Teatime in a Jam Jar
by Kenny Wilson
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: A teatime from hell.
Swearwords: None.
Description: A teatime from hell.
The boy held the bee with the tweezers as he studied it; he was almost eyeball-to-eyeball with it. The bee stared back. He rotated it carefully, absorbing every detail. Would it still be a bee, he wondered, if he clipped its wings? Using a pair of nail scissors he slowly and carefully removed the creature’s wings. He looked the bee in the eye once more.
“How do you feel now, little one? Are you still really a bee? Do you still have a sting?”
He returned the hapless bee into his jam jar bee collection. He watched as the other bees in the jar seamed to ignore it.
“Do you really exist now, wingless one?”
Suddenly the boy’s small universe was shattered by an all too familiar voice.
“David, come downstairs, it’s teatime.”
It was his Mum’s voice.
While he had been occupied with the bees David had forgotten about today but now it was all too clear in his mind again. Tea with Grandma, tea at the table, not on the sofa, not on his own, it would be a teatime from hell.
The table was set, as was always the case when being used, to suit David, the salt, pepper, etc. all being placed at his end of the table. No need for him to stretch or for anyone to see his stunted arms. No need for him to speak and ask for salt to be handed to him.
“No, I don’t want any more mash or peas.”
His Mum just shrugged and moved on and started to serve his Father.
“David, how will you grow up if you don’t eat your veggies?”
An awkward silence, then David’s sisters started to giggle. His Mum eventually spoke as Father looked steadfastly down on to his plate.
“Grandma, we told you before, David can’t grow any taller, the doctors told us. Remember?”
Grandma just looked at David.
“Well I am sure they would have said he would have grown a bit more if he had eaten more veggies.”
More silence and more giggles.
“Please, Grandma, remember David is….. well, not able to grow.”
This was met with a blank stare from the old woman. David looked out on it all with false indifference. No one ever saw him hurt now, no one.
“Is that why he isn’t sitting properly on his chair, then?”
The girls became hysterical now.
“Yes, Grandma,” answered Mum with a sigh.
“Be quiet now!!”
Father had spoken, so a sullen silence was now observed. Now it was payback time, thought David. He took a mouthful of food with a long deep slurp and munched on it loudly. A slight wince from the girls, but a pretence of indifference from his parents and simple obedient silence from Grandma. Stage two; dribble food down chin. This too was met the same way. Stage three; nod head up and down making low quiet moaning noises. No reaction. Increase volume, nod further up and lower down. Bingo, success as ‘down’ reached his plate. With a slight ‘splat’ sound he immersed his face in his meal, brought his head up and smiled through the mash and peas imbedded onto his face.
“Delicious, Mum.”
His father looked at him.
“Go to your room, David.”
“Certainly, Father, should I wash my face before I go?”
Grandma just smiled. The girls had started to giggle uncontrollably again.
“Just get out of my sight!!”
David slid and climbed off his stool and left the table.
When he got upstairs, he looked into his jam jar.
“Oh wingless one, what have you done?”
The other bees in the jar lay dead or dying as the maimed bee returned David’s triumphant look.
“How do you feel now, little one? Are you still really a bee? Do you still have a sting?”
He returned the hapless bee into his jam jar bee collection. He watched as the other bees in the jar seamed to ignore it.
“Do you really exist now, wingless one?”
Suddenly the boy’s small universe was shattered by an all too familiar voice.
“David, come downstairs, it’s teatime.”
It was his Mum’s voice.
While he had been occupied with the bees David had forgotten about today but now it was all too clear in his mind again. Tea with Grandma, tea at the table, not on the sofa, not on his own, it would be a teatime from hell.
The table was set, as was always the case when being used, to suit David, the salt, pepper, etc. all being placed at his end of the table. No need for him to stretch or for anyone to see his stunted arms. No need for him to speak and ask for salt to be handed to him.
“No, I don’t want any more mash or peas.”
His Mum just shrugged and moved on and started to serve his Father.
“David, how will you grow up if you don’t eat your veggies?”
An awkward silence, then David’s sisters started to giggle. His Mum eventually spoke as Father looked steadfastly down on to his plate.
“Grandma, we told you before, David can’t grow any taller, the doctors told us. Remember?”
Grandma just looked at David.
“Well I am sure they would have said he would have grown a bit more if he had eaten more veggies.”
More silence and more giggles.
“Please, Grandma, remember David is….. well, not able to grow.”
This was met with a blank stare from the old woman. David looked out on it all with false indifference. No one ever saw him hurt now, no one.
“Is that why he isn’t sitting properly on his chair, then?”
The girls became hysterical now.
“Yes, Grandma,” answered Mum with a sigh.
“Be quiet now!!”
Father had spoken, so a sullen silence was now observed. Now it was payback time, thought David. He took a mouthful of food with a long deep slurp and munched on it loudly. A slight wince from the girls, but a pretence of indifference from his parents and simple obedient silence from Grandma. Stage two; dribble food down chin. This too was met the same way. Stage three; nod head up and down making low quiet moaning noises. No reaction. Increase volume, nod further up and lower down. Bingo, success as ‘down’ reached his plate. With a slight ‘splat’ sound he immersed his face in his meal, brought his head up and smiled through the mash and peas imbedded onto his face.
“Delicious, Mum.”
His father looked at him.
“Go to your room, David.”
“Certainly, Father, should I wash my face before I go?”
Grandma just smiled. The girls had started to giggle uncontrollably again.
“Just get out of my sight!!”
David slid and climbed off his stool and left the table.
When he got upstairs, he looked into his jam jar.
“Oh wingless one, what have you done?”
The other bees in the jar lay dead or dying as the maimed bee returned David’s triumphant look.
About the Author
Kenny Wilson was born and raised in Edinburgh’s Southside. Now in his sixtieth year, he describes himself as a writer, a dreamer and lucky.