You Look Good To Me
Suddenly, the kitchen fills with smoke. Everyone glances around wildly, shouting, "What the hell...?" My sisters, asthmatics both, run for the back door, on the heels of my cousin Monday, who saw smoke and knew the next thing that'd happen if she didn't make a break for it would be waking up in the emergency room. Todd's children don't make a peep, as Todd and I suddenly realize Auntie InExcelsisDeo is staring at us dolefully from the corner by the microwave. She pulls a restaurant tea towel from the microwave, and shakes it. We observe four burned spots, one of which is just a little bit on fire. Still looking at us, Auntie slaps the flames and points at us. Todd and I burst out laughing.
Us: Did you wet that towel before you miked it?
Auntie: I don't know what you're talking about.
She twirls the towel, wraps it around her neck and sits down solidly.
When everyone stops puking off the back porch and Todd and I have long since turned a charming hypoxia blue, someone says, and no one knows who, "Someday, we're going to tell stories that start, 'Remember when Daddy was dying and...'"