I Don't Like Steak

The fork pierced the tough meat. Never tenderized. Always pan fried. Why?
Maybe it wasn't piercing...it was...picking. Trying to find the flavor in something he never even wanted.
Pete, age 8 stared at the well-done flank and bristled.
"I don't like steak." He announced.
Hank, Pete's Dad, looked up from the morning newspaper, glances at the meat, pursed his lips. Grunted. Back to the paper.

Ester, Pete's mother, stood by the door to the extended back porch, staring out into the backyard. A water sprinkler working the grass. She gripped a Lucky Strike between her lips, thinking to herself.

"What's that, honey?"

"I said, I don't like steak." the force of Pete's conviction caused Ester to turn towards the defiant lad.
"Sure you do."
He picked more.
"No. I. Don't."
"Steak is good for you."
"I think you're thinking of Sarah."
Ester didn't respond to this, but took a long draw from the cigarette.
"Eat it anyway."
Pete rolled his eyes. Ester turned back to the yard. The garden was Ester's prize bull. Full of color and green. Shit as a heterosexual male, I couldn't begin to describe. Only that it was lush.

"I don't like steak"
Ester turned towards the voice. Pete, age 18 sits at the table, nudging the burnt meat on the plate.
Hank is buried in his newspaper. Older now. But grunts nonetheless.
"What's that?"
"I said, I don't like steak."
"Sure, you do. Steak is good for you."
"Maybe it's the way you cook it, Mom."
"How do I cook it?"
Pete shoots her a look. Are you serious?
"Eat it anyway. Then your Dad will take you to school."
Pete rolls his eyes.
Ester gazes out to the backyard. Proud of her begonias blooming. Or something like that.

"I don't like steak."
Ester turns towards the manly voice. Pete, now 30's, sits next to a woman, Kimberly, his wife. She smiles politely. Ester, unshaken, "Steak is your favorite."
Pete frowns "I'm pretty sure it was Sarah's favorite, Mom."
Ester smiles "Go ahead and enjoy it anyway." Kim pats Pete's hand "that's a beautiful garden growing, ma'am." Ester continues to stare off.

Kimberly was right, the garden was blooming. Colors bursts into the perfect green grass. Not a leaf in sight. Picturesque. Better Homes and Gardens would be jealous.

In the small distance, far end of the yard...a man in a black suit carries out a lawn chair. Then another. Then another. Then more. Eventually two rows of chairs are laid out. Other people dressed in black file in. Slowly they find a seat. Elderly, children, middle aged. Somber faces. A casket appears at the center. A podium. A blown up photo of Ester is placed onto an easel.

Pete, age 60, stands at the podium. He smiles to the small gathering. Nods to the casket. He leans into the microphone:
"Mom always made the best steak."