Charades

Silverware chimed against porcelain, delicate little sounds that filled the usually-silent air. Gentle scrapes aggravated what could have been melodious as he pushed food around, the tines of his fork sputtering against ceramic. A half-eaten salmon lay cold and neglected on his plate; an untouched cup of tea to his upper right. He put down his fork gently, finally. There was a small sigh, a faint sound.

“You're not hungry, Kalle?”

He looked up and bit his lip, not quite able to meet her eyes. “I thought he was going to be here today.”

“Your father is busy,” She insisted. “I'm sure he meant to be here—something came up.”

“He should have called!” Kalle snapped, then regretted it and folded his hands in his lap. He looked down at his plate so he wouldn't have to look at her. There was that silence again, this time not even broken by those pretty little sounds made by forks and knives. This time it was easy to read the discomfort. There was nothing to cover it up.

Her voice was soft, “If you're not hungry you can leave.”

He flinched inwardly, but spoke again, this time his voice wavering. “Mom—”

“You can go. It's alright.”

Kalle glanced up at his mother. She was a pretty lady with long, brown hair tucked behind one ear. She was looking down at her plate and Kalle couldn't catch her eye. She wore one of her finest sweaters, handmade in Ireland that she saved for special occasions; her ears were ornamented with elegant but simple earrings. Kalle stood slowly.

“Okay. I have to work on homework anyway.” Then, to soften the blow, “I'll eat it for lunch tomorrow.” He ran a hand through his hair, pushing messy locks out of his eyes. “'Night, Mom.”

As he passed her, a sudden bout of maternal duty caused the woman to grab his wrist and stop him. She pulled him to her, not rising, and gently kissed his forehead before wrapping her arms around his thin waist. “I'm sorry.” She murmured and Kalle stiffened.

“Mom...” He protested weakly. There was nothing for her to be sorry for, not really. It wasn't her fault. She suddenly remembered herself and pulled away slowly, giving her son a watery smile, gray eyes still apologetic.

“Go on. I'll refrigerate the food.” She stood, pushing her chair back, and began to clean up her spot. She hadn't eaten much either. Kalle battled himself briefly—the urge to stay and help clashing with the urge to get away.

“Good night.” He wished again, and walked away.

He hurried upstairs, hand clutching the railing instinctively. He had fallen down the stairs once, when he was little. Had dislocated his shoulder and his mother had been so worried. He remembered crying, but the doctor had been very nice. Kalle still saw him sometimes, for check-ups and stuff. He was still nice; one of the nicest people Kalle knew.

(He used to be around more, Kalle's father. He used to leave home at 6'o clock and return at 5. He used to eat dinner with his son and wife and talk to them about their days. He used to set aside time for his son, sometimes going out to do something, sometimes just hanging out and talking at home. They don't do that anymore. They all like to play this little game of Charades; playing pretend that everything is just fine, like they are a normal family. Sometimes Kalle's father will come home and still greet his boy with a smile, but that's really more just an upward twisting of lips now. And he doesn't do that very often.)

Withdrawing from his memories, he pushed open the door to his room and shivered as his feet stepped from a carpeted floor to a wooden one. Kalle crossed to the window and pulled down on the pane. It was getting cold out, moving from summer to autumn. It had been warm in the morning, but now it was getting cool very quickly. He latched the window so the wind wouldn't blow it open during the night.

A moment later, he leaned his forehead against the glass, wishing he'd left the window open to drink in the fresh air; he didn't feel like he had the strength to open it again. He sat down and pulled out his homework. He did it, just like he said he would.

At least he kept his promises.

-

Kalle woke to something and for a moment he could only blink dumbly. Then he read the angry red digits of his clock—3:05—and his ears comprehended voices. Two. A deeper male one and a soft female. The female one was speaking now—yelling. But her voice could only raise so far, as if she were permanently demure.

“...you. You can't even keep a promise to your own son! Didn't it ever occur to you—”

Kalle rose and stumbled across the room, almost stubbing his toe on his dresser. He unlatched the window and pushed it open.

“...be around for once...”

He put his head out the window, but had to stand on his toes to do that. He wrapped his arms around the sill, a bit awkwardly, and took pressure off of them.

“Do you expect us to keep going on like this?!”

He closed his eyes and listened to the wind. But it was quiet that night and for a moment, all he heard was silence. And then something he never wanted to hear:

“Doesn't this mean anything to you anymore?!”

End Charades

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Done for a Language Arts class assingment.