placebo

Amin washes the dishes as the kitchen moves in frenzy around him. Waiters snatch meals on metal plates off of a shelf and take them to the dining area. Cooks flip burger patties, dump fries into oil, and stir stews. Steam, the scent of grease, and stifling heat are thick in the air. Amin turns his head and lifts his shoulder to wipe sweat off his temple without lifting his hands from the sudsy water.

“Ouch!” someone exclaims. Amin looks over his shoulder and finds two cooks, a large and hairy man named Ron and a young woman with dark skin named Julia, glaring at each other at the grills.

“What the fuck was that?” Ron demands with a thunderous voice. Amin flinches. Julia drops her spatula and steps closer to Ron.

“The fuck was what? I didn’t do nothin’!”

Ron stabs a meaty finger into her chest. “Ya got grease on me! Look—” Ron lifts his arm and shoves a large red splotch of skin towards Julia’s face—“I’m burnt, ya cunt!”

Julia’s scowl deepens. She slaps Ron’s arm away from her and turns back to the grill, picking up her spatula. “Screw off, pal,” she snaps, scooping up a red, uncooked patty, “and lemme work.”

Ron’s face turns an awful shade of pink. A chill runs down Amin’s spine and the silverware he was washing slips from his fingers underneath the water. Amin dries his hands off with the towel tossed over his shoulder and begins moving towards a grimy glass-paneled door standing in the shadows of the kitchen.

In the same moment Ron thrusts Julia’s shoulder, pushing her away from the grill. “Don’t fuckin’ ignore me like that!” he roars. “Now listen: ya burnt me!”

Just as Amin’s back hits the wall, Julia rolls her eyes. “Congratulations on your observational skills, Mister University. You’re a real genius.”

Ron’s face darkens and he spits, “Why I oughta…” as Amin spins around and anxiously twists the glass-paneled door’s knob. “Mother,” Amin mutters into the shadowy glass, “Mother”—his voice raises—“come quick.”

Amin hears a heavy thud and several gasps, and he scuttles away just in time before the glass-paneled door is thrown open. It bangs against the brick wall and out comes a strong, stocky woman, with a face permanently set in a scowl and black hair prematurely greying in streaks, wearing a ruffled and used gray suit. Her small eyes round to her son. Her voice is gravelly with years of smoking. “What the hell is going on?”

Amin shrinks into himself. “Julia and Ron got in a fight, Mother,” he reports.

“Who?” his mother asks, but she’s already walking away, her hands on her hips.

Amin glances around her side. Everyone is staring at her, the kitchen in dead silence. Julia stands simmering with a groaning Ron at her feet.

Ariadne Gott stalks towards her staff like a beast stalks prey. “Could anyone care to explain what happened?” Her voice is ice, sharp and cold.

Julia huffs. She tucks hair fallen loose back into her hairnet. “This jackass,” she motions to Ron, “tried hittin’ me. I defended myself.”

Ariadne hums. She stops in front of Ron and uses the toe of her shoe to lift his head. “Is that what happened?”

Ron whines. Ariadne drops his head. She inspects the grill, looks at the fallen spatulas, and then freezes. Her eyes narrow. She bends down and picks up a raw patty from the floor, holds it high for all to see. “What’s this?”

Before anyone can answer Ariadne slams the meat onto the grill and twists to Julia. “This is money,” she booms, “and you just wasted it!” Ariadne turns away from Julia and straightens herself. To everyone, she bellows, “This is the third goddamn fight this week! I’m trying to run a restaurant here, not a goddamned fight club! If you want to kill each other, be my guest. Go out into the streets, where you were before, and die there! You’re all so goddamned lucky. I saved your asses, and you’re too senseless to see that! I give you money, a steady fucking income you can take home to your families and this”—she points to Julia and Ron—“is how you repay me? Well I won’t fucking have it.”

