Storming into Baba and Dida’s house, bells still ringing in my ear, I take a whiff of the air to smell the tastiness of dinner. I see my grandpa shuffle around the corner with arms ready to squeeze me so hard I see black dots.

He loosens the tight grip upon my arms. I show a crooked smile and clear my throat so my tone will sound like an innocent angel. “What’s for dinner tonight? I sure hope some congs.” I clench my teeth and curl my fingers waiting for a response.

My brother growls. “Ugh. The slimy creatures of the sea.” He rolls his eyes.

My grandpa’s grin makes a deep wrinkle in his cheek, never being able to tell a lie and chuckles. “You never know…” He trails off as if he was trying to hide the fact that he is a bad liar, although it doesn’t work.

He swiftly turns around as my grandma hollers, “Time for dinner!”

I plop down in my unnamed assign seat and the cushion in the chair starts to sink. I quickly look from left to right like a madman and scope to see if the congs, more regularly known as conch salad, but a frown takes over my face.

I turn and see my grandpa carrying a teal blue bowl the size of a plump watermelon. My face brightens. I pry the bowl out of his hands, tear off the clear coated cover and take a heaping spoonful of the colorful congs and splash it on my plate. I stab a piece on to my fork and touch my tongue against the acidic, slimy conch. It crawls down my throat and once again I hear the bells in the front room, remembering how good they taste.