A Cup Half Empty

• Rebecca Hoopmann, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2010

The table was too big for him. There were many chairs but he sat alone. Before him lay an empty plate, a glass half full of blood red wine. The room was dim, lit by candles that flickered softly. For a long time the man sat unmoving, staring at nothing. But a tug on his sleeve startled him. He looked around. A young boy stood at his shoulder. He was familiar; the man had known him before. A long time ago.
“Have you seen my ball?” the boy asked.
The man frowned. He would have spoken but the boy gave a shout of delight and ran away. The man watched him, amused. Then with a shock of memory he cried out wait, stop! But the boy didn’t listen and the brake lights bloomed, the tires screeched. He hit the windscreen, was flung to the ground. He lay there broken, bleeding. The man ran to his side, lifted him and carried him to a chair. The boy’s arm hung awkwardly, there was blood in his hair. But he met the man’s gaze, giggled.
“Can I stay for dinner?” he asked.
The man did not hear him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. His gaze was tortured. “I’m so sorry.”
A soft hand brushed his shoulder and he spun around. A lady sat behind him. She asked him how his day had been and he stared at her with haunted eyes. She reached out to touch his cheek but he flinched away. She sighed.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said.
And then she gasped and her head flew backwards. A rope was exposed, he heard a crack. Then she slumped forwards, her neck disjointed. Her eyes grew wide, she gazed at him with infinite sorrow and tried to speak. He fled from her stare, stumbled backwards. He tripped, sprawled to the floor. The boy limped over and stood above him, bending to look into the man’s face. A bead of blood dribbled into his eye and he blinked and wiped at it. It smeared across his cheek.
“Come on,” he said impatiently. “Come eat with us.” He gestured to the table. Where once there had been an empty plate, there was now a feast. Steaming platters, salad dishes, bottles of wine.
The man gaped, frowned, used the table to help him stand. The boy slumped back into his seat. He turned his gaze to the man, silently urging him to hurry up. The man hesitantly pulled out a chair, sat down. The lady smiled at him, the expression lopsided due to the angle of her neck. Timidly, they talked. Then they ate and laughed and reminisced. They were all hurt, not quite whole, left wanting. But they were together, and for now that was enough.
But in the reflection of the grimy window the man sat alone. His plate lay empty, his glass on its side. He sat still and silent, his expression forlorn, as of one who had seen far too much tragedy.