Dinner in the Annex

To all my darling children.

Picture taken by the author.

The nurse came in precisely at six. She stood by the door and waited for us to clean up before walking us to the dining room. Talking in the dining room was, technically, against the rules, but the nurses didn’t care. As long as we kept our voices down, they more or less left us alone until everyone was sent to the bathroom in preparation for bed.

I take my usual seat between P and J. Across from me sat R, the newest addition to the annex, wiping tears and snot from his face with a bunch of tissue. He arrived early this morning and spent most of the day crying into his pillow.

It was best to let him be, we all knew that. But sometimes curiosity and jealousy can get the better of us. I glanced at J who was trying very hard to mind his own business; and yet, I caught J staring at the newcomer between bites. We ate in silence for some time before K, who was sitting next to R, extended the first welcome.

“Hello there,” K smiled. “I’m K. Are you gonna eat that?”

He pointed at the food on R’s place, which had remained untouched. R winced and turned his head away. Beaming, K helped himself to R’s chicken thighs.

“Don’t be upset, really,” K started talking again. “This place ain’t so bad. We’re family here.”

“Do you always talk like that?” R said as he looked at K.

“Talk like what?”

“Like you’re whistling through your teeth.”

K blushed and fell silent and sat mute for some time.

“What happened to your hand?” T called out from the next table.

“Who said that?” R growled.

“Maybe you might need help with cutting your food?” I said. “Looks like it hurts a lot.”

R glared at me and shoved his bandaged hand under the table. That’s when J asked what everybody was thinking.

“Is that why you’re here? Your hand?”

“Sod off,” R growled. “I’m not talking to any of you.”

“Eventually you’ll have to,” giggled T. “You’re here for life.”

R’s entire head turned bright red. He was about to say something when one of the nurses came in with dessert. We immediately fell silent and stared at our plates. After serving us each a large spoonful of beige mush, she disappeared back into the kitchen.

“Oooh, rice pudding,” K cooed. “My favorite.” Then turning to R he said, “I’ll eat yours too if you don’t want it.”

R was having none of it. Despite his earlier declaration, he stared at K squarely in the face and said,

“Is that why you’re here?”

Few of us laughed. Unfazed, K shrugged and started slurping away at his pudding.

“Is that why you’re here?” R repeated his question, louder this time.
“Because you eat like a pig and speak like a retard?”

More laughter. But some took offense and murmured, “We are all here for a reason. We’re all defected in some way.”

R smirked and shoved his plate away from himself.

“I am not,” he said, looking around the room. “I was perfect from the moment I was born. Mama told me I was the best and she loved me best of all.”

O let out a sigh. His wheelchair creaked as he hunched over.

“And this?” R continued, raising his bandaged hand for everyone to see. “It’s just a slight burn, no fault of my own. The old lady who came to tea accidently spilled hers on me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” P started raising his voice. “You’re here.”

“Not for long,” R spat out. “Once my hand heals up, I’m moving back into the main house.”

“You sure?” K asked, licking the pudding off his spoon. “How do you know?”

R sat up and looked around the room.

“Because I am not faulty.”

“You’re not?” I quipped back. I really could not understand R. So strong was his denial that I started feeling bad for him.

Looking right into my face, R grimaced.

“At least my burn is temporary, not like your hideous birthmark smack in the middle of your face. I bet Mama didn’t bother spending time with you at all. You were probably sent here as soon as you were born.”

“Not me,” O lifted his head and squeaked. “Mama said she loved me too, she said we’d live together forever.”

“Until you became a cripple,” R shot back. “You ran into the middle of the road like an idiot, so you were defective to begin with. Now you’re even worse because who can’t wipe their own ass at your age? I heard about you. Mama said she was glad I wasn’t so stupid — she said I was healthy, smart, and clever.”

O sank deeper into his wheelchair. Angry murmurs were hurled across the room in R’s direction.

“Let the new boy be,” H said. He stood up from his corner table and slowly limped towards us. He stopped a few feet from R where O’s wheelchair was blocking his way. “Give him time to settle in. We’ve all been there one way or another.”

“And who the hell are you?” R threw down his ball of tissue to the floor.

“Hello, my name is H.”

“Fuck you H,” R sneered, indignant.

“I apologize for our brothers.”

“They may be your brothers, but not mine.”

I almost burst out laughing. Even O snickered under his breath.

“Think what you will,” H said calmly before walking away. “It won’t change the situation.”

Anger flashed across R’s eyes. He grabbed a fork with his uninjured hand and threw it at H. H stopped, sighed, then turned to face R again.

“Please don’t do that.”

“I shall do what I please,” R shot back.

“If you think you’ll be sent back to the main house by being an asshole, you’re sorely mistaken. Once you enter the annex, the only way out of this place is through the basement tunnel in a gurney.”

That shut R right up.

“I was one of the first to be sent here,” H continued. “I’ve seen plenty. Nobody likes being rejected, but here we are. It’s not our fault. We did not ask to be defective, but again, here we are.”

“Mama said she loves me,” words squeezed out from R’s throat. It sounded less convincing this time though.

“Mama loves perfection,” H said ruefully. “She wants a flawless specimen, and she can’t tolerate anything less, no matter how small that flaw may be. I am sure she loved you, as she did O and a few of us here in this room, but not enough to overlook what she believed was a terrible flaw. You won’t be the first and you certainly won’t be the last. She still has many embryos left at the big clinic and enough inheritance to pay for surrogates.”

Something cracked in R, and he fell back on his seat.

“I’m sorry you’re here,” H whispered. His voice swirled around us like a warm blanket. “Give yourself some time.”

The entire dining room sat quietly and watched H limp back to his table. R was staring at the floor, his wounded hand shaking like a branch in mid-winter wind. K turned to him and leaned over, their faces so close to each other that I thought they were going to kiss. With his spoon in hand, K asked,

“Are you going to eat your pudding?”