Fake-Cheese Taquito - ZOMA TESSEMA

Fake-Cheese Taquito

I slouched in the back of the line but heard the shouts and screams from the class before us, writhing in agony. A gate stood on the side of the hallway, making me think they’d lock us in here until lunch ended, and only the survivors would walk out. My hands trembled, my steps weakened, my eyes darted back and forth, waiting for the lunchroom to launch its attack. As I stepped in, I saw the pale pink walls against the blue-tinged long tables, along with the scuffed off-white tiled floors. They led us to the outside of a wall shared with the kitchen and told us to wait in line.

First day of kindergarten, four feet, six years old, nervous. So far, I survived the day relatively fine, didn’t say a word besides my name – but I liked it like that. To me, a low-stakes environment was the best thing to start the year: the simple question and answer format of the classroom was oh so familiar to me – that was until lunch. The horror stories my sister revealed to me made me scared of the lunchroom already: grotesque food, mean lunch ladies, and crazy students shoving into each other; she refused to eat the school lunch, and I planned to do the same. In fact, I tried to avoid the cafeteria altogether: lagging behind in the line hoping the teacher forgot one extra kid, then going to the bathroom and staying there until lunch ended – but these plans were foiled by the grumpy TA who eventually discovered my schemes, and pulled me back to the line. Eventually, we stomped down the stairs into a dark green hallway that led to the lunchroom. We felt like inmates being led to our execution – no getting out of line, no talking, just staring forward into our imminent doom. Well, at least for me – for others, it was lunch.

Most of my first day fled into the recesses of my memory, along with the rest of the year. I savored every moment before hell – the day before school was heaven. My failed attempts to ditch lunch made me even more desperate to escape. Gouging my eyes out seemed better than facing the disorientation of the lunchroom. I was terrified.

The line resembled a snake digesting its lunch. Instead of a single file, different parts were chunky and others were thin. My classmates ran into the heart of the snake as I slipped into the back. Facing the wall, I saw mysterious splotches: dirt, food, blood? I didn’t want to find out, so I turned to face the crowded tables. I watched as people ran up and down the room, waiting for a teacher to give them the side-eye as a cue to sit down. I saw kids fighting over a fruit cup, stabbing their plastic sporks into the glistening mango. However, the more I stared, the less scary and prison-like it looked; I saw tables with people sleeping or nibbling their lunch – my kind of people.

The feeling of sitting in a classroom was so different from the jungle of the lunchroom. Like a lamb to the slaughter – I was out of my element. Staring at the thin chalk lines in 23

math didn’t prepare me for the chaos I was thrown into. Answering questions about grammar didn’t prepare me for the craziness ensuing around me. Bubbling in multiple-choice didn’t prepare me for havoc.

Before I knew it, I was being pushed forward, heading towards the kitchen. As I reached the front of the line, I grabbed a hard-plastic blue tray. The soles of my shoes met the floor as I surveyed this new room. The gray kitchen, with shiny counters propping up the food, created a stuffy atmosphere of warmth that clung to the back of my neck. To the right, a small refrigerated cutout in the wall housed the milk cartons, close to the ground so we could reach; a gaggle of students surrounded it, trying to beat the heat as they waited. I rushed to the counter, grabbed my lunch, and headed out the doorway, eager to get out of there as fast as possible. I looked down at my tray and into the flimsy paper container; inside it sat two conjoined doughy cylinders with brown bubbles attached to them and white goo seeping out of both ends. Getting lunch was one thing, eating lunch was another.

The seating arrangement was as staggered as the lines, clumps of people on different sides and people racing to get a good seat. I froze before someone bumped into me and almost set my lunch flying. I held back tears – yes, tears – and decided I should finally sit down. I wandered, scanning the tables through my damp eyes for an open seat with the least amount of people, and once I found one, I made my move. I honed in as my peripheral became a blur. With my short legs, I speed-walked to a seat at the end of the bench. I slid my tray onto the smooth table and studied my food and surroundings for a while. Three or four other kids munched on their lunch while I gave an exaggerated nod as a hello, to not disturb their peace or mine. I watched as people ate, making sure they survived their first bite before I took mine. The table trembled as people fiddled with their trays, waiting for lunch to end. Once the food seemed edible, I took a bite out of the fake cheese taquito and smiled. I glanced around – did other people like the food too? Across from me – another big smile.

My first day in the lunchroom stuck to the walls of my mind. The feeling of relief after being put into a new environment is euphoric. Relaxed shoulders, steady hands, and sure eyes. The school lunchroom, however scary it may seem, was just a school lunchroom. Not a prison, not a jungle, not hell, not a lion’s den – a lunchroom.

I happily finished my taquito at my table as I stared out into the fray – kids running around with teachers following soon after, throwing their lunch onto the rough floors. Tomorrow was a new day – with new food, the same people, and the same lunchroom. The taquito rested in my stomach.

-Zoma Tessema