A drabble is a very short story of exactly 100 words. Feel free to join in and write your own drabbles on Fridays and tag them with “friday drabble” and on Twitter with the hashtag #fridaydrabble. With Thanksgiving on the horizon this week, this one comes with a double helping – 200 words.
The Kid’s Table
The throne of my humiliation was a folding chair with one of its rubber feet missing, listing before the beat up folding table.
The Kid’s Table.
Of course, the “kids” in question were my cousin and me, both six foot teens but still, as always, the youngest. We sat scrunched over the rickety table like some sort of holiday gargoyles. Everyone else sat at my parents’ circular dining room table.
My uncle smelling of gin and laughing heartily. Gone now. Liver failure. My aunt. Heart failure. My smiling mom. Dead of colon cancer. My contented dad. Prostate. Today, my other aunt carts around an oxygen tank with one foot in each world, as they say.
Even my cousins… we don’t talk much anymore. One a suicide, another on marriage number three and kid number I’ve Lost Count. Even my compatriot at the dreaded kids table is broken and bitter because of an industrial accident and getting by on workman’s comp.
Who could have seen decades into the future? That day everyone was in the moment – celebrating the day and being together. Except for my miserable cousin and me, but not really.
Christ. What I wouldn’t give to sit there again.