DIANE PAYNE
Real Food

Chicken popping in hot oil, green beans bobbing beneath boiling water.
No Hamburger Helper tonight. Real food. Kids outside playing while wife
looks out the window, waiting for her husband. He said he'd be on time
tonight. Says that every night.
 
  After a few beers and shots of whiskey, the father returns. Relieved he
didn't kill anyone driving home, the wife will add an additional thanks
to tonite's prayer.
 
  From the pans to the plates, food is passed around this family of five
without a word spoken. Just the sound of spoons clanking on metal and
the slush of food landing on mellomac plates.

  The children eat quickly, hoping to finish a meal without angering their
father. Chicken makes him happy.

He looks at his eight year old daughter, gives her a big toothless grin,
then pulls the chicken tail off and drops it in her milk. "Drink up,"
he laughs. Excited, he puts his cigarette out in her mashed potatoes.
"Eat everything on your plate. I paid good money for this food."
     
One by one, they leave the table, except for the girl. She watches the
chicken tail  floating on milk, the ashes resting on  potatoes, wishing
she could sink beneath the soggy green beans.