Delta40
10-24-2011, 09:23 PM
After the third attempt, she admitted to herself that she couldn't roll a cigarette if her life depended on it. That didn't stop her trying of course. The coarse, aromatic smell of tobacco kept her on task. She imagined inhaling the smoke, once the loose baccy flared up when she lit it. Crazy when her good friend laughed at her awkward attempts but they had an understanding - one of mutal respect.
'Jesus Pheebs, you don't even smoke! Well I reckon you don't but Lord seeing you twiddle those rollie papers between your butter fingers is sure worth watching.' They laughed, relaxed and talked about stuff that seldom saw the light of day in her family's home.
Phoebe actually didn't smoke. Only when circumstances called for it. Take lastnight for example. A long day at work. A very long day. Not in terms of time because anyone with half a brain could count the hours till hometime. It was more of the nature of her work that seemed to compact two working days into the one.
She wasn't allowed to talk about it to anyone either. Some hot shot executive had told her it would be a security breach - even gave her a clearance certficate to make it official.
So the family speculated among themselves around the dinner table while she was there. Did anyone really care or was the grilling she was subjected to another cheap attempt at point scoring from unresolved sibling rivalry? As the years had passed Phoebe had given up on being an amateur psychologist and decided to just endure. Until she came up with some other coping strategy, it was all she had.
'So let me get this straight. You work for the government but it's classified right?'
'Yeah.' Phoebe took another sip of the cheap wine and waited for more.
'O-er you mean like the FBI or CIA?' Snickers all around, especially from her oldest brother who was so fat, he couldn't sit in the one position for too long without shifting the *** cheeks that spilled over the side. Phoebe always meant to ask why such a fat bastard like him would cover his belly with a pillow but she never did. Perhaps his gross beer belly gut was classified too.
Her Mum was more sympathetic and as she poured the gravy, or rather greasy pan juice over the crispy salad, Phoebe realized once again that her Mum was sloshed. The lettuce wilted under the hot fat but nobody dared to say a word. Was it worth listening to her slurred platitudes? At this family gathering, a drunk mother was the only one who ever defended her.
'Shtop it and leave the girl alone! Who wants more gravy?'
Nobody did and without argument, the family dug in to the tortuous fortnightly feast.
Phoebe never liked talking much about her work and her brother, pillow across his gut winked at her like he was El Supremo. She used to be intimidated by him but as he progressively grew beyond the proportions of a healthy middle aged man, she finally started to see the joke was on him.
Phoebe's daughters babbled about certain slags and hoes they kept running across on facebook.
'Have you seen Louise's pics? Omg! they're so ugly!'
'She looks like a prossie to me with that thick foundation and the liquid eyeliner'
'I read that she works for Athletes Foot in town. I mean who would buy shoes from that trash?'
And so the gossip and poison backstabbing went on and Phoebe kept quiet about her job. Her Mum sat down and looked round at the family gathering, as if she had accomplished some dynamic harmony in the household. Phoebe knew the effect alchohol had had on this family and here she sat with the next generation, helping to pass the legacy down. Another sip. What the hell. Nobody paid attention to her now and if she told them about her job, they'd banish her from the house.
Perhaps not quite. Government positions always sounded respectable on paper. They paid good money and double super into a fund Phoebe suspected she would one day rely on. In her lifetime, the old age pension would become a thing of the past and then where would she be?
'So you wanna give us a clue little sis?' He chewed on half cooked meat, the juices glistening on his triple chin like the greed of all men his size. He farted too for good measure as if to say, 'This is what I will always think of your opinion.'
When they were little he used to wrestle her to the ground and sit on her face and let rip. Phoebe couldn't remember actually being fond of her brother, although like most families, the facade of affection was a thin layer to what really lay underneath.
'Shweetie, you don't have to tell us. But since you got this job in the city, we're happy. Happy for you. Aren't we all happy everyone?' Resentful murmurs of agreement but there was nothing to really support the hype her mum tried to suck into the cluttered dining room.
Good old Mum. Three cheers for Phoebe while her brother curled his lip and wiped the excess pan fat off his face with the back of his hand.
