A Family Tea Party
by George Yonemori
“You’re all looking awfully lovely this evening!” says Father with a smile.
“You’re looking lovely yourself, dear,” Mother responds in a more subdued tone.
Father brought us out here for a tea party. A tea party that takes place in an isolated neck of the forest with no real life in sight. I hear ravens making noises as they sit on the trees high above our heads. My feet are tired from all the walking, and these fancy dress shoes don’t help. Father brings us out here for the same reason once a month or so.
There is a giant drill running at full speed in a neighboring valley. It’s there, but it isn’t. I can’t see the drill, but the noise is pounding, so I know it’s there. I know it’s there. It’s almost like the guitars in heavy metal music. The setting sun blankets the forest with its saturated orange glow. The autumn air is still. Bright light bleeds through the leafless trees that loom over us. My parents and I are the only ones around.
“I think the drill is getting closer,” I say as I tug at Mother’s sleeveless silk dress.
She doesn’t respond in any way. There’s no hint of fear in her eyes. There’s no hint of anything at all. Only the warmest shade of brown can be found. Father’s eyes say that he’s aware of the drill, but doesn’t care. He’s a man, and men show no fear.
“Are you enjoying yourselves!” says Father with the same smile.
“Yes, dear,” says Mother without any eye-contact.
Mother and I sit on one end of this long table in a clearing. Father sits all the way at the other side. The table is made from rotten wood with rotten, greasy, and moldy food scattered all over it. There are no plates at all. Flies and cockroaches are congregating on the chocolate cake in the middle. These creatures bring me deep discomfort. The distorted way they flutter around makes my blood freeze. The thought that they could use me as a surface to reside on sends shivers up my spine, but I can’t show it.
The tea is black and muddy. The tea is always black and muddy at our tea parties. I fixate on the teacup sitting in front of me for what seems like an eternity. Bubbles pop up on the surface really fast like the science experiments at school. Except I don’t want to know why. I look to the other side of the table to see Father sucking down the tea. Drops that don’t go inside his mouth fall onto his chest staining his white dress shirt. The new stains look like the old stains. I can’t count them because there are so many.
“Let’s thank God,” Father whispers just loud enough to be audible over here. He puts his hands together, and he recites, “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses.”
He stops. He always forgets what comes next.
Mother and I put the piece in for him and say in harmony, “As we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”
Father resumes, “For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, forever and ever. Amen. Thank you, Jesus.” The final words are always hard to understand because he speeds up like he’s under a timer.
“Amen. Thank you, Jesus,” we repeat.
We’re Christians, but we’re not Christians. We have crosses at home, but we don’t read the Bible. We say a prayer before we eat, but we don’t go to church. At least not anymore. I never liked it, and my parents didn’t either. A long time ago, we used to go every week, and then it became once a month, and then it became never. I can’t remember anything about church because I could barely walk the last time I was there.
Father grabs a piece of bread sitting to his right. Disregarding the maggots squirming on it, he sloppily shoves it into his mouth. Crumbs spew out onto the table and all the other food. It becomes obvious that he took too large a bite, and he spits the brown, soggy mass of mush out onto the grass below. His pained coughing is almost as loud as the drill.
“Don’t eat too much now. Wouldn’t want you to lose your figure,” says Father as he sloppily wipes his mouth with his sleeve.
Father looks as though he's eaten enough to last a couple of lifetimes. His suit looks seconds away from being ripped to shreds, and the stains don’t help its appearance. His hair is messy, grey, and receding. Flies seem to like him more than the food. His sagging skin is riddled with blemishes and is carrying layers of filth. He's much older than Mother. His wrinkles proudly display the fact. Mother, on the other hand, looks young, immaculate, and warm. I wonder how they even met. Mother has only said that it was just by chance.
“I wouldn’t dare displease you,” says Mother as she drinks from a wine glass. Red wine. Her favourite.
Something is licking my hand. It tickles and burns at the same time. It’s a dog that must’ve come out of the trees. I don’t like dogs, and I really don’t like this dog. It’s so skinny that I can see the ribs sharply poking under its skin. I wonder if it’ll eat me. Maybe it’s just taste testing right now. Its eyes look so old. Mother doesn’t notice the dog. She likes dogs, but I’m not sure seeing this dog will make her feel better.
The dog stops touching me and tries to jump up onto the table. Trying and failing. It keeps trying and failing. It makes yelping noises when it falls back down onto the grass. I hate it. I hate it so much. Please just go away! I see a relatively clean piece of meat on the table within my reach. I hold my breath and pick it up with only two fingers. It feels like it’s grabbing me to be honest. I chuck it on the ground by the dog and it makes a splat sound. This dog grabs it between its dirty teeth and runs back into the forest. Maybe back to its own family.
“Goodbye, you little monster,” I whisper.
The drill feels as if it’s right behind me, but I know it isn’t. The sounds it’s making are wrong. It sounds like crashing dishes and crazed screaming instead of the drilling sound from earlier. I still can’t see the drill at all, but the noise is definitely getting closer. It won’t be long until it reaches me. The idea of running crosses my mind, but it seems so impossible. I keep tugging at Mother’s dress, only to get no response. Nothing. Nothing at all.
