Home for the Hellidays

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Runner-up in the 2nd Annual Geist Literal Literary Postcard Story Contest.

Today was bad. Mum boiled ham. Barry ate it but he’s a caveman. Meat good veggies bad. Dad ate it. He lost his palate years ago somewhere between boiled ham and charred chops. Sheila dumped hers onto Barry’s plate when Mum wasn’t looking but I flat out refused to touch mine. Mum asked if I’d developed an eating disorder and I said yes if that meant I could only eat edible food. She called me an unnatural daughter and asked God what she’d done to deserve an unnatural daughter with an eating disorder. She had that St. Sebastian look on her face and I wanted to stab her with my fork (no arrows on hand) but Sheila kicked me hard under the table so I didn’t.

After lunch Mum insisted we girls visit nosy old Mrs. Popoff next door as she always asks after us. She never asks after Barry. Anyway, it’s easier to go than argue. Just as we’re leaving Mum says to me, “At least try to be polite to Mrs. Popoff,” and Sheila had to drag me out the door before there was an Incident.

Things got worse.

Mrs. P. plied us with homemade chokecherry wine. The stuff ’s 120 proof. After a couple of glasses I started spewing personal info like I was on Oprah but Sheila went all quiet which should have warned me.

When we got home Mum started in on Sheila about Wayne as if she didn’t know the bastard had dumped poor old Shele which she does because I accidentally let it slip and for that I’ll burn in hell. “You haven’t mentioned Wayne. I hope you haven’t annoyed him because you can’t afford to be choosy.” I dove out of the way just in time. Sheila would have flattened me en route to Mum.

The last I saw, she was dragging Mum by her hair across the kitchen floor toward the basement. Barry was nowhere in sight and come to think of it I haven’t seen Dad since lunch. I’m hiding out in the shed.

Wish you were here.