Ariadne’s chest heaves. She straightens her blazer and says to Julia, “You’re fired.” She looks down at Ron and says, “You too. Hear that big guy?”

Amin’s eyes widen. Julia’s mouth falls open and she protests: “The hell? I was only actin’ on self-defense!”

Ariadne raises her hand to cut Julia off. “I don’t want to hear it. What I want is both of you out of my kitchen, now. You can continue your fight in the alley, where I’m sure the rapists and thieves and murderers will appreciate the entertainment. If you stay here and try to argue I’ll have you forcibly removed.”

Everyone in the kitchen holds their breath. Julia sneers and tears off her hairnet and apron, throwing them to the ground. “You’re gonna miss me,” she states.

“I’m sure I won’t,” Ariadne replies. Julia storms out. Amin’s mother looks down at Ron. “Someone drag him out of here. Get him out of my sight right now.” With that, she turns away and walks back to her office. When she passes Amin she pauses. “Did you finish your dishes?”

Amin slips his shaking hands into his apron pocket. “Yes ma’am.”

Ariadne smiles. “Good boy. Come with me.”

Amin nervously follows his mother into her office. She closes the door behind him and the kitchen noise immediately dissipates. Ariadne gestures to the two cushioned chairs situated in front of her cluttered desk. “Sit.”

Amin does. His stomach somersaults unpleasantly, and it feels as if the filing cabinets lining the walls will topple over and crush him at any second. His mother sits at her desk and entwines her hands on top of a pile of paper.

“You have such an amazing work ethic,” she praises her son. “I am very proud of you.”

Amin jolts in his seat, not used to compliments. His face reddens. “Th—thank you,” he stutters.

“Your brother on the other hand,” Ariadne begins, and the color drains from Amin’s face—of course this is what his mother wants to talk about, “well—I haven’t seen him in maybe a week.”

Sister, Amin wants to correct. Her name is Avri and she is my sister. He doesn’t have the courage, however. He never does. Amin says instead, “I never know what Adam does.” The name feels strange on his tongue as usual. Guilt sits heavy in his chest for being unable to defend his sister as usual.

Ariadne hums. She leans back in her chair. “Does he still believe he is a woman?”

Amin pauses. Finally he murmurs, “Yes.”

Ariadne scoffs. “Poor child. I don’t want to think about what happened to him. Something terrible must have occurred to make him have such a delusion. Wanting to be a girl—how preposterous. He is lucky to have been born a man. Women are the filth of humanity.”

“Mother,” Amin interjects, not wanting to sit victim to another tangent, “I think I should get back to work.”

“Nonsense,” Ariadne replies. She leans against her desk again. “I know you are lying. Where is your brother?”

Amin’s hands still sit in his apron pocket and they begin sweating profusely. “I don’t know,” he repeats.

Ariadne slams her desk with her fist. A cup of pens and pencils tips over. The lamp, an old fashioned model which needs to be plugged into the wall, shakes. “I am your mother! You will obey me.” Ariadne suddenly stands and begins circling her son and her desk. “Your brother—is he still aiming to join that revolting group—the Sky Chasers or what have you?”

“They’re the Sky Runners, Mother, and no,” Amin says. “Av—Adam gave up on that when he was thirteen.”

“Then what else is he doing? Are serial killers taking him under their wings? Is he getting drugs from other trannies?” Ariadne’s voice rises with every accusation.

“Stop it!” Amin shrieks. “Don’t call him that! He isn’t doing anything wrong! He’s a good person, Mother, unlike you!”

Ariadne halts in front of her son. Amin looks up at her with watery eyes. “My sister is an angel,” he proclaims. “I love her,” he announces, and warmth fills his chest. It stays when Ariadne backhands him. Amin feels it travel to his fingertips when his mother picks him up and drives him into a filing cabinet. It makes him dizzy with affection when his head begins to bleed.

Ariadne steps back from her son. She stares at him, her hair fallen out of its ponytail. “Get out,” she orders.