A Comedy of Mirrors
an excerpt

BREAKFAST

Home with a soft H and a airy O and a warm m [poem]

The breakfast table was jammed to the gills with plates, silverware, glasses, syrup, butter, honey, peanut butter and elbows. Three teenagers sat slumped over their food. Two boys and a girl. I was one of these teenagers. I had just had an interaction with my mother about pancakes.

"How many pancakes do you want, dear?"

Silence from my mouth.

"Four?"

"No,."

"Three?"

"No."

Silence from hers. Then, "Good thing I have a sense of humor," she finally spoke.

She poured more batter onto the griddle from the ladle.

"Mom, I am dieting," I said emphatically. "I don't want tons of pancakes."

"OK. Then you are getting two."

I sighed. How was I ever to lose weight in this house of heavy eaters, all men except for a petite mother and younger sister. The males ate and ate never gaining anything exce3pt for her younger brother who seemed to gain muscle after muscle. My sister was lithe and athletic like her father and her younger brother. My older brother and I were built like my mother but taller like my dad. Pete, my older brother, was not heavy like I was, tho. He just didn't keep growing taller like my younger brother. They were almost the same height now. I was just a head taller than Mom and about a head shorter than my younger brother. I willed myself to keep growing. I hated my stubby calves that looked like turkey drumsticks. I hated my chest which weighed me down and melded into my tummy making me look like a potato on turkey legs. Ach. No one noticed me-- heck I didn't want them to. but I wanted to understand me. at least so they wouldn't tempt me to the dark side of chocolate cake, kraft cheese wedges, and stacks of pancakes. My mother was the number one offender.

Mom placed the two pancakes on the plate and I ate them quickly because I was hungry and now angry. The anger rose up and engulfed my stomach, helping me digest the pancakes in tightness and meanness. Perhaps it would all weigh me down so much that I melted into the floor,. I would disappear and no one would notice me for a while and then suddenly, one day, more older brother would look around and say, "hey where is the chin-haired, chubby one? what was her name again?"

I was so put upon. AT least the sn was out drying out the grass that had been wet continually since October. Perhaps I would go out and read in the big elm tree over the creek int he back yard. it was my favorite spot ever since Joni, my best friend, had loaned my Stephen King's _Carrie_ last summer. I had run home from school woith the book at the end of the year and immediately climbed the tree -- i was so thrilled that I could climb this tree so easily -- it was effort. I had to lunch at it and hit it just right with my right foot pushing my weight forward at just the right time, the wind whipping around me and making the smaller tree branches whip around my head and back as I climbed up to the first horizontal limb of any substance. I then grabbed the trunk and pulled myself around to the next horizontal limb that had a wide saddle. I could sit there and read. It was ample enough to hold me, but I liked to climb one limb higher, rota ting around to the north side of the tree where the smaller branches drooped down a bit and hid anyone perching on it from a casual glance out the kitchen window. I loved that my mother couldn't find me there. Not that she would come out and search the grounds or anything. but she would say, "I see you perched in that tree. time to set the table" or "don't forget that you said you'd help with the dishes!" I was her little helper and sometimes I just wanted to be me. A kid with kid things to do. My father, of course was never aware of where I was. My brothers were in teir little world. they hid from my mother and had been doing it for years. They were quite good at it. So good in fact that she had given up looking for them when it came time to do housework. I was dumb. I was always available for these things. And then there was my younger sister, who at 9 really didn't want me around that much anyway. but I had spent years playing with her and occupying her while my mother got her reading done for class or went shopping. we would go shopping together. just the girls. and it was my job to keep my sister away from the candy aisle. which was ridiculous because every aisle was the candy aisle. I needed space. I needed to be myself and do what I needed to do for myself. That's just the way it was.

I finished the two pancakes. mom was serving up a sixth and seventh pancake to Peter. Henry was on his tenth. they staged pancake eating contests and I had to join in bexause otherwise I would be left out. "more, Angela?" my mothe would ask.

"yeah."

How many?

One.

