Sunday Dinner

Sunday Dinner He awoke from his slumber, shivering, hugging himself for warmth. Cold, he sat up from the bare stone floor, glanced around the almost empty living room where he'd fallen asleep in early morning hours. He smelled the reason of his wakening, delicious aromas of roasting meat, potatoes and bubbling vegetables were flooding his nose. His tight belly rumbled, he knew hunger but was unaccustomed to food cooking in his home. The rumblings intensified, his mouth salivated with hope, no, with knowledge of the coming, needed hot dinner. He wondered who was in the house cooking this meal. He heard sounds in the room above, his brothers room. Probably means the brothers girlfriend is here and cooking the dinner. The brother is twenty, eleven years senior to the boy downstairs.The boy heard footsteps cross the floor above, moments later they clumped down the staircase and disappeared into the kitchen. He listened, the sounds of clattering pots, banging cupboard doors, chinking plates and cutlery came singing to his ears, signalling, the glorious hunger satisfying meal would soon be with him. He smiled big, the smile wavered, what if they don't know he's here? No problem, go in the hallway, whoever's in the kitchen will see him and know for certain, assuring him this dinner. The boy opened the living room door and stepped into the hallway. In the kitchen his brothers girlfriend was mixing gravy. He caught her eye. "Hello" the boy said happily, "mmm that smells good" "Hello" she replied, "Yes it does, we decided to have a roast, your brother bought it so i'm cooking it" she added. Ravenous, he stood and watched for a few moments, suddenly he felt a little unsure, niggling away in his head the possibility..no! can't think that, can't think of what that would mean! Nervously, anxiously, he walked back into the living room to wait. He heard pots being emptied, the tinging of metal on china, the sounds of 'dishing up'. Mental images of plates laden with sliced roasted meat, potatoes, yorkshire pudding, vegetables and steaming gravy filled his mouth with a waterfall of salivation and his belly with a lions roar. Footsteps in the hall.... He looked towards the door with hope mixed with cold fear, will it swing open?...... Domp, domp, domp, heading up the staircase. Heart sinks, eyes drop to the bare stone floor, the sadness began to rise, belly contracting, not with hunger.... No no no! he admonished himself and forcibly shoved hard at those unwanted feelings, it's ok, she's taking the brothers dinner up first, she'll come back down and... A few minutes passed, he waited, he listened, still no footsteps. Passing minutes, a swelling maelstrom of despair, he fought, he fought so hard. Disbelief, must be some for him, surely? He stood and tentatively made his way into the kitchen, on the table the empty saucepans and roasting dish lay, all the signs of a feast. His belly rumbled. He opened the fridge, empty, he opened the oven, empty except for a blast of hot cooked meat smell. Realisation dawned, he stared, at nothing, hand clutching belly, stinging tears, no no no! he chastised himself, don't be stupid, it doesn't matter, there probably wasn't much anyway....... Silently he opened the front door and stepped outside, ignoring the lovely cooking dinners wafting from the homes in his road. He didn't think of all the families as they sat, as they laughed and ate their sunday roasts together. He was just a boy, he walked the lonely streets, still friends with the gnawing beast inside him, unable to acknowledge his growing desperation for humanties touch. Just nine, far too familiar with heart-break scars. Don't matter, it's ok, not weak, won't cry, am strong. The boy aged quick but his growth was slow. Phibes 18.09.2011