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Savanah's Swan Song (Part 6B)
🕑 Added 2024-08-18 12:19:39 +0000 UTCAfter washing up, Savanah headed for the kitchen. She wasn’t hungry--her stomach was still queasy, and her head was pounding--but the aromas flowing into the hall were as intoxicating as whatever still-swill Momma had stashed in her jug.
Standing by the stove, Momma presented her with a plate of pancakes as she entered. At least, Savanah assumed a plate was involved, although she couldn’t actually see one beneath the floating avalanche of cakes.
“Momma, I can’t eat all that.” Savanah fought to keep from saying ‘cain’t.’ “My stomach’s still weak from last night.”
“This’ll help. Hair of the dog.”
Savanah frowned. “That’s alcohol.”
“It works with food, too.”
Savanah reluctantly took Momma’s offering and found her spot at the table. Skeeter, who was already seated, didn’t acknowledge her. She just stared at her plate, poking at the pancakes with a fork as if they might gang up and attack at any moment.
Smirking, Savanah proceeded to drown her stack in Aunt Jemima's syrup. Then, after savoring a bite with an exaggerated “Mmmmm,” helped herself to the bacon platter already on the table. She may not have been hungry, but she couldn’t resist putting on a display for her sulky little sis.
The food tasted even better than it smelled and, as her mother suggested, seemed to sop up the rotgut that had been rotting her gut. Feeling better, Savanah munched her meal with renewed vigor. As a child, breakfast had always been her favorite; however, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had much more than yogurt and coffee. Strangely, pancakes and bacon, a simple staple from her youth, had become more exotic to her than Alaskan sea cucumber, her standby at the Four Seasons. As Savanah pondered the odd dichotomy her fork pinged plasticware.
“Nice to see you with an appetite,” Momma said, hoisting a fresh trio of pancakes from a cast iron skillet onto Savanah’s plate. “Country life suits you.”
Skeeter, who hadn’t been enjoying her meal nearly as much, suddenly rose from the table. “I gotta go,” she said, taking a final swig of orange juice. “Some of us have work to do.”
Savanah wasn’t sure if that was a shot at her, their mother, or both, but she frankly didn’t care. “Have fun,” Savanah called, waving goodbye with a limp strip of bacon.
“You didn’t finish your plate,” Momma called as the screen door slammed. “Kids are going hungry in Haiti!”
New decade. Fresh famine.
“Between you and me,” Savanah said, biting a hunk from the flimsy flag of beef. “Skeeter doesn’t look much like a ‘Skeeter’ anymore. She looks more like a June Bug.”
“Oh, hush. You know she’s sensitive about her weight.”
Savanah didn’t know. She hadn’t even considered it. “How ‘bout you?” she asked, eying the prodigious pile of pancakes on her mother’s plate.
“I’m reconciled.”
“You don’t have to be,” Savanah said, nibbling the last bit of bacon. “There are things you can do.”
Momma’s brow furrowed. “Surgery? Medication?”
“Self-discipline. You’re the one who taught me there are no shortcuts in life.”
“There aren’t.”
“Well then…”
Momma sighed. “Savanah, you reach a certain point in life where you are who you are. It’s not worth the effort to change.”
“Even for your health?”
“I’m healthy as a horse.”
Savanah muttered under her breath, “About as big as one.”
“What did you say?”
“I just hope I never get to the point in life where I give up.”
“I haven’t given up. I just pick my battles.”
“Well, The Battle of the Bulge should’ve been one of them.”
Momma threw her napkin on her plate and hoisted herself from the table. “I’ve had about as much of you as I can stomach, Missy.”
Savanah almost made a crack about that being surprising considering its size but thought better of it. It probably saved her life.
“I don’t need some city-slicker celebrity lecturing me about my weight, my life, or anything else,” Momma added as she waddled off to the living room.
“I’m not ‘some city-slicker celebrity,’” Savanah called after her. “I’m your daughter and I’m just trying to help.”
As Savanah stared at the empty chairs and picked-over plates a smile crept across her face. She had helped. She’d just helped her pudgy sister and portly mother trim hundreds of calories from their diets.
Then she helped them again…by helping herself to the leftovers.
Comments
Maverick and Riptoryx
Thanks, Matt. Reading your novel--which has some excellent and realistic Southern-tinged dialogue--inspired me!
Matt L.
Brilliantly written, I can literally visualize the entire scene in my mind. The subtle humor works in the narrative. Impressive.
