Stories of yesterday
The Dinner
The Dinner
Sitting at a large dinner table, a man leaned back in his chair, casually smoking a cigarette. The guests sat around the table with finished plates still in front of them. The chattering amongst the guests continues as the man puts the cigarette to his lips, and inhales.
“Robert, tell them that dream you told me the other evening. It would make a great story. “
He lets loose a large cloud of smoke and looks over at the woman. His legs crossed toward her, he moved the cigarette to his right hand and placed his left arm around her chair back, giving her a slight smirk.
“Oh, Darling, there’s much more interesting things to talk about.” He said in a hushed tone.
She tilted her head down and looked him in the eyes and placed her hand on his leg. “Well, I found it interesting.” Smiling back at him.
Glancing around the table at the guests, he took one more puff of his near-gone cigarette and stamped it out on the plate in front of him with a harsh vigour. He stared down at the last few sips of brandy sitting in the glass nearest to him, catching himself in a daze, he cleared his throat and took his eyes away from the drink.
“Don’t tell us one of your childish stories again, Robert, really….” Said a man opposite the table.
Robert raised his eyebrows at the man, “Now you’re my guest here, that’s no way to behave. I won’t be able to start my story until you’ve got another drink in you. Loosen up, Old man!”
He poured him another drink and slid it over in front of the man and gave him an obnoxious smirk. “Here’s one for the road and another for the ditch!” Letting out a roaring cackle as the man rolls his eyes.
As the two men clinked their glasses together and took a drink, a knock at the door came resonating through the house. Everything became silent.
“I’ll get it, and a top-up by the time I get back.” He winked, directed his finger at the man and got up from the table.
Walking to the door, he noticed as he passed the living area — it didn’t look right. But he didn’t think much of it. The brandy started hitting him. Opening the door, he saw an older woman standing on the landing at the front of the house.
She looked up at him, and with a shaking voice, she said, “Let this go, Robert… Leave this place and come home with me.”
“Are you lost, Miss?” he asked her. She reached out her hand toward him. He froze for a moment, looking down at her face, seeing a sort of familiarity there. He turned his head over his shoulder and called for his wife.
No one came to the door. There was no movement, not even a reply. He did not hear anything.
Turning back to the woman at the door, he saw instead, his wife. Her hand still offered to him. “After all these years, you haven’t changed.”
She smiled at him, lovingly, and he took her hand. “You’ve been stuck for a while now, it’s time to come home,” she said.
He looked around confused by the change surrounding him, from the rock under his feet from where the gravel pathway used to be; now a flat grey stone. Construction tearing up the backyard he had once gardened in, sat outside near the lake, and played golf with his eldest son. He realised that the dream he had was more than just that.
He began to display his discomfort, but his wife turned to him and said “Oh, my dear Robert, it doesn’t matter. You’ve been dead for years. I’ve been calling for you, haven’t you heard me?”
