Dinner With a Nuclear Family

Dinner

Dinner was laid out with care, the table was set and Mom's best tablecloth threw color into the otherwise monotonous kitchen. A weak ceiling light faintly buzzed, shining cold light upon a large bowl of beef stroganoff, the fruit of the family's evening of cooperation. A wash of color came from the afternoon sun, spilling in through an open window above the kitchen sink. Laughter boomed from Uncle's chest, so strongly that you could feel it resonate inside your own. For the rest of us, though, calm, pleasant energy was passed from person to person through smiles, acknowledgments of history shared, and nostalgic sighs. The smiles lit up the room's corners, where the sunset and dim ceiling light could not reach. These smiles were contagious and all looming worries were forgotten. Though, as time passed, a melancholic unease rose up in everyone's mind when conversation slowed enough to make room for it. Following a story of the chance encounter that led to all of us being here today, there was a quiet, mournful, pause. Dewey eyes struggled in an attempt to look into the past when the table was full during dinners like this without shedding a tear. Times when Grandpa would tell the same story that we had just heard. Grandmother would always correct his embellishments, much to his embarrassment, and laughter would fill the room. This sentimental silence was cut short by the start of a far-off siren. Its pitch rose slowly, like a metallic screech, before descending again in a haunting apathetic wail that filled each second to the brim as all eyes fell down to the dinner table. The corners of the room fell dark once again.

They say stagnant minds ferment. They say idle hands are the devil's playthings. They're right. A year passed in the first 20 seconds, and the ebullience that once made the air crisp and gave life to the otherwise dull apartment gave way to the siren as it filled every inch of the room with its incessant, wavering tone. A cynical joke got thrown into the dark and was met with hesitant, forced chuckles. The same thought was in everyone's minds as even Uncle, the family's realist, sat with his hands in a death grip around the arms of his chair, waiting for the sirens to stop. We all were frozen in expectation for the wailings end, for the declaration of the monthly drill that would deem our worries uncalled for. Though, as time passed, the tension remained taut. As we waited with the sirens company not one person dared to take another bite. The entire room was in this awkward state until a stream of hurried footsteps down the hallways of our building quickly grew into a flood. Uncle sat in disbelief with a defeated, ruined expression, his mouth slightly agape, and eyes plastered to an empty spot on the wall ahead of him before his gaze fell to his lap, like a wounded bird. For a moment I thought I saw a tear forming. For a moment I was truly scared. Memories of school assemblies, rumors of the purpose of the monthly drills that I had dismissed as the next big and scary boogie man, the arguments of my parents about moving away over potential risks we were too young to learn about. I let out a gasp as the realization finally hit me. Uncle's eyes met mine and for a second the look was still there, like a child watching his balloon drift into the sky above him. Exhaling slowly his eyebrows pulled together over closed eyes and his mouth closed to a tight thin line. He stood sharply and told us to get ready, which set us all in motion immediately.

Training for this circumstance was done in every school and most government jobs. I had graduated last summer so I was a fair bit out of practice but my younger cousin helped in confirming the seal was tight and the filter was on correctly. Not having taken care of or even getting the mask checked out and approved for a little over 8 months worried me but Uncle reassured me that I would be fine. My cousin remarked that the worst thing about the mask was how dirty the lenses were, proudly displaying the pristine condition in which he kept his own with an ignorant smile. Everyone brought their masks with them anywhere they went these days. It had become habitual for parents to bring their children's and their own masks in a bag or backpack whenever they went out. I had resisted the trend, thinking it foolish, but after this experience, I can't imagine going anywhere without it. My mind wandered to the possibility of this dinner being held somewhere other than my own home, somewhere I would have been left maskless, and an ice-cold droplet of dread trickled down my spine.