The fragrant smell of warm homemade mashed potatoes wafts through the house. Thick yellow butter is slabbed on and melts into a puddle of lemon colored grease on the starchy dish. The roast is cut and waiting to be served, the beans float in their sauce like children overcrowding the local pool. Afternoon light seeps through; the sun is hanging low in the sky, like a hammock being weighted down. The temperature is dropping and a breeze chases through suburbia like children playing tag. The table setting could be from any high end house and garden magazine. Three plates, three napkins, three sets of cutlery, three place mats, and three oak chairs. One father, one mother, one son, one happy family. Dinner is served.

“How was everyone’s day?” says the father. His life is failing as fast as the economy. His money is gone, all gone, it’s been gone. What is he going to do with his life, how will he save himself? Money laundering, embezzlement, and tax evasion. These are the words that course through his head; they’re every crime he had been informed he was going to be charge with. Denial is no longer an option. How can he tell them, the family that trusts him? He’ll go to jail, that’s for sure, but was it worth it? Hadn’t he been better than this, wasn’t he destined for greatness? Why had he even committed these crimes? To keep his reputation and his pride. It’s all about appearances.

How was everyone’s day? The mother wants yell at her husband about how her day was. Her freshly manicured fingers twist her engagement ring and wedding band on and off her hand. Leaving. Gone. Done. That’s what she’d say to him. What a joke her marriage had become, a bitter lie, a bitter loveless lie. Why couldn’t he notice all she did for him, she deserved something better. She cleaned, cooked, and put on an act, all for him. She hated him for her life; she had been destined for more before he’d tied her down with a kid, and this horrible life. But she wouldn’t say any of this, just like she’d never leave him. It’s all about appearances.

How was everyone’s day? Like any of them cared. His family doesn’t get him. The son sits looking at the meat, he’s vegan, and his parents know but choose to ignore it. This house confines him, forces him to be someone he’s not. The walls and ceiling and floor make up his cage, his cold smooth barrier to the world. He’s destined for more than this. His family is clueless; they’re striped unicorns in his life, odd and unnecessary. Why do they need him to conform? It’s all about appearances.

And so they sit three people part of one whole. Wallowing in their self pity, drowning in it. The exact same people, with the exact same problems. Human shaped mirrors. They’re lives are unbearably hard, too difficult for anyone to understand. Each one consumed by them selves, narcissism plagues their lives. They’re happiness is a calculated illusion, because really it’s all about appearances.

wa2 draft2

The smell of warm homemade mashed potatoes wafts through the house. Thick butter is slabbed on and melts into a pool of grease on the starchy dish. The roast is cut and waiting to be served, the beans float in their sauce like children overcrowding the local pool. Afternoon light seeps through; the sun is hanging low in the sky, like a hammock being weighted down. The temperature is dropping and a breeze chases through suburbia. The table setting could be from any high end house and garden magazine. Three plates, three napkins, three sets of cutlery, three place mats, and three oak chairs. One father, one mother, one son, one happy family. Dinner is served.

“How was everyone’s day?” says the father. His life is failing as fast as the economy. His money is gone, all gone, it’s been gone. What is he going to do with his life, how will he save himself? Money laundering, embezzlement, and tax evasion. These are the words that course through his head; they’re every crime he had been informed he was going to be charge with. How can he tell them, the family that trusts him? He’ll go to jail, that’s for sure, but was it worth it? Hadn’t he been better than this, wasn’t he destined for greatness? Why had he even committed these crimes? To keep his reputation and his pride. It’s all about appearances.

How was everyone’s day? The mother wants yell at her husband about how her day was. Her freshly manicured fingers twist her engagement ring and wedding band on and off her hand. Leaving. Gone. Done. That’s what she’d say to him. What a joke her marriage had become, a bitter lie with absolutely no love. Why couldn’t he notice all she did for him, she deserved something better. She cleaned, cooked, and put on an act, all for him. She hated him for her life; she had been destined for more before he’d tied her down with a kid, and this horrible life. But she wouldn’t say any of this, just like she’d never leave him. It’s all about appearances.

How was everyone’s day? Like any of them cared. His family doesn’t get him. The son sits looking at the meat, he’s vegan, and his parents know but choose to ignore it. This house confines him, forces him to be someone he’s not. The walls and ceiling and floor make up his cage, his cold smooth barrier to the world. He’s destined for more than this. His family is clueless; they’re striped unicorns in his life, odd and unnecessary. Why do they need him to conform? It’s all about appearances.

And so they sit three people part of one whole. Wallowing in their self pity, drowning in it. The exact same people, with the exact same problems. They’re lives are unbearably hard, too difficult for anyone to understand. Each one consumed by them selves, narcissism plagues their lives. They’re happiness is a calculated illusion, because really it’s all about appearances.

The smell of warm homemade mashed potatoes wafts through the house. Thick butter is slabbed on and melts into a pool of grease on the starchy dish. The roast is cut and waiting to be served, the beans float in their sauce like boats in a bay. Afternoon light seeps through; the sun is hanging low in the sky, like a hammock being weighted down. The temperature is dropping and a breeze chases through suburbia. The table setting could be from any high end house and garden magazine. Three plates, three napkins, three sets of cutlery, three place mats, and three oak chairs. One father, one mother, one son, one happy family. Dinner is served.
“How was everyone’s day?” says the father. His life is failing as fast as the economy. His money is gone, all gone, it’s been gone. What is he going to do with his life, how will he save himself? Money laundering, embezzlement, and tax evasion. Every crime he had been informed he was going to charge him with. How can he tell them? He’ll go to jail, but was it worth it? Hadn’t he been better than this, wasn’t he destined for greatness? Why had he even committed these crimes? To keep his reputation and his pride. It’s all about appearances.
How was everyone’s day? The mother wants yell at her husband about how her day was. Her freshly manicured fingers twist her engagement ring and wedding band on and off her hand. Leaving. Gone. Done. That’s what she’d say. What a joke her marriage had become, no love. Why couldn’t he notice all he did for her, she deserved something better. She cleaned, cooked, and put on an act, all for him. She hated him for her life; she had been destined for more before he’d tied her down with a kid, and this horrible life. But she wouldn’t say any of this, just like she’d never leave him. It’s all about appearances.
How was everyone’s day? Like any of them cared. They don’t get him. The son sits looking at the meat. He’s vegan, and his parents know. This house confines him, forces him to be someone he’s not. The walls and ceiling and floor make up his cage, his cold smooth barrier to the world. He’s destined for more than this. His family is clueless; they’re striped unicorns in his life. Odd and unnecessary. Why do they need him to conform? It’s all about appearances.
And so they sit three people part of one whole. Wallowing in self pity. The exact same people, with the exact same problems. No one understands them, they’re lives are unbearably hard. Each one consumed by them selves, narcissism plagues their lives. They’re happiness is a calculated illusion, because really it’s all about appearances.