Posted Monday, April 2nd, 2007
Table for One
It is my birthday and my daughter will not eat with me. I hunch over untouched sushi rolls and pick sesame seeds with my finger. She has been eating all day, she moans, obsessed by the Holiday food in the house, the anise cookies and the shortbread stars. She sniffles in her shirt; her nose runs from spending the day in the cool basement, huddled by the portable heater. She fights to avoid the kitchen, its bright lights, its open containers and easy leftovers. Alone downstairs, helpless, she gave up reading, tortured by her losing argument with food. Home is safe; her friends cannot hear her head thumping the wall to the rhythm of "Why me, Mom?" But I do. It is my birthday and my daughter will not eat with me.
Comments [post a comment]
Posted by Margot Miller on Monday, April 2nd, 2007 at 8:41 AM
I love the tension here between the mother and the daughter each needing the other.
Posted by Nonnie Augustine on Monday, April 2nd, 2007 at 8:48 AM
This shows an impressive mastery of narrative, Suzanne. A complicated situation is told in one paragraph. Nonnie
Posted by Bonnie ZoBell on Monday, April 2nd, 2007 at 9:42 AM
I love the circular nature of this, Suzanne, like the argument itself. Nicely done.
Posted by Donia Carey on Monday, April 2nd, 2007 at 11:06 AM
The story that exists between the pillars of those two sad sentences presents a world in which loneliness and helplessness exist in spite of love. Well done, Suzanne. Your story is one I won't forget.