She put on the happy face her mum had taught her. 'It's ok Mum. Thanks for being happy and I am by the way.'
'Well that's all that matters then!' She was right. Stuff everyone else. Her job description was a little odd but not to the point where she was the only person in the country doing it from nine to five. It's not as if she worked at the sewrage plant or anything. Phoebe would have said this except her step-father walked in bellowing, 'What ****e have you dished up now woman?'
For some unexplainable reason, everyone's hands gripped their knives and stared at the sorry dinner before them.
'You can see can't ye? Oh for God's sake, get back in the lounge and watch your bloody news.'
He grunted and looked at the family, perhaps secretly glad he had never spawned this family. She wondered idly where his children, middle aged by now might be.
'What's this new job I hear you got then?' Her older brother guffawed, spluttered and took a deep draught of beer.
'She's screwing the local MP I reckon.' Phoebe's face reddened and her brother, as always was quick to pick up on her discomfort.
'That's it! I knew it. Boy I hope you're getting some good tips!'
Phoebe fixed her hair, sat up straight and decided she couldn't eat the meal. Even the girls had stopped talking over the conversation that teenagers normally seemed oblivious to. Now they looked at her expectantly. That feeling of being on the spot, reminded Phoebe of the need to take up a challenge she had yet to perfect. Rolling a cigarette.
'I've got an early start tomorrow. Is it ok if you drop the kids off later Mum?' It was a selfish request and Phoebe knew it. To ask her drunk mother to put her kids lives in danger was thoughtless but for that moment, Phoebe didn't think about their safety, only her escape from a home whose walls seemed to be fast closing in on her.
'What? Whats wrong? Is it the dinner?' When Phoebe's only reply was a tight smile, her Mum rose, turned on her son and ripped his face off. 'Why the hell can't you just leave her alone for once?' The child her within shook pom poms but it was short lived when her Mum missed the table edge and almost crashed to the floor. Everyone held their breath, but nobody moved.
"I'm fine, just fine.' but her brother bubbled over. Phoebe felt she knew why but she was done with trying to figure the picture out.
He flung down his cutlery and accused his mum of always targeting him. There followed a tirade between mother and son, laced with acrimony from years of issues that had never quite bubbled to the surface. In this household, it was only ever about trivial, nonsensical stuff. 'You never pick on Phoebe. God! How much longer do I have to put up with you, your drinking and the crap that comes out your mouth?' He shook his head and stabbed at the morsels of food with his fork.
It seemed like everyone was tense. The family seldom got close to hitting on generational issues like alcoholism and family dysfunction before her Mum quickly put a lid on it.
Tight lipped and stoic, her mum ate in silence without meeting the eyes of anyone around the table. Phoebe and her brother knew that look all too well and even her kids seemed to read the unspoken message. One of them made a comment about the hooker type clothes another facebook friend was posing in but the tension had infiltrated everything in the room, right down to the chipped ornaments on the dusty sideboard. Nobody listened to the girls. It was just background noise. Something else was bubbling underneath. Like one of Mum's disasterous stews.
In the ensuing silence that settled like a dark cloud, her daughters made lame excuses about why they needed to leave with Phoebe. They hugged and kissed Grandma, perhaps with too much affection but she slapped on that timeless, false happy face as carelessly the make-up she'd used before they arrived. She didn't see them out, instead she poured herself another drink and joined Phoebe's step-father in the lounge to watch the 6.30 news. Her brother stayed in the dining room, brooding, cracking each knuckle one by one.
Phoebe and the girls hailed a cab and made their escape without a single word passing between them. When they arrived, she handed them the keys.
'I'll be back soon. Can you do the dishes before you go on facebook this time?'
They both smiled guiltily but didn't argue. Phoebe suspected that they, like her, preferred the cool evening air to where they had just been. Even the Antartic seemed better than the dilapidated photo album of a family home that Phoebe was forced to go to each week at her Mum's insistence. "We'll be like a family and you know how important family is. I'd be so hurt if you didn't.' Phoebe had yet to find a way to free herself from that guilt trip.
