The buoyant sound of laughter and the rich, meaty smell of pizza dance in the air of Big Poppa’s Pizzeria and Restaurante. Patrons from far and wide mingle and share stories over delicious pizza pies of all shapes and sizes. The door to the kitchen flies open and Cannon, age 13, steps into the main chamber of the building with a big stack of pizza boxes in his hand and an even bigger smile on his face.
“Hey, I got two large plain pies, one lahge bug special, one small veggie, one side of fries, wheah we at?” One hand shoots up in the far left corner of the crowded room, and one hand shoots up at a table just a few yards away from him. His grin widens. “Yeah, alright, we got at least one wise guy heah, which one of you two assholes has an actual receipt for the ordah?”
The place erupts in a burst of laughter and the hand nearest to him comes back down. “Fuck you, kid,” the man says with a smile.
“Hey, fuck you too, guy. Pahty in the back, comin’ to you.” Cannon shoves and squirms his way between the densely packed tables, receiving pats on the back and kindhearted ribs from everyone he passes by. Everyone has a smile on their face, everyone is enjoying their delicious food, and not a single person in the room can properly pronounce the letter R.
He plops the boxes down on the appropriate table. One of the men sitting there, a bald man in his thirties, throws his hands up in the air. “Hey, kid, be caehful what you’ah doin’, that’s my pies you’ah fuckin’ with.”
“Eat shit, kid,” Cannon responds. “My restaurant, my rules, alright?”
Another man at the table, a bald man in his thirties, puts his hands on his sweaty belly and laughs. “Youah restaurant? Who the hell died and made you king? Your old man finally croak? Last I heard he was the one slingin’ the dough.”
Cannon nods. “Yeah, whatevah. Pops is just fine, told him to get a little bit of extra sweat in your sauce. Extra salt for some flavah. Gave it a bit of my own spit just for good meashah.”
A woman at the table, bald in her thirties, slams her hand on the table. “You bettah be fuckin’ with me, kid. I find any sweat and spit in this thing, it’s your ass, yeah?”
“Chill, kid, fuck. Nobody’s spittin’ or sweatin’ nowheah, this place is clean as a whistle. You could eat off the goddamn flooah. I know, I sweep it and mop it myself. What’s the mattah with you, you nevah been heah befoah? I don’t recognize youah ugly mug.”
She laughs. “Yeah I ain’t from heah.”
“Friend of ahhs from out of town, told her he had to take her heah.” one of the bald men in his thirties says.
Cannon crosses his arms. “Wheah you from?”
“Doahchestah.”
“Doachestah? Shit, kid, I’m impressed you got enough brains in youah head to be able to read the fuckin’ menu. Nah, I’m kiddin’, I got some buddies out in Doahchestah. Anyway, listen, this shit, it’s gonna blow youah mind. You find any sweat, spit or anything at all sub pah about this pizzar, you let me know and I’ll personally make you a new one.”
The first bald man in his thirties throws his hands in the air. “Didn’t I just fuckin’ tell you that your pops is the guy in chahge heah? If I get anothah pie I don’t want your grubby ass paws makin’ my pie, I want youah pops’s grubby ass paws makin’ my pie. Got it?”
Cannon rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. “Oh yeah? You don’t think I got--”
The hollow threat of the angry 13 year old is interrupted by a call from the other side of the room. “Ay, yo, Cannon! What do I gotta do for two pies extra bug?”
Cannon jerks his head forward at the bald man he had been talking to. The man instinctively jerks back. Cannon smirks and smacks the man on both cheeks. “Two for flinchin’, kid.” He turns over his shoulder and shouts back to the guy across the room. “You gotta get your wallet ready to empty out and your lips ready to kiss my ass!” He turns back to the three patrons in front of him, none of whom make any reaction to that statement whatsoever. “Enjoy your food, kids.”
He pushes through the jungle of bodies until he makes his way to the small clearing by the kitchen door. He starts shouting before he even opens it, “Hey Pops, got an order, two pies with--” Just as he’s about to push open the two-way door to the kitchen, a hand reaches out and grabs him. Anger reflexively flares in his mind. In Cannon’s world, even at the age of 13, getting unexpectedly grabbed either means you’re going to get a bite from a bug or a Boston Hello (which is another term for a knuckle sandwich, which is another term for someone kicking your ass). He raises up his hands to defend the encroaching bug and/or Bostonian, but the anger subsides when he sees who it is.
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“Jesus, Cakes, you scared the shit outta me.” Cannon dusts off his shoulders. “What’s the big idea?”
“Cannon,” she says, looking at him with a frown. “Don’t go in there.”
Cannon cocks a confused eyebrow. Kiko, or Cakes as Cannon calls her, has been Cannon’s sister for a few years now, and he thinks she’s doing a great job of it. They get along well, despite the fact that she’s a few years older doesn’t really have a head for pizza or fighting bugs. She’s more interested in books and numbers, whatever those things are. Cannon thought that stuff was all a pretty big waste of time when they first met, but Pops had said that they needed someone to do the accounting. At the time, Cannon didn’t really understand that. Now that he’s 13, he still doesn’t understand it (to quell your curiosity, modern day 20 year old Cannon doesn’t either). Either way, he doesn’t really care. Kiko is kind, fun, and smart. She’s a good sister and Cannon’s best friend, even though sometimes she grabs his arms and makes him ready to punch someone’s head off.
