Young Writers Society

Donna Platt pushed herself out of her car. She paused to touch her fluff of white hair and rearrange a turquoise sweater around her plump figure. A screen door screeched open and a balding man stepped out. “Hi, Ma! Come on in.” Donna flashed her dentures at her son and then picked up her purse and shut the car door. He held the door while she made her way in.

“It’s so nice of you to do this, Paul dear.” Donna set her purse on an end table and picked it up again.

“It’s nothing, Ma. I wanted to. Are you doing okay?”

“Oh yes. It’s been hard, of course, but I’m managing. Now, who’s here already?”

Donna walked into the kitchen and bestowed hugs and kind murmurs on the family. Several women were busy arranging a veritable banquet (mostly supermarket-made delicacies, though it looked like someone had taken the time to bake a green bean casserole.) Donna began to ask if there wasn’t anything she could do, but Paul’s wife, Karen, gently disengaged the package of unopened paper plates from her hand and led her back to the living room.

Donna still had her purse, clutched tightly. She set it in her lap as Karen seated her in an armchair.

“Oh, do you want me to put that somewhere for you?”

“No thank you, sweetie. It’s fine right here.” She gave it a pat.

The squeaky screen door announced the arrival of another member of the Platt clan every few minutes. The scattered family slowly reunited, some frail and withered, some entering tired middle age, some granddaughters with babies of their own bouncing on their hips. To everyone’s hushed surprise, even Gina, Donna’s second cousin twice removed, showed up. The Platts hadn’t heard from Gina in years. Donna quickly estimated Gina’s age to be at least forty by now, which surely, Donna thought, must be too old for that dress. Gina stood by the door, chewing on her lip and casually examining the carpet until Paul jumped up to take her coat. The conversation slowly recovered.

People talked of the weather (the coldest September yet!), the economy (still haven’t found a job, huh?), the food (you’re sure this isn’t homemade?), and some even ventured into the dangerous area of politics (now hear me out!), but no one talked of, no one even looked at, what was displayed on a table in the corner.

The door screeched once more, and everyone looked up. Who wasn’t here already? “I do hope Rick’s coming,” Donna mumbled to herself. A man walked in, sporting a faded Yankees baseball cap and a paunch.

“Glad you could make it, Rick.” Paul gave his brother a hug.

“Yeah, sorry I’m late. I hope I didn’t miss it!”

Paul quickly shook his head. The room quieted.

“I just keep thinking,” Rick grinned, “that if it isn’t windy enough, we’ll just get out a leaf blower and –” Paul grabbed Rick’s elbow and led him away, under the premise of refreshment-serving. Gina stifled a laugh, or perhaps a cough.

Donna cleared her throat. “You know, if everyone’s here, we could get started.” She nodded towards the urn on the table. There was a general murmur of agreement, but nobody stood up. The conversation returned. Donna looked around and sighed.

Rick returned, beer in hand, and sat in the chair next to the urn. His uncle of eighty-two was sitting near him.

“Hey, Ted. How’re things going with you?”

Ted nodded his head for a while, apparently mulling over the question. “Oh, they’re going.” A boyish smirk came over his face. “At least I’m not in one of those yet, huh?” he pointed.

Rick laughed. “That’s for sure.” He picked up the urn. “Man, he sure is small. This all of him in here?”

The old man had to think about this too. “I would suspect so.”

Rick frowned and shook his finger at the urn. “Now Dad, you’ve really got to start eating more!” He gave a short laugh and then sighed and rubbed his face. He looked over at Uncle Ted, but he had nodded off.

Donna’s daughter Susan sat down next to Paul. “Hey, don’t you think we should get started soon?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Let’s let people finish eating first.”

Susan looked around; Ted was still working on his potato salad. “Out in the woods, huh?”

“I think he would’ve liked that, don’t you?” She nodded.

Donna leaned over to her sister, Lorraine. “When do you think we’ll scatter the ashes?”

Lorraine shrugged. “I couldn’t say. It’s getting rather late, though.”

“I know.” Donna sighed and fiddled with a purse strap. “I suppose they might just not be ready yet, you know?” Lorraine nodded sympathetically. “I don’t mind. I think he can wait.” She smiled a little as she looked toward the urn.

The chatter had fallen to a lull and people were casting anxious glances anywhere but the table in the corner. Donna opened her purse and pulled out several rubber-banded stacks of cards. “Who wants to play Trivial Pursuit?”

The Platts had a longstanding tradition of playing slightly modified Trivial Pursuit. The board and game pieces were deemed too fussy long ago. Instead, Donna would catch the attention of someone in the vicinity, read him or her a question (she had all the “good ones” marked,) and they get to hold onto the card if they got it right. After everyone is thoroughly sick of playing, the person with the most cards wins.

A halfhearted game was played. Even Gina answered a few questions. When the sun began to slant orange through the window, Lorraine woke up Ted and they went home. Donna caught Paul as he passed by with empty cups. “Paul dear, thank you so much again. I’m going to have to take off soon. There’s just one thing I have to do first.”

Donna found Karen doing dishes. “Are you busy, dear?”

Karen turned off the faucet and pushed away a strand of hair with her wrist. “Not at all.”

"You know,” Donna sat down at the kitchen table. “James and I read these trivia questions every evening. Can you believe that? You’d think we would have gotten pretty smart eventually,” she laughed. “Anyway, I just wanted you and Paul to have some.” She placed a stack firmly on the Formica table.

“Oh… okay.” Karen picked up the cards.

Donna passed out the rest of the cards to her children, her grandchildren, even Gina. She gave a last round of hugs. “Goodbye everybody! Thank you all for coming.” The door screech-slammed.

Susan looked down at the stack of cards she was holding. “What was that all about?”

Rick elbowed Paul. “I guess I didn’t get to use that leaf blower after all, huh?”

Paul frowned at him. “I guess we’ll have to take care of this some other time,” he addressed the remaining Platts.

Outside, Donna didn’t get in her in car. She walked around the house to the edge of woods. Standing on tiptoe, she placed the last card in the crook of a tree branch. “Goodbye, James.”