by Jeremy C Kester
Each dish moved from the sink over to the drainer. It was a slow, methodical process, but one by one, they each made it over to their mediary destination. A destination they would hold for the short while of drying before being taken to their place in the storage cabinets.
One by one she reached in and grasped the next dish. Her hands felt slick in the soap and water. She understood the fragility her hands had in holding each piece. A single slip could see a glass falling to the floor, or a knife slamming against a ceramic plate. Breakage was bound to occur were she not careful.
Yet her mind drifted elsewhere as she carefully worked through each and every dish. It drifted to the conversations being held in the other room, a scene she couldn’t decide on whether she was kept from or escaped from. The dichotomy of her feelings on the matter only served to confuse her. Family does that to a person.
In the meantime, the task was enough. She kept only enough thought on the chore as to not allow the confusion of the moment to overtake every corner of her mind.
Laughter came from the other room and she paused. Escape. That’s what she felt, the escape from the situation. Strange that a laugh brought her to that conclusion. Then there was the crash by her feet.
“Is everything alright in there?” a voice yelled as she paused to understand that a glass had fallen out of her hand.
“Yeah— yes,” she stuttered. “I’m fine.”
There was no reply after that, only the continued laughter of the group.
Escape was indeed how she felt. Looking down at the floor, she saw glass everywhere around her. She sighed, grabbing a towel to dry her hands. Then she stepped over to the pantry closet to get a broom and dust pan.
Yes, she was escaping the other room. As she knelt to clean the mess that would not be permitted to remain, she convinced herself that escape was a more comfortable feeling than being trapped.
Fiction written by Jeremy C Kester
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