Storymania - Family Dinner. by Bradley Grimes

Family Dinner.
Bradley Grimes

“DINNER!” The voice shrilled through the headphones I was wearing. Imagine. Listening to music at all most full volume and your mother’s voice could still penetrate the music. And I could still feel that same sense of anger in her voice. But it had become an involuntary notice anyway. Anytime my mother spoke I could sense that tired, stressed out, vulgar tone. It was just as usual now. I pulled the headphones off.
“COMING.” I yelled back, rolling my eyes.
“I ONLY HAD TO SCREAM FIVE TIMES!” my mother decided to answer.
“Jesus Christ. She couldn’t wait till I got down there to bitch me out.” I mumbled to myself. I headed out my door. Careful to shut it after myself. I hated looking into my room. More so I hated anybody in my room, with the exception of myself of course.
I headed downstairs, that awkward drone state. Seemingly enough I only came to dinner now because it was habit. Not by choice.
My father was already sitting there. He looked even more tired than my mom. My brother ran in from outside. And my sister was in the other room, doing homework. I peered into the other room.
“Hey its dinner time. Didn’t you hear. She screamed it five times.” I said to her. Loud enough that my mother could hear. Annie just looked at me and smiled.
Tonight was a special. Stuffed Peppers. Side of mash taters. Milk to drink. Salad was up for grabs. My mom made that only every other week. It’s not that I didn’t appreciate it. It’s just I didn’t appreciate her hard work being pushed into my face. But I suppose I wasn’t paying for my meals, so there was no reason for her to be polite.
Everyone sat down. Not a word was spoken. Not a smile was worn. Morbid. A bit like a funeral reception. The dog came walking in. He appeared to be the only member of the family that no one had problems with. Rarely was the dog ever yelled at.
“Who’s saying grace tonight.” My father asked, looking at us. Everyone looked down. “Don’t all offer at once.”
“I’ll say it.” My little brother said. “Bow your heads. God is good. God is great. Let us enjoy this meal and not be late.”
“Cute.” My mother said looking at him sternly. She grabbed the salad. Took a little and passed it down to my father. He shook his head. “Something wrong.”
“No I’m just not in the mood.” He replied. She rolled her eyes.
“Well could you take it and pass it down?” She asked. He took it and passed it to my sister. Who in turn passed it to me. And I passed it to my little brother. He was the only who took the salad besides my mom. I had grown quite tired of it. Same mixture every night. Same dressing. It seemed to repetitive, but then again so was dinner.
“How was everyone’s day at school?” My dad asked, tossing a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.
“Good” My little brother answered, with his mouth full of potatoes.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” My father said.
“Great.” My sister said. “Passed another math test.” She winked at him.
“So my little tutorial is working out for you?” He smiled.
“Most def.” She said. I sat playing with my potatoes. Pushing them into a interesting pattern. Not quite sure what the pattern was, but it was just fun to play with them.
“What about you?” he asked me. I looked up at him.
“Well I’d give it an A, except for the fact that it sucks.” I said to him.
“Why did I know you were going to answer that way?”
“Cause you know I hate school.” I told him. He looked away. Across. Trying to forget I existed like he always did.
Then there was silence again. Nothing could be heard except the forks against the plates. The occasional gulp of beverage. My mother looked up.
“My day was great too. Thanks for asking honey.” Her look was cold. Repressed. He didn’t answer her.
“I need to get a girlfriend.” I thought to myself. “This is bullshit.” I often wondered if other families had the same difficulties eating dinner. Maybe it was the lighting. Or maybe we should have all switched seats occasionally. Change of atmosphere is good. I wanted to scream at everyone. My brother finished. He always finished first. Quick eater.
“Is there anymore?” he asked.
“Help yourself.” my mother answered, not looking up. He got up and walked over to the stove. “Why don’t you ask if anyone else wants any before you pig it all down.” My little brother looked embarrassed for a moment.
“Does anyone else want any?” he asked with a spoon in his hand. We all shook our heads.
“Take it all, man.” I said to him. I smiled. I could just feel his pain from across the kitchen. He smiled back at me and then started into the potatoes.
My father finished next. He leaned back in his chair and wiped his mouth. He looked over at my mother. She didn’t look back. He took a drink of his water.
“What a day.” he said.
“Why’s that?” my mother answered, the concern is her voice wasn’t very apparent. I’m sure deep down she did care. Or not. Probably never know for sure.
“Oh God. Fired this guy who’s been wasting our time. Hyped himself up so much during the interview. But just didn’t cut it.”
