Prompt: Table
Round and clad in flowery cloth with only four spaces. Deliberate? If you were late to dinner, you didn’t get a seat at the table. In those early childhood years, I needed one of those seats. I had family dynamics to work on. Thankfully, those first three years after the coma, baby brother had his high-chair and a seat was easily available. Not so once he grew into a booster-seat. Then it was a battle between me and Tamara. Dad was at the head of the table and Mother across from him. Baby brother always had his chair with the booster, so that left only one.
As I got to know my family, I often carried anxiety and weariness with me to the table. I wasn’t sure what food I was supposed to enjoy or how much I was allowed to eat, so I just followed Tamara’s lead. Often there would be astonished looks from Mother as I tried out different vegetables, or looks of disgust as I crinkled up my nose at other food.
“You never used to like that,” Mother would say. Or, “but that’s your favorite!”
I would just shrug my shoulders. What else could I do? Did my taste buds change too?
Once I had to battle for a seat, I would deliberately be late. I didn’t find any pleasure in competition and Tamara liked to gloat if she beat me to the table. I’d gather a plate of food and pad off through the house to the front porch (if it was warm) or gather around the wood stove (if it was cold) and eat by myself.
By this time, I was doing a lot of things by myself. Mom was often moody, Dad was distant, Tamara was smug and Baby Brother was fussy. I found myself alone in my room, playing with dolls or reading books. I still didn’t trust people and there was little else to do. Even at the age of nine, I knew I was different and a loner.
Changes were coming soon. Changes that would set me apart even more.
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As the Fates Would Have It 