“Why not? Mar and Pops gettin’ naked with the tomato sauce again?”
“No, they’re not-- what? Again? What do you mean again? That’s a thing that happened already? Whatever. No. They’re, just... Don’t go in there. Okay?”
“Cakes, I got an ordah goin’ in and shoah as shit they got an ordah comin’ out. These people ah animals, kid. We slow down, we’ah cooked. That’s what Pops says.”
“I know. Just. Please. Take a break.”
“I don’t take a break, kid. Beahs don’t take breaks, so I--”
“--You don’t take breaks either, I know. I know. But, first of all, bears literally take breaks every winter, it’s called hibernation--”
“--I ain’t ever heard of a habbentration--”
“--they literally take a break for, like, three months, they don’t do anything. And, please? For me? Just, go take a walk.”
Cannon’s brow furrows, the gears of thought trying desperately to spark up any kind of idea or understanding. “You don’t want me to go back theah.”
“No, I don’t.”
Her look is deadly serious, and Cannon is trying to intuit why. The little Spongebob personifications in his brain that have abandoned any knowledge that doesn’t have to do with pizza, fighting bugs, or the history of the Boston Red Sox feverishly run calculations. “Somethin’ bad is happenin’ back theah.”
“Yes, Cannon. Something I don’t want you to see--”
“Are theah bugs back theah? Bugs tryin’ to get Mar and Pops?”
“No, Cannon, there’s no--” she tries to stop him, but she’s too late. By the time she’s able to grab him and restrain him, he’s already inched the door open wide enough to hear and see what’s going on. There are no bugs. There doesn’t seem to be any fighting at all. The only thing happening is Ma and Pops are talking to each other.
“What do you want me to do, leave? Take the kid from his home?” Pops yells. He looks about exactly what you’d expect someone from Old Boston named Pops who runs a pizza joint to look like: A bald man in his 30s. To be specific, his late 30s. White tank top with sweat stains literally everywhere, the sweat stains outdone only by the tomato sauce stains.
“They can’t stay here. We can’t stay here. You know that!” Ma returns, shooting her arms in the air. Her braids bob up and down as she gesticulates, the beads in each braid catching the light at different angles.
Cannon opens his mouth to relay the newest order to his parents, but Kiko covers his mouth and yanks him back.
“He needs this place. Hell, this place needs him!” Pops also gesticulates wildly, little flecks of sweat flying from him like the world’s worst sprinkler.
“Don’t you think he’s been here long enough? And what about Kiko? Her world is out there!”
“Oh, her world is out theah? Why don’t you just fuckin’ say it?”
“Say what?”
“Your world is out theah! This ain’t about eithah of the kids, this is about you. It always is.”
“What are you talking about? I dropped my whole life - my daughter’s whole life - to be with you two here.”
“And now you just wanna fuckin’ run out?”
“I don’t want to run out! I want all of us to go. As a family.”
Pops and Ma stare silently at each other. Cannon and Kiko, still unseen at the edge of the doorway, share a silent glance. Kiko widens her eyes at him, as if to tell him, “I told you not to go in there, you idiot.” Cannon wiggles his eyes back and forth as if to say, “Well excuuuuse me, I didn’t know they were readin’ the fuckin’ riot act in heah.” They’re very close siblings and they can convey a lot with just their expressions, even Cannon’s indecipherable Boston accent.
Pops breaks the silence. “My family stays heah. And you’ah my family, so you stay heah. End of story.”
Ma bites her lip. “My daughter needs to see the world. And so do you. And so does your son. You know that.”
“He’s not ready.”
Ma shakes her head and looks at the ground. “No. You’re not ready.” She looks up at him, only to find that he’s now staring at the wall, a dark cloud over his face. She nods to herself. “I can’t keep having this conversation. I’m taking Kiko. We’re going.” She pauses, her gaze fixed on him. He doesn’t lift his from the wall. “Well?”
Another beat of silence. Cannon and Kiko glance at each other, panic written across both of their faces. Pops shrugs, still looking at the wall. “Have a nice life.”
Ma opens her mouth to say something, but thinks better of it. She licks her lips and nods again, then walks towards the door. When she opens it, she finds Cannon and Kiko tangled up in a sibling pretzel. Again she opens her mouth, prepared to give a speech, but shakes her head. “Come on, Kiko.” She grabs her and pulls her away.
Kiko struggles against her mother. “Mom, wait--”
“--Kiko.” She takes a deep breath. “Please.”
Kiko looks at Cannon. His face is long with sad confusion. Pops still hasn’t stopped staring at the wall. Kiko swallows and grabs her mother’s hand. Together, they walk through the crowd of the restaurant like it was a cloud of mist. In seconds, they’re gone.