“Would you pass the peas, son?”
Most days he was lucky to hear even a word come from his father’s mouth. Today he was fortunate enough to hear a full sentence.
Elias stretched across the table and took a dish of peas in his hand. He caught Simon’s gaze. His black pearl eyes shined brilliantly. He gave him a sideways nod and Elias pushed the peas to his father. His father grunted thanks, and poured shiny green peas unto his plate.
His father was just home from work. He had rolled up his sleeves haphazardly and his tie was slack around his neck. His hair had long lost its gelled luster and clung to his brow limply. He thumbed through his newspaper mindlessly and shoveled peas and chicken into his face. The paper rustled between thumb and forefinger, and peas were mashed under tooth. Silver forks clinked against china and air streamed out of the holes that were sprawled across Simon’s neck.