“You sometimes do, but what can I expect?” cackles Father.
“I’m sorry I can’t meet all of your expectations,” mumbles Mother.
“Why must you constantly insult me?” asks Father, as he tightly grips the arms of his chair.
“I didn’t,” replies Mother in the same subdued tone.
“Yes, you did. You always insult me in front of my son. You always try to show you’re better than me!” screams Father.
Father hits the table with his shriveled fist. The flies that have made the food their domain jump into their hiding places. The sun disappears behind a curtain of clouds. Rain comes down on us. The rain is blacker than the tea. Mother begins to cry on my shoulder. It’s the only time she has acknowledged me all evening.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” says Mother. Is it meant for me? Is it meant for him? I don’t know.
The drill is right behind me. That’s for sure.
“One. Two. Three,” I count under my breath. Show no fear. Show. No. Fear.
***
I swiftly turn around to see Mother in the doorway with something below her right eye. It’s barely visible in the darkness. What is it? Mother likes to put colors around her eyes sometimes, but she doesn’t like dark blue. She’s never had dark blue before. She said she hates dark blue. Mother is wearing a white t-shirt and ripped blue jeans. It looks nice on her because everything looks nice on her. Father is nowhere to be seen.
I get up from my playset and put my dolls away. My playset consists of a blue table with an unmovable teapot in the center and two blue chairs. There’s a large crack running through the table diagonally. I can’t remember a time when it wasn’t cracked like that. My two dolls keep me company throughout most of every day. One doll wears a suit, and the other wears a dress. I’ve had these two dolls for as long as I can remember. They came alongside a cool house that I dropped down the stairs. Mother said she’ll get me one that’s in one piece one day.
The drill is silent, but it’s very much still present. Mother tentatively tucks me into my little bed and asks me if I heard any of what happened outside. I say I didn’t hear a thing. Mother plants a dry kiss on my forehead and quickly walks to my window to close the drapes. She sees my dolls and places them on my shelf. It’s where I can see them and they can see me.
“Mother, what happened to your eye?” I ask.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing. It’s just makeup. I just like makeup. You know I like makeup.” she responds softly with her brown eyes locked onto mine. Her voice is dry like a desert. She wants to sleep way more than I do.
“Okay,” I say with a firm nod.
She’s in a hurry to leave. Her movements are fast like she’s forgotten to do something important. She probably has a good reason to leave. I don’t want her to leave. She’s almost done leaving.
“I love you,” my lips blurt out without my brain telling them to.
She stops moving. Everything stops moving. I can feel she’s gripping the doorknob tighter. This silence hurts. I can’t breathe until it’s over.
“You know I love you very much,” she says without even looking at me. Silence again, but she’s not moving. I hate when she doesn’t know what to say. “Everything turns out alright in the end,” she whispers as she leaves my room. The door closes, and I’m alone.
As I lie still in bed, I stare into my white ceiling and white walls. I see my two dolls sitting down on the shelf doing the same. The orange light is gone. I miss it so much. I hear the muffled sounds of the TV downstairs. It’s one of those shows where a rich guy talks to another rich guy about something that’s going to make one of the rich guys even richer. They have jokes, but I don’t know where they are without the massive audience laughing at them. I always try to laugh at those times. Father always laughs. It’s normal to laugh. I want to be normal.
I believe Mother when she says that everything will be alright eventually. I look to my bookshelf to see stacks upon stacks of books, most old and tattered. My bookshelf is made of the type of wood that creaks and groans. Maybe it’s the books themselves creaking and squeaking.
Some of the newer ones are from my new school. They’re really heavy, and not a single page is wasted. There are even words that I don’t even know. The know-it-all adults at my old school said I wasn’t like the other kids. I talk funny, but not the funny that makes people laugh. Not the funny they put in movies with posters of rich guys with their mouths gaping open. Funny people have all the friends. I can’t make people laugh even though I try really hard sometimes. Thinking back on those times just makes me feel sad.
They said a new school would be better suited for my gifts. They said people there talk almost as funny as I do. They say I have gifts, but what kind of gifts? Like X-Men? I hope it’s like X-Men. If so, I’m the luckiest boy in the whole world. I could be fearless without even trying.
I read a lot. Sometimes, I start a book that I’ve already finished multiple times in the morning, and I’ll finish it right before falling asleep. Most of them, with crude illustrations and faded text are about people that overcame their hardships at the end of the day. Give it some time. It’s just a matter of time. It’s always just a matter of time. One day, we’ll be a happy family again. One day, the tea will be sweet like honey. Sweet like Mother.
I drift off to sleep eventually. I dream of trees, ravens, and rats. I see the setting sun with its blinding light. I’m sitting at a long table with Mother to my right wearing a sleeveless dress, and Father at the other end wearing his usual suit. The table is made from rotting wood. The food on the table is covered in repulsive insects. I hear a drill in a neighboring valley. It’s coming towards us. Wait. What’s that? The drill abruptly stops making a drilling noise and begins to make a more familiar sound: the sound of smashing dinner plates and crazed screaming.