Sitting Around the Table

There were three siblings there. Mom was in the center. One nephew and a newcomer were listening to the stories...and shaking their heads, laughing.

"I really could tell Dad stories for a long time," I said.

We were working in San Francisco. Dad had gone out of his way to help a young, overweight girl who worked in the office. The girl was always bitter, forever doubtful of her own abilities, and was a considerable mess. She'd miss work. She'd eat way too much at lunch, and she was forever complaining, but Dad wanted to help her gain some confidence.

So we'd pick her up each day and drive her into work. I remember whining to Dad about it.

"Why can't she find her own way to work?"

"Why does she do nothing but complain?"

But Dad was steady. She was a young kid.

"She needs a break in life," he said.

One morning we got to the spot in front of her own beat up apartment where we'd pick her up.

She wasn't there.

What was there instead was just an old pair of shoes.

Two shoes lined up perfectly.

Just positioned there on the corner, facing our car.

"She ain't here," I said.

Dad looked at the empty shoes.

"Maybe she bought a pair of odor-eaters," he said.

I swear to God.

We laughed at that line every day for a month.

My Mom told a few stories.

Jim told a story.

Carrie went way back in her memory banks.

We laughed a lot.

Just sitting around the table.

Missing everyone, for sure.

But laughing.

Freaking odor-eaters!