of the bucket. He didn't move much. Mostly, he watched me back, blinking his tall, beady eyes. Poor little crab, I thought. Where do you come from? Do you have a family? The more I thought about him, the sadder I felt. I knew when I left him to go to bed, he'd be boiled alive inside my trailer. I said goodbye and shuffled to my room, feeling empty inside.   

Soon our trailer reeked of garlic and butter. 

Mom set the coffee table with ochre-colored placemats and pulled out the floor cushions. She set out two wine glasses and lit a silver candlestick. 

I couldn't sleep. Every time I heard "crack," I knew what Mom and Dad were doing. They tore that dead crab apart and ate him.