At the Dinner Table

At the Dinner Table1

Dear Lyam, my best friend,2

I think it was at the dinner table that I messed up. Probably... almost certainly. It was at the dinner table that I messed up big time.3

So here’s the scene: I was 18, back in 1995. I was cool. I hated my life. I hated my family. I was a typically rebellious teenager. Just for good measure - boy was I hot!4

Ok, that’s not really the point. The point is: I messed up. Big time. At the dinner table one night. 5

Characters: I was there, obviously. My mom was there. My older sister was there, Sophie. And... my step-father, Baxter; Backside Baxter, the Bore. He had a large backside, and if I could just begin to tell you how boring he was...! He was the ultimate of boring people, the king, emperor. Just the way he talked, in a slow, fake, slightly drooling way. He thought he sounded intelligent, like that. I never really grasped his concepts, to tell you the truth. I bet you remember my ranting about him every once in a while: Baxter this, Baxter that, if I could I’d shoot that son of a gun! Basically, I hated him.6

The truth is I was greatly affected by the death of my father, when I was 12. The following 4 years, without him, were sad but in a way, interesting. Sophie, my mom and I at home, just the three of us. Yeah, that was somehow neat. 7

But then the Bore came along. First, he was just a bloke my mom was dating. And then he started coming to sleep at the house. The noises I had to put up with until 1 a.m! Those were weird times, forget the neat times with mom and Sophie. And then - the marriage! A nightmare, honestly. Did you go? I can’t remember, at the moment, but I’m sure your parents did. They were always good friends with my family.8

Anyway, so after that life at home was horrible. And after dinner every night, we’d all sit in the living-room and he’d refuse to have the TV on! So what was the evening’s entertainment? The incredible Backside Baxter, the Bore. He’d tell us about his boring day, his boring stories, his boring childhood. Mom would laugh and slap his legs. I’d laugh and think up ways of murdering him in his sleep. 9

Clearly, I never got around to doing it. But after a year or so I started to dislike my mother, too. In fact, by the time my 18th birthday came along, I hated her just as much as I hated Baxter. Sophie - she’s a different story. Usually, she was nice, but then she started going out with Motorcycle Man, as I secretly named him, and caught up a few bad habits. Drugs, smoking, depression, the lot. 10

So when that night came when I messed up at the dinner table, I guess it was just a whole lot of hatred I had been carrying, and had to let it all out. Too bad what I did wasn’t exactly the best way to do it.11

Now, the real point: it was my mom’s birthday. She was 49 that day. Just the day before, she had been 48. Funny, ain’t it?12

So there was a small dinner at our home. Me, her, Sophie and Baxter. Mom made a special stew she cooks wonderfully. Thing is, I was quite under the weather that week. For a number of reasons: I had found out Sophie was pregnant and was going to give birth to a mini Motorcycle Man (Motorcycle Boy), my girlfriend had left me after a nasty fight on a park bench and... well, I was just feeling rebellious, what with all this going on, plus my already heated hatred for my mother and Baxter.13

To make a long story shorter, I put some pot in the stew pot. It would be a blast to watch everyone’s face as they ate the stew and picked up the taste of marijuana!14

“Some of my friends from work are coming to dinner tonight, so put some nice clothes on,” was the cue that began the whole mess. “Including the company manager, he likes to take an interest in his employees’ lives,” my mother said, half-an-hour before 19 o’clock, the set time for the dinner to commence.15

“Great,” I mumbled, my heart sinking on the spot. Let’s face it: I hated my mom, but ruining her job and, possibly, future, was taking it just maybe a tiny bit too far.16

But of course, there was nothing I could do to take the pot out of the stew pot. I was starting to imagine the horrible scene, when Baxter walked into the living-room where we were talking. He was looking incredibly dashing and handsome in a black tuxedo with his hair done in a cool wave - not! I wish. From what I remember, my real dad was cool. He had been a writer, a published author of renowned horror novels. Baxter was a university professor...17

“Oh aren’t you looking gorgeous tonight!” my mom giggled, throwing her arms around my goofy step-father. Yes indeed, veeeery gorgeous. The tuxedo looked ridiculous on him.18

“Thanks! Are you going to put some better clothes on, Peter?” he turned on me, wiping away the smile he had on immediately, as though looking at a piece of guano.19

“Maybe,” I said simply, showing him an equally unpleasant expression. I turned around and went to my room. I listened to some music until I heard the doorbell ring: the announcing ring to the climactic night that lay ahead.20

Sophie was late arriving home; she had been out with Motorcycle Man all afternoon. Mom’s friends turned out to be a nice-looking couple, and her boss was a large, loud-speaking, cigar-smoking guy.21

Finally, we were all the dinner table. Mom was at the head, Baxter on the opposite end. 22

“So what have you got for us, Diane?” Mr. Burge asked, in a booming voice. I was sitting right next to him.23

“Well, Mr. Burge, I’ve prepared my famous stew for tonight’s gathering,” mom said, smiling. Sucking up?24

“Famous? How come I’ve never heard of it!?” her boss guffawed. Everyone laughed, but I think it was just me that was laughing at him, not with him.25