So in this way I would eat my thrid and fourth and fifth then sixth pancake, one at a time, until i hit eight. part of my was proud of this. i was able to eat as many pancakes as peter. i didn't mind letting my younger brother beat me out. we didn't compete. we had a connection that was stonger than who could win. Henry was my baby before Linda came along. we used to play dress up and he had a soft place in his heart for me, even at 13 when Peter was full-on obnoxious I hate girls, henry still treated me with kindness and deferment. I liked it when henry won. i was proud of him. Pieter could go get stuffed as far as I was concerned.

Linda came up to the table. where's mine, she asked.

I was waiting for you my dear, my mother said. YOu were busy with your dollls so i focused on feeding everyone else. if you are ready, sit up at the table and I'll make you some pancakes.

Dad grumped in his boxers and t-shirt. he alwasy slept late on the weekends because he had to be up so early during the week. every weekday morning he rose at 6:15 and left the house at 6:45. He hunched over his otamal in between and didn't have much to say. when he got home at 6:0 in the evening, he still didn't have much to say. he flopped down in his favorite easy chair and lit a new cigar and watch the news until dinner, at which time, he pulled his easy chair over to the table, pulling up the foot rest only because it would fit between the table and the wall, and ate with one hand while his body sat sideways to the table and he continued to watch the news.

Now, on Sunday, he was not ambulatory until noon. the clock had struck it several minutes ago, so i had been expecting him. "hi, dad."

"hello," he mumbled.

"Morning! you ready for pancakes, Clem?" my mother sounded chipper this morning, but it was artificial sounding. she was always trying to make up for my father's gloom with sunshine. funny how the clouds still covered the sun no matter what she did.

"yeah, yeah."

Dad lowered himself into his easy chari which he had dragged to the end of the table after turning on the tube. a pre-season baseball game was starting in Florida.

'want some coffee, dad?"

"sure, sure."

I got up from the table and opened the cupboard above the drainer to retrieve and coffee cup. I poured him a full cup of coffee and began to walk back through the kitchen watching the rim so I wouldn't spill. I didn't see my mother begin to move from the stove where the pancakes she had just poured were starting to bubble to the sink three feet away until it was to late and I bumped her. the coffee spilled on me. it was hot.
'Ouch

"oh," my mother shuddered.

"Mom, you made me spill!

sorry dear, but you should wastc where you are going. this is such a tiny kitchen!

And it was. Looking back on it now, it could have been marketed as a midget gallye kitchen -- one that would fit nicely onto a small boat, for example, designed to minimize space and convenience. it ran from the breezeway door to the arch to the dining room in a space of about 10 feet. between the stove and the sink, you could walk two abreast it you were careful.

I managed to get most of the coffee to my father who mumbled his thanks and I wiped myself off now I needed to take my shower and change. there was no question about it. i always felt grubby in the morning - all that oily skin an hair made me feel like the living dead. i didn't wan to talk to anyone or see anyone until I was clean.

Linda squirmed by me. "what do you need? i asked automatically. I was in mother mode. it was a habit because mom had left me in charge of her so often.

"nothing." she said as she squeezed passed my mother and opened the fridge.

"Eat breakfast. your pancakes are getting cold," I said.

"No," she responded emphatically.

What do you need? I was at the refirgerator door towering over her. she was so annoying these days. never sitting down long enough to eat a meal making mom's life more hectic so she would start arguing with dad when he nitpicked about how loud everyone was or how she hadn't' closed the oven door properly or she didn't turn off the faucet in the sink completely, and so on, and so on.

Linda grabbed the grape juice from the lower shelf and closed the fridge, ignoring me. I sighed and follloowed her into the dining room and up the stairs. I didn't need to be part of the fiasco any more. the boys were leaving the table and i wanted to get into the bathroom shower efore they hogged it. I walked down the hall to my western facing room. it was still chilly in there even though the sun was warm on the east side. I grabbed some clothes and headed back down the hall to the bathroom hoping to sneak in. if Peter heard me heading in, he would try to beat me to the door just because he could annoy me.

I made it to the door and closed and locked it. heaven. i turned on the hot w2ather and stepped into it letting it wash all the nastiness away. I had a few moments where I could just be.