“You talk about firing someone every week. Don’t you do anything else there?” my mother asked even more distant this time.
“Annette, can I ask you a question?” My dad eyeing her down. She looked up at him.
“What’s that?”
“When did you decide to become such a bitch?” Everyone stopped dead. Everyone looked at my father, then looked at my mother. I couldn’t believe what had just come out of my father’s mouth. It’s what everyone was thinking but couldn’t get the nerve to say it. She stopped dead also. There was a fork full of green pepper in her mouth. She looked up. She went around the table and looked at each one of us. My father last.
“What did you ask me?”
“I asked you when did you decide to become such a bitch.” She stared my father in the face hard now.
“Why don’t you ask the kids. Am I a bitch Sammy? Is mommy a bitch.” She looked at her last born son. My little brother didn’t know what to say. He looked at my father. His eyes started to shred to tears.
“Don’t you dare ask him that. You look at me. And you look at me now.” My father said to her. She looked back at him.
“Well since your so sure I’m a bitch, I just wanted to see what everyone else thought.” she said to him. My head was exploding in a thousand different directions. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. This fight had been brewing for years. Something must have finally clicked tonight.
“This is between you and I and it always has.” my father said. “You’ve let your hatred for me go into the lives of our children.”
“That’s not true.” she fired back. “I love my children.”
“You barely show it.” I chimed in.
“Quiet.” my father said. I never listened to him before. But I was going to this time. “You barely show it.” I smiled on the inside. He and I were on the same page. It felt good.
“I make dinner every night. I’m always here cleaning.”
“Of course you are. You’re also throwing it in everyone’s face.”
“No I don’t.”
“Yes, you do honey.”
“No I don’t” my mother started to cry. “I’m a good mother. I’ve always been. You don’t know what its like to cook, launder, wipe, dust, vacuum, take care of everyone, make sure everyone gets off to school, pack lunches, walk the dog, grocery shop, buy clothes, wipe everyone’s ass.” She was crying harder now. She threw her fork to her plate and got up from the table. She went upstairs. We heard the bedroom door slam shut. It would be that way for a while.
“None of this is your fault.” My father said to us. He too got up from the table. He went into the family room. He sat in a recliner and eased it back. I could see him from where I was sitting. His hands placed interlocked atop his head. He closed his eyes, and fell asleep.
My little brother left next. He got up and ran outside. He was still crying when he did. My sister and I got up. It was the first time in a long time that the plates had been left on the table. No one did the dishes that night.
I went back to my room, and put the headphones back on. But this time I could barely hear the music. It was muted out by my mind. I sat and played the events over and over again. I leaned my head back against my bed, sitting on the floor. I thought of a statistic I had heard in school. Fifty percent of all marriages fail.
“Its probably fifty one by now” I said to myself.
A short while later my door cracked open. My father peeked in. I removed the headphones from my head.
“May I come?” he asked. The maturity he was using stunned me. Normally he just came barging in to yell at me.
“Yeah” I replied. He came in and sat down in the chair next to my desk. He crossed his arms and looked around the room. His eye was caught by a Pink Floyd poster.
“You like them?” he asked. I nodded. “So did I.” He looked down as if struggling with what to say. “ I’m sorry you had to witness that.”
“Oh Dad its ok.” I started, but he held up a finger for me to wait.
“No its not. There were some things that needed to be said. But not too that extreme. I believe my feelings finally go the best of me.” I stared in amazingly quiet silence. I ignored everything this man had ever said to me and now we had finally reach a pinnacle. “I’ve grown quite tired of hearing about what horrible people we are. Especially you children. You were her choice and she needs to except that.” He bowed his head again. “I don’t know what’s going to happen next.”
“I don’t see the fairy tale ending.” He looked at me after I said that. Almost like I had stolen the words from his mouth. He felt it too. He shook his head in agreement.
“I just want to apologize and say again that none of this is your fault.” He looked down at the floor. “You are a good person.” I felt a streak of emotion tingle up my spine. The kind of feeling that makes you cry. I bit my tongue. I hadn’t heard that in such a long time. I held back the tears. “And I’m proud to have you as my son.” I know he saw me start to cry. He smiled at me and got up. Closing the door behind himself, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
The words were burned into my head. “You are a good person.” I cried. I cried for a long time. I felt something other than hate for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. I don’t even know how to describe it to this day.
My father moved out later that week. To this day, my mother and him never speak. My mother became quiet after he left. I like to think that he changed her. She seemed changed. Cold and distant, but there she seemed happy to be a mother.
It was the last day of our family.