The plates were huge. Infinite. Mother served mashed potatoes, meatloaf and vegetables on them. Colossal amounts of food. Come, she said. Her hands called us, she pointed our places at the dining table; her fingers, then, brought food from an invisible plate to her mouth. She ate air. I don’t remember exactly what we did first, maybe we bit our nails, maybe we hid our hands in the sleeves or sunk our heads in the sweater. But I am certain that we crossed eyes before we dared to come around.
Marina and I resigned, we had to eat. Each of us took a place at the table. The plates, as I said, were already there, waiting for us. Once we sat, Mother pushed our chairs, close, so close to the table. We could barely move. Yes, that I do remember, that thin line of air between our bodies and the table. I was staring at it, the line, when Mother said: Eat. I looked at my plate. Marina did the same. We crossed eyes again. She talked to me with no sound. I could read her words: smells-rea-lly-bad. I responded the same way, a subtle lip movement: eat-it-up. Marina was right. Mashed potatoes and meat stank. Carrots looked darkish. Green peas were yellow. How old was that food? None of us moved the fork, we had no courage.
Eat!, said Mother, again.
I would look and look and look again at my plate, maybe in an unexpected magic act I would make it go away. Marina, on the other hand, squeezed her eyes shut. Tight. That, too, was a desperate way to reach magic. We wanted the power to dissappear: food, Mother, us, everything.
However, plates and food were still there. We were now crossing eyes with them, as if preparing for an arm wrestling fight. Who would win? Them or us? We all felt disgust for each other. We were there again, face to face. It was us against the huge plates.
(translation is mine) (story is mine) (want to read the whole thing? well email me: [email protected])