Once the girls were inside, she instructed the cabbie to her friends place. She hoped, screaming inside that where she was headed would overflow with coffee, tears and the challenging task of rolling a smoke to perfection.
'Jesus Pheebs, you don't even smoke! Well I reckon you don't but Lord seeing you twiddle those rollie papers between your butter fingers is sure worth watching.' They laughed, relaxed and talked about stuff that seldom saw the light of day in her family's home.
Phoebe actually didn't smoke. Only when circumstances called for it. Take lastnight for example. A long day at work. A very long day. Not in terms of time because anyone with half a brain could count the hours till hometime. It was more of the nature of her work that seemed to compact two working days into the one.
She wasn't allowed to talk about it to anyone either. Some hot shot executive had told her it would be a security breach - even gave her a clearance certficate to make it official.
So the family speculated among themselves around the dinner table while she was there. Did anyone really care or was the grilling she was subjected to another cheap attempt at point scoring from unresolved sibling rivalry? As the years had passed Phoebe had given up on being an amateur psychologist and decided to just endure. Until she came up with some other coping strategy, it was all she had.
'So let me get this straight. You work for the government but it's classified right?'
'Yeah.' Phoebe took another sip of the cheap wine and waited for more.
'O-er you mean like the FBI or CIA?' Snickers all around, especially from her oldest brother who was so fat, he couldn't sit in the one position for too long without shifting the *** cheeks that spilled over the side. Phoebe always meant to ask why such a fat bastard like him would cover his belly with a pillow but she never did. Perhaps his gross beer belly gut was classified too.
Her Mum was more sympathetic and as she poured the gravy, or rather greasy pan juice over the crispy salad, Phoebe realized once again that her Mum was sloshed. The lettuce wilted under the hot fat but nobody dared to say a word. Was it worth listening to her slurred platitudes? At this family gathering, a drunk mother was the only one who ever defended her.
'Shtop it and leave the girl alone! Who wants more gravy?'
Nobody did and without argument, the family dug in to the tortuous fortnightly feast.
Phoebe never liked talking much about her work and her brother, pillow across his gut winked at her like he was El Supremo. She used to be intimidated by him but as he progressively grew beyond the proportions of a healthy middle aged man, she finally started to see the joke was on him.
Phoebe's daughters babbled about certain slags and hoes they kept running across on facebook.
'Have you seen Louise's pics? Omg! they're so ugly!'
'She looks like a prossie to me with that thick foundation and the liquid eyeliner'
'I read that she works for Athletes Foot in town. I mean who would buy shoes from that trash?'
And so the gossip and poison backstabbing went on and Phoebe kept quiet about her job. Her Mum sat down and looked round at the family gathering, as if she had accomplished some dynamic harmony in the household. Phoebe knew the effect alchohol had had on this family and here she sat with the next generation, helping to pass the legacy down. Another sip. What the hell. Nobody paid attention to her now and if she told them about her job, they'd banish her from the house.
Perhaps not quite. Government positions always sounded respectable on paper. They paid good money and double super into a fund Phoebe suspected she would one day rely on. In her lifetime, the old age pension would become a thing of the past and then where would she be?
'So you wanna give us a clue little sis?' He chewed on half cooked meat, the juices glistening on his triple chin like the greed of all men his size. He farted too for good measure as if to say, 'This is what I will always think of your opinion.'
When they were little he used to wrestle her to the ground and sit on her face and let rip. Phoebe couldn't remember actually being fond of her brother, although like most families, the facade of affection was a thin layer to what really lay underneath.
'Shweetie, you don't have to tell us. But since you got this job in the city, we're happy. Happy for you. Aren't we all happy everyone?' Resentful murmurs of agreement but there was nothing to really support the hype her mum tried to suck into the cluttered dining room.
Good old Mum. Three cheers for Phoebe while her brother curled his lip and wiped the excess pan fat off his face with the back of his hand.
She put on the happy face her mum had taught her. 'It's ok Mum. Thanks for being happy and I am by the way.'
