Free My Year of Meats by Ruth L. Ozeki Page B

frame.
    “I’m Alison,” she says. “I’m the oldest.” The camera continues to move.
    “I’m Vernon,” says a tall, sandy-haired young man. “Junior. I’m the second.” The camera booms down to a considerably Lower angle, and suddenly an Asian teenager with raven-black hair and bangs cut low across her forehead confronts the camera.
    “I’m Joy,” she says aggressively. “I’m the third.” She has a pierced eyebrow.
    “I’m Newton,” says the Asian boy who follows. “The fourth.”
    “I’m Cici,” says the next girl. “I’m fifth.” And then one after another, Asian children in varying shades, descending in size and age, take their turns.
    “I’m Elvis. I’m sixth.”
    “I’m Page. I’m seventh.”
    “I’m Jake. I’m the eighth.”
    “I’m Emily May. I’m ninth.”
    “I’m Duncan. I’m tenfth.” The little ones have accents still.
    “I’m Joey. I’m elevenst.”
    “I’m Chelsea,” says the tiniest girl, dark and suddenly quite different. Her black eyes glisten with confusion. She looks around for help. Various whispers can be heard off-camera, which seem to hearten her. Bravely she faces the camera. “I’m the last one.”
     
    CUT TO:
     
    Wide Shot of Family, lined up in front of the plantation house. Gracie is in the center, flanked by her husband and the smiling ranks of her family.
    Just think of the meat this gang can eat at a single sitting!
     
    CUT TO REGIONAL CORNER:
     
    With a burst of raucous Southern Funk—Bobby Joe Creely singing his cover rendition of “Poke Salad Annie”—the small town of Askew, Louisiana, comes to life with the annual Pig Festival. In the center of town, whole pigs are splayed and roasted over open pits, and people are spitting watermelon seeds, calling hogs, and chasing greased piglets for prizes. The festival concludes with the crowning of the Pig Queen.
     
    CUT TO MEAT:
     
    Vern is a professional chef and on his day off from his restaurant, as a special treat, he gives Grace a late-afternoon nap; while she dozes, he cooks dinner. In keeping with the Pig Festival theme, he makes his specialty: Cajun-style Baby Back Ribs. His recipe is quite original and well suited to Japanese tastes. The kids all pitch in and help him, and the Cooking Corner becomes quite a rough ‘n’ tumble affair.
     
    CUT TO CHERRY STREET:
     
    Cruisin’ Cherry on a Saturday night. Cherry Street flows like a slow molten river of metal and chrome as the teenage population of Askew gathers in a ritual that hasn’t changed since Grace and Vern were young—only now the vehicles are Nissans and Mazdas, and the music is House of Pain. The cars cruise slowly up Cherry to the Civil War memorial at the edge of town, swing around the monument, then drive back down to the parking lot of the Dairy Queen, where they pull a U-turn and do it again. At seven o’clock, the unofficial start, the occupants of the vehicles are rigidly segregated by gender. As the cars pass each other, subtle agreements are struck, and then, as if by chance, two vehicles will pull to a stop side by side and swap some of their occupants.
    Grace Peabody and Vernon Beaudroux met cruisin’ Cherry. Gracie was new in town. So was Vern. Neither had a car, but as both were attractive teens, they got lucky and were invited to join the crowd, Grace in the back seat of a gun-blue Barracuda, and Vern in a cherry-red Chevy Impala. But by the end of the evening, when they’d both been required to vacate the back seats for more expansive couples, they found themselves perched on the memorial at the end of Cherry, discussing their dreams for the future. Vern straddled the rump of the great bronze horse, sharing the saddle, back to back, with a proud Rebel cavalryman. Gracie sat demurely at the horse’s feet, leaning up against the hip of the Rebel’s Negro manservant.
    In the next thirty minutes Vern and Gracie knew everything about each other that mattered: that they’d both been to the city but