So my mom went inside to fetch the stew.26

“Peter, do you want to go help your mother?” Baxter asked me. Mr. Burge looked down at me; he could barely fit in his chair and was quite tall. Sophie was looking slightly doped, so I just ignored her. And the couple was chatting about something.27

“I don’t want to, but I guess I will,” I said, getting up. Mr. Burge laughed again, but I could imagine Baxter clenching his fists.28

I helped mom bring the giant pot of stew into the dining-room. Everyone helped themselves. And then - time to eat.29

“I have to say this does look delicious, Diane,” Mr. Burge commended her. 30

“Thank you. It’ll taste better when you try it,” she encouraged, taking a mouthful herself. Now was the moment. She was the first to eat the stew, and by the way her expression instantly fell, I could tell she had picked up my special ingredient.31

Her eyes darted at me, rested there for a second, then shot back up to the guests. Mr. Burge was lifting his spoon.32

“Mr. Burge, please don’t eat that,” and by the way her voice sounded, I could tell he could tell she wasn’t joking. Baxter stared at her, confused. The couple also left their conversation and took interest, maybe for the first time, in what was going on at the dinner table. Sophie just let out a small grunt.33

“But Diane... this stew looks absolutely marvellous, why are you making us suffer like this?” Baxter asked, uneasily.34

Then I decided to chip in. I was sick of having a dull life, of hating almost everyone around me. It was time to make a stand. Frankly, I had already contemplated the idea of running away a couple of times, but only that night did I actually feel I could go through with it. I was feeling confident, so I said, “Please, Mr. Burge, this is my mom’s idea of a joke, do continue.”35

“No,” my mom’s voice cut him short. Everyone was looking at us. “Do not eat the stew,” she repeated.36

“Shut up, mom. C’mon, eat the stew,” I pressed, eager for some deserved fun. Mom grabbed my arm and squeezed hard, an expression of rage on her face. I could see she knew what problems would ensue if Mr. Burge ate the stew, but I was going to run away that night and didn’t really give a damn.37

Mr. Burge, however, was tired of the go-no go signals so he just dug in. He swallowed a few mouthfuls then stopped. He was tasting. Mom loosened the grip on my arm and watched, horrified, as Mr. Burge turned towards her.38

“Diane? What is this?” he asked, angrily. “You know I don’t approve of junkies working in my offices. Is what I taste what I think it is?”39

My mom let go of me completely, and owned up, ‘Yes, Mr. Burge, it is. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid it wasn’t me who-”40

“Please, no more,” he waved away her excuses, getting up. Baxter was looking at her, incredulously. “I’m very disappointed in you, Diane. I mean, just look at the sorry state your daughter is in!”41

“No, you don’t understand, she’s like this of her own accord!” my mom shouted. Meanwhile, I was grinning from ear to ear, savouring the moment. Baxter caught me smiling, and decided to tuck into the stew himself. The couple did the same, wearily checking out what the fuss was all about. In a few moments, everyone was staring at mom and me, unsure of who was the culprit.42

“And don’t even think of showing up at the office again,” Mr. Burge said as he left. My mom was crying. He closed the door and there was silence. Honestly, I didn’t feel at all sorry for her. 43

“Peter, what have you done?” Baxter asked me, meaning to sound threatening.44

“What? Did you say something, Backside?45

The couple was looking around, appalled at the state of our “family”.46

“Backside!? Watch your mouth, Peter, or-”47

“Yes, Backside. Backside Baxter the Bore.”48

Baxter jumped up, but I was too quick for him. I pranced around to the other side of the table, laughing. 49

“This is it, Peter, you’re going straight to the shrink.”50

“You’re the one who needs counselling, Backside. Ever heard yourself speaking?” I laughed.51

Baxter stopped, then. The couple was trying to ignore our ungodly behaviour, but it was impossible. He slumped down on the floor, face in his hands, crying like mom was. I had made them both cry.52

“See what you’ve done to your parents?” the guy from the couple said, sneering at me. I sneered back, “Tough.”53

I left, then. I grabbed some stuff, including all the money I found in mom’s purse and Baxter’s wallet. Then I was out the door.54

Ok, now that I’ve told my story, I’ve realised how dumb I was, how childish. I should never, ever, had done what I did that night at the dinner table. I ruined my mom’s life. I hurt Baxter’s feelings; I mean, he drooled while talking and had a large backside, but deep down, he was a nice guy. I gave myself a horrible reputation. And then, I just ran away. Surely you’ve heard the story before, the news reached the whole town. 55

But I’m just writing to you, my best friend, to ask for a favour. I’m not going to tell you where I am. 2 years have passed, I’m far away from there. 56

I just wanted to ask you to check up on my mom and Baxter, see how they are, maybe tell them how much I regret what I did. I haven’t the guts to call them, never mind take a little trip and go back down there for a chat. But I do regret it, a lot, and I’m really curious to know what they’re up to. I still hope mom found a way of convincing Mr. Burge the whole thing was all a big misunderstanding. 57

So please, Lyam, do this for me. Tell them I’m sorry for my big mess up at the dinner table. 58

Cheers,59

Peter60