'Well that's all that matters then!' She was right. Stuff everyone else. Her job description was a little odd but not to the point where she was the only person in the country doing it from nine to five. It's not as if she worked at the sewrage plant or anything. Phoebe would have said this except her step-father walked in bellowing, 'What ****e have you dished up now woman?'
For some unexplainable reason, everyone's hands gripped their knives and stared at the sorry dinner before them.
'You can see can't ye? Oh for God's sake, get back in the lounge and watch your bloody news.'
He grunted and looked at the family, perhaps secretly glad he had never spawned this family. She wondered idly where his children, middle aged by now might be.
'What's this new job I hear you got then?' Her older brother guffawed, spluttered and took a deep draught of beer.
'She's screwing the local MP I reckon.' Phoebe's face reddened and her brother, as always was quick to pick up on her discomfort.
'That's it! I knew it. Boy I hope you're getting some good tips!'
Phoebe fixed her hair, sat up straight and decided she couldn't eat the meal. Even the girls had stopped talking over the conversation that teenagers normally seemed oblivious to. Now they looked at her expectantly. That feeling of being on the spot, reminded Phoebe of the need to take up a challenge she had yet to perfect. Rolling a cigarette.
'I've got an early start tomorrow. Is it ok if you drop the kids off later Mum?' It was a selfish request and Phoebe knew it. To ask her drunk mother to put her kids lives in danger was thoughtless but for that moment, Phoebe didn't think about their safety, only her escape from a home whose walls seemed to be fast closing in on her.
'What? Whats wrong? Is it the dinner?' When Phoebe's only reply was a tight smile, her Mum rose, turned on her son and ripped his face off. 'Why the hell can't you just leave her alone for once?' The child her within shook pom poms but it was short lived when her Mum missed the table edge and almost crashed to the floor. Everyone held their breath, but nobody moved.
"I'm fine, just fine.' but her brother bubbled over. Phoebe felt she knew why but she was done with trying to figure the picture out.
He flung down his cutlery and accused his mum of always targeting him. There followed a tirade between mother and son, laced with acrimony from years of issues that had never quite bubbled to the surface. In this household, it was only ever about trivial, nonsensical stuff. 'You never pick on Phoebe. God! How much longer do I have to put up with you, your drinking and the crap that comes out your mouth?' He shook his head and stabbed at the morsels of food with his fork.
It seemed like everyone was tense. The family seldom got close to hitting on generational issues like alcoholism and family dysfunction before her Mum quickly put a lid on it.
Tight lipped and stoic, her mum ate in silence without meeting the eyes of anyone around the table. Phoebe and her brother knew that look all too well and even her kids seemed to read the unspoken message. One of them made a comment about the hooker type clothes another facebook friend was posing in but the tension had infiltrated everything in the room, right down to the chipped ornaments on the dusty sideboard. Nobody listened to the girls. It was just background noise. Something else was bubbling underneath. Like one of Mum's disasterous stews.
In the ensuing silence that settled like a dark cloud, her daughters made lame excuses about why they needed to leave with Phoebe. They hugged and kissed Grandma, perhaps with too much affection but she slapped on that timeless, false happy face as carelessly the make-up she'd used before they arrived. She didn't see them out, instead she poured herself another drink and joined Phoebe's step-father in the lounge to watch the 6.30 news. Her brother stayed in the dining room, brooding, cracking each knuckle one by one.
Phoebe and the girls hailed a cab and made their escape without a single word passing between them. When they arrived, she handed them the keys.
'I'll be back soon. Can you do the dishes before you go on facebook this time?'
They both smiled guiltily but didn't argue. Phoebe suspected that they, like her, preferred the cool evening air to where they had just been. Even the Antartic seemed better than the dilapidated photo album of a family home that Phoebe was forced to go to each week at her Mum's insistence. "We'll be like a family and you know how important family is. I'd be so hurt if you didn't.' Phoebe had yet to find a way to free herself from that guilt trip.
Once the girls were inside, she instructed the cabbie to her friends place. She hoped, screaming inside that where she was headed would overflow with coffee, tears and the challenging task of rolling a smoke to perfection.