The Biggest Easter Egg Ever
Personal Essay
It’ll be Easter soon and there’s no way you’ve ever seen an Easter egg like the one I got when I was a kid. Seriously. This was when I had hairless armpits and everyone in my family was still alive. It was an Easter lunch and we took a photo with a disposable camera. One of those with only twenty-four shots available and no screen, so you never knew if you came up with your eyes closed until you had them developed. Anyway, in this picture you wouldn’t notice right away how drunk everyone is because your eyes would fall straight on this giant chocolate egg sitting on the table. The whole family around it, wrapped in hugs and smiley faces. I’m the only one standing between the empty glasses next to the egg. And even like that, the egg was taller than me. Above my head the invisible ceiling no one could reach. My parents live in one of these old houses with high vaulted ceilings you see in churches, where you need two ladders to change a light bulb. They bought the house when they had dreams and wanted to make a future for themselves. They restructured it all and it was gorgeous, only they forgot to build a kitchen. The architect suggested to put it by a bay window. Cosy but functional. Standing by the sink you always looked a bit spooky from the outside but switching the light off in the evening, no one would notice. The kitchen was where the magic happened.
My favourite smell has always been chopped onion and crushed garlic on my mum’s hands. The meals she prepared went on for hours, until everyone was drunk and about to throw up. Then she’d come out of the kitchen with another tray in her hands asking if anyone could handle one more bite. The picture was taken after everyone unbuttoned their trousers and struggled to breathe.
The giant chocolate egg, Dad won it at a raffle. The guy behind the counter couldn’t stop talking so Dad bought a couple of tickets to keep him quiet. The day he won they gave him a call and asked how big his car was. It turned out not big enough. The guy had to rent a van to deliver it at home. The Easter egg became a legend. A story we always bring up to cheer ourselves up.
In the picture, my eyes are closed, like I always do in front of a camera. That’s a gift I have. Useless, but still a gift. Mum, she’s looking at me with a side smirk. You could tell she’s knackered after all the cooking and she’s just craving another glass of wine.
The idea has always been to open a restaurant. That’s how good of a cook Mum was — and still is by the way, if you ever happen to be around. But she never had time for it. She had to look after her dad for years until he died.
My grandad, he’s in the picture too. Alive, with red cheeks and a drunk smile. Everyone around him standing on their two legs, except for him who had only one. He was a farmer and you’d always see him with his burnt skin and wrinkled face from working in the sun. Then diabetes took over and one day he comes back from the hospital with half a leg. Amputated from the knee down. They got him one of those squeaking prosthesis made of leather and metal. Not the cool ones they make now you can run an Olympic race with. Grandad, you could hear him coming from one block away from how squeaky his leg was. He kept limping and working in the fields. Hoeing the ground like it was not a big deal. He was a pirate without an eyepatch. Tough like a coffin nail with a heart of melted butter. He never complained. Only a few curses when he was off his face, but he did that also when he had both legs. His shoes often didn’t match because he couldn’t be bothered to undo the one on his prostatic leg. In the picture, I’m squeezing the giant egg in a warm chocolate hug and his hand is there, holding my foot so I don’t topple down.
Your mind fishes strange memories when you have too much time to think.
Then there’s Mum video-calling me for her daily check. She wants to make sure I’m washing my hands long enough before I touch anything. Behind her there’s an advert on TV. They’re selling chocolate bunnies and eggs with a surprise no one cares about anymore. On the phone screen, Mum says, “It will be Easter soon.” And her face turns into a wrinkled orange of sadness. She looks down at the floor and the phone camera points at her home-dyed hair.
I tell her that her hair looks pretty good. Even when this all quarantine is over she should keep doing it herself, just to save some money. And Mum, looking back at the screen, she says, “Oh, piss off.”
All hairdressers are shut. They’re all at home watching tv series or doing something else. Mum, the only times she leaves home is to go to work and look after these people who pay a monthly fee not to die on their wheelchairs. Pretend to sneeze on their face, just for a laugh, and they’ll punch you in the face. That’s how afraid of dying everyone is. When she gets her groceries Mum washes every can of food, every package and plastic bottle. Then she puts her clothes in the washing machines and takes a shower. Only then she concedes herself a bite of what she bought. Her hands, she’s washing them so much there’s no way they’d smell of garlic or onions anymore. On the phone, I tell her that all that washing and brushing seems a bit excessive. And the screen swings and shows a painting on the wall, the tv, then a glimpse of her face. Mum’s swinging the phone in her hand in anger and I see the fireplace, the couch and her face again. When the phone gets still, Mum shouts, “You better do exactly the same.”
No matter how old you get, you’ll always be a child to your parents.
Dad is screaming something from the other room. Numbers and stats he read on the internet. And I say, “Mum.”
I can hear Dad saying that a thousand people somewhere did something. A million people did something else. He’s oversharing, as usual. Mum’s looking at me looking at her and I say, “Do you remember that giant Easter egg we got when I was a kid?”
A side smirk pops on her mouth. Her eyes squeezed between wrinkles. Mum says, “Yeah.” Looking at me straight in the eyes, she says, “That chocolate was absolute shit.”