Set the table

– Girls! Come set the table! – My parents and grandparents shouted, in distant pasts.

There were six of us gathering around the table. Then seven. Again six. And then five, because I left.

I remember rolling my eyes when they yelled my name, always interrupting something extremely useless, but vital at that age. They made me pause the game, the movie or the vain text messages, to the cool kid. I was always annoyed, it was a bummer! It wasn’t even a pretty table! The glasses were all different, the metal forks had crooked teeth, the knives were not sharp, the napkins were old cloths and the towel was always the same. The plastic one and already stabbed in some parts, you know?

Today I wish I had that bummer … I wanted it so much that invade my head, making me daydream with familiar voices screaming at me to go set the table. A illusion where we are seven again, and forever.

It’s now 8:30 p.m. It’s time to set the table.

We are not seven, or six or five. It’s just me and a table, which nothing compares to my old tables. The glasses are all the same, the forks are perfectly neat, the dishes are hand-painted and the napkins have golden edges. It’s beautiful, to much just for me.

At this time of table-setting, I do not feel like setting the table.

At this time of table-setting, the table is not set.

At this time of table-setting, the nostalgia breaks my heart.