Words

Title: WORDS

The words, “Pass the butter”, hung in the air as the rhythmic clatter of mismatched utensils on mother’s best Corningware came to an abrupt stop. Emily understood her transgression immediately but being a typically rebellious teen she pursed her lips and scowled in anticipation of father’s reaction. Dad’s words were calm and measured in direct contrast to the darkening of his expression. He was a real stickler for proper decorum at the dinner table. “Is that how we ask for things Emmy?” he asked. Emily’s defiance seemed to be sculpted on her brow as the family sat in an uncomfortable silence. Dads’ countenance smoldered and his shoulders began to tense as he growled into the quietude: “Emily, is that how we taught you to ask for something”? Mother glanced furtively back and forth between the two potential combatants, choosing to keep her mediation skills in reserve until the situation got ugly. Emily considered her options as she watched Dad slowly work himself up to pre-eruption stage. She was privately amused by how easily the small things made him crazy. She was tempted to push it further even though she knew that diffusing the situation would cost her little and the consequences could be disproportionately harsh. Dad was preparing to lose his temper as Emily finally responded: “Pass the fucking butter”. Dad sat motionless, letting Emily’s response sink in. After what seemed an eternity Mom stepped in to settle the matter as she turned to Emily, handed her the butter dish, and asked, “Now, was that so fucking difficult to say”?