Within Close Range – Dinner at the Celanos’

Dinner means waiting for Dad.

It means setting the table with placemats and napkins, and neatly set silver, pitchers of water and plates for your salad; and waiting and waiting, as smells from the kitchen, from sizzling pans and simmering pots, waft through the house like an intoxicating fog.

Making it hard to concentrate on anything other than the clock, and the driveway, where we turn our attentions every few minutes, hoping to see our tormentor’s headlights.

Stomachs gurgling.

Tempers shortening.

Dad finally showing and ever so slowly, shedding his suit. Un-harried. Unhurried to get the meal going. Even though his children are moaning. Haven’t eaten in minutes. But dinner begins when Dad’s ready to sit.

And no sooner.

With full plates and mouths full, we vie for a spot, for a moment of Dad’s attention. Except for Mark, the youngest, who remains wordless, playing with his food. Making subtle, reactive faces to the different conversations.

Having barely touched his plate, Mark asks to be excused. It’s a radical move.

So was Dad saying yes.

Staring at the untouched stuffed, green pepper on my plate, I curse myself, wishing I’d thought of it first.

An unusual amount of commotion can soon be heard coming from the boys’ room directly above us. Strange, everyone agrees, Mark usually goes straight from table to T.V.

Then all eyes are drawn through the dining room window, overlooking the lawn, the bluff and the lake. To the darkening sky, where an airplane is crossing. Which wouldn’t be much, if the thing wasn’t smoldering.

Hearts jump. Mom lets out a shriek.

Until the tiny model plane on fire, stops in mid-air. Hung up on the wire Mark strung from his window to a large, old oak on the lawn.

In a tiny flash, the tiny, fighter jet (stuffed with pop-its and tissue paper) becomes a well-timed, wee inferno, and all those hours he spent building it, admiring it and high-wiring it, goes up in flames.

By the time my startled attention is back at the table, Mark has quietly returned to his seat and all eyes have turned to Dad, who seems, at first, not to know how to react.

But then we see it.

An almost imperceptible grin.

Mark’s scrunched shoulders soften.

“Nice job,” laughs Jim, as we file outside to examine the smoldering wreckage. “Twisted, but effective.”

I can see Mark is pleased. He’s impressed a tough crowd. Dare I say it? Made us proud.

Except for Mom, who’s still holding her heart.

Author: Anne Celano Frohna

I am a writer, a mother of two girls, Eva (20) and Sophia (18) and wife to one husband, Kurt. I was mostly a professional writer and editor for 30 years for graphic arts and advertising, for publishers of newspapers, magazines, books, etc.,. Now, I have a blog where I post my creative non-fiction, short stories, a couple of illustrated children's stories and a comedy I wrote about two years I spent teaching English in rural Japan (NOT a story for a child.). I’m also working on a new blog about the wonderful, hand-crafted items I've collected over the years at beautyofthrift.com. - which will also connect to the Etsy shop I recently opened called Channeling Nonna. My husband and I both love to cook and to entertain and have welcomed friends and family to our homes for over 20 years. With our eldest off at college, we also began hosting with Airbnb, the perfect (and most natural) way for me to continue to pursue my passion of writing, while at the same time help us pay for current and future college expenses.

One thought on “Within Close Range – Dinner at the Celanos’”

  1. Love this, Annie! Makes me think of our dinners with our dad, specifically the time when my brother Frank tossed a bomb into the middle of our kitchen table after being asked by aforementioned dad about a deadline that needed to be met by declaring, “I hate time. It’s too structured.” Not sure what happened after that aside from my dad’s maniacal humming…

    Like

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