By Greta Gize
The morning after my uncle’s funeral, my family packed into the busy hotel restaurant. When the frazzled waitress finally made her way to our tables, my older cousin, Nate, barked at me. “Order!”
I hurriedly pointed to a picture on the laminated menu. “This?”
The waitress delivered our food. Marissa, my pretty ballet-dancing cousin, slowly cut into her cantaloupe wedge. Two years older than me, she was a thin, confident high school sophomore. The short stack I’d ordered dripped with butter and maple syrup. I could barely eat half of it.
Within twenty-four hours, I lost my uncle and my self-esteem.
Great vignette. Moments like this stick with you forever. We play them over in our mind and they shape us for years to come. As adults we hopefully get to the place where the trauma doesn’t define us, and that we can empathize with the injured teen.
Thanks, Eva!
Love the unexpected last line!
Thank you
I can so picture this scene through your words.
The piece is descriptive enough that I could visualize all of it. And then wonder, what was before and after.
Thanks for sharing.
Lovely. I can taste the butter.
I could visualize all
Awesome piece !!
I hope this is a start to a story, and we get read more – I can picture the scene so well through your words, and the tension and feelings are thick. Thanks for sharing Greta!
Yes, I want to know more about everyone–the uncle, Nate, Marissa–and what is going on in the head of an 8th grade girl who seems to be soaking up a new reality much like the pancakes soaking up the buttery syrup! Was the uncle a good guy whose kids strayed from his goodness? Why no mention of her own family?