Free Taking The Heat by SD Hildreth Page A

my deficiencies, weaknesses, and patterns of behavior. There is not a day that passes where I don’t ask myself the same questions I have since adolescence.
    What would be so bad to cause a murder/suicide by our parents?
    What did I do wrong?
    Why did no one want me?
    My brother’s absence in my life, and knowing he would never be free from prison caused me a tremendous amount of grief; so I did my best not to think about it. Inevitably, I did have thoughts of his imprisonment, and in a short period of time I was filled with sorrow knowing I would live my entire adult life without a family member by my side. I do believe, considering all things, I am a strong woman and I do a reasonable job of masking my true feelings and faults. Having a sense of humor is the best gift God ever gave me.
    “Are these racks big?” he asked. 
    “Huge,” I responded as I extended my outstretched arms.
    “How many ribs on a rack?”
    “Eight,” I responded.
    The man questioning me appeared to be in his early sixties. He had explained he was from out of town and was working at the refinery twenty miles away. He had come to the restaurant for rib night because racks of ribs were on sale for $10.99. His concern was the size of the rack, and more importantly, how many ribs were included.
    “Eight? There ain’t eight ribs on any cow I ever seen. How can you call eight ribs a full rack ?” the man complained.
    “Yes, eight. The owner raises the cattle outside of town at a special top-secret ranch. They’re genetically altered to have eight huge ribs instead of thirteen reasonably sized ones. As long as he continues to breed eight ribbed cattle to eight ribbed cattle, he has an endless supply of racks of ribs that are massive. The only downfall, if you can call it one, is there are only eight ribs to a rack,” I said straight faced.
    “No shit? Ain’t never heard of such a thing. These cows are big ribbed fuckers, are they?” he asked.
    I nodded my head and tried to keep from smiling, “Sure are. But something about the genetic alterations makes the meat orange and kind of fishy tasting. We slap enough barbeque sauce on ‘em you should never notice though.”
    He narrowed his gaze and wrinkled his nose as he looked up from the menu, “Fishy tasting?”
    “Most say they taste like barbequed Halibut, I don’t know. I won’t eat ‘em personally,” I shrugged.
    He sat and stared as if he’d just witnessed a train wreck.
    “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I was kidding . Our rack of ribs includes eight beef ribs. At least here that’s a rack. And you’re right, cows have thirteen ribs, but depending on the butcher, some are left on the shoulder, and the little ribs at the end are cut off and used as riblets. You don’t want those little guys anyway,” I paused and twisted my mouth to the side.
    “I tell you what. It’s not policy , but I’ve worked here long enough to take this risk without fear of losing the bet. Order the rack of ribs. If you finish the entire rack, two sides, the Texas Toast, and want more, I’ll give you as many as you can eat afterward for free,” I shrugged my shoulders and waited.
    “But you was kiddin’ about the fishy thing, right?” he asked.
    I grinned, “I was, I’m sorry.”
    “Damn, you scared me with that fish deal. Yeah, sounds fair, bring ‘em,” he grinned as he handed me the menu.
    “Sides?” I asked as I pointed along the list of side orders on the menu.
    “Beans and slaw,” he responded.
    I shifted my eyes to the man accompanying him, “And for you?”
    “Gimme the same deal?” he chuckled.
    I nodded my head, “Beans and slaw?”
    “Sounds good,” he nodded.
    I scribbled down the order and pulled the page from the pad, “You won’t be disappointed. Our ribs are huge. I’ll have ‘em here as soon as they’re ready.”
    Both men smiled and nodded their heads.
    Although I had never waited tables when I started, my small amount of experience taught me if I