The Table

2020/2021

Everything happens at the table.

Long and wide.  Three mismatched chairs to a side, always noise, noise.  Hungry voices trying to be heard above the rest, vying for the attention of blue eyes, hazel eyes, any eyes.

Everything happens at the table.

Too-early family time, housecoats and tea, while tired minds try to grasp the meaning of the words spewing out of Dad’s mouth as he reads from the Holy Bible.

Bowls and spoons set for breakfast with Mum, usually porridge, or rice pudding.  Sugar, cinnamon, fresh cow’s milk.

Grumbling.

Tea.

Poetry read aloud.

Everything happens at the table.

Books out, their spines bent to breaking, pages worn.  Dictation, narration, young voices trying to be clever.

Latin.

Arguing.

Tea.

Math.

Bickering.

Small heads and long hair.  Loose paper and broken pencils, the electric sharpener seeming to always be whirring.

Spelling books, competition, giggles and mockery, and Mum telling us to pipe down.

Lunch is spread.  A simple something put together.  More laughter, more tea, more fighting.  Mum telling us to pipe down.

Everything happens at the table.

Paint, brushes, pencils and sketchbooks.  Cold tea in old mugs, the piano banging in the background, while we try to be the next Monet or Rembrandt, or at the very least learn to draw a straight line.

The world makes a little more sense in the afternoons.  There is less talk, and we are enthralled with our own imaginations.

Supper is on the table.  A simple something put together by young hands, learning hands.  Fighting over portions and sharing the best part of the day.

Yelling, passing, splitting, hoarding.  Blue eyes filled with rage or delight.

Conversation is a battle front in this family, wit is sharp, and tones are provoking.

Thursday night means parents are out, and make-believe ensues.

Accents come out, airs are put on, laughter is ringing and vocabularies are brandished.

Woe to him who slips up.

It is fun until it gets personal, and the playful words begin to bite.

Most games end in yelling.

Clean up, wipe up, carry on.

Wednesday evening means rushing to learn piano theory.

Tea, cramming, yawning,

frustration.

Usually giving up, resigned to pleading forgiveness in the morning lesson.

Creaking chairs, lights out.  Late-night conversations and laughing,

late-night confessions,

late-night whispers and shouting,

tears and prayers.

Everything happens at the table.