A Glass Half-Full

Mztressofallevil. "Diary of A Disney Daydream-Chapter Six: Crossing the Lines of Reality." Mztressofallevil.com. WordPress, 16 June 2011. Web. 15 Dec. 2015.

     “Moooom can you pass me the water,” I moaned, but like usual my mother ignored me, busy chattering to my father about her work today and how annoying her coworkers were being. I rolled my eyes and sighed and started inspecting my surroundings. The dining room had a rustic feel to it filled with paintings of deceased family members, animals, and even one of me. A minuscule chandelier hung from the center of the room, directly above our antique wooden table that was topped with the nicest china mother owned and rows and rows of food. Oh, the food. Thanksgiving was mother's favorite holiday and she always went all out. Of course, being a modern business women who planned her life in lists and schedules, mother had no time herself to cook. However she made sure to get a caterer who filled the table with dishes of scrumptious cranberry dressing and rich gravy sauces, bowls and plates of all the different salads, pastas, breads you could think of. And of course, right at the center of the table underneath the sparkling chandler, a huge turkey cooked to the perfect golden brown shade. Unlike most years, however, I wasn’t salivating with anticipation. In fact, I felt quite numb and not even the array of pumpkin and chocolate pies would stir my appetite. My throat on the other hand, was parched, as if I hadn’t drunk in a year.

     “Can anyone please pass me the water pitcher?” I whined, glancing at my family members. But they remained ignorant once again, focusing instead on snatching the most nectareous pieces of food they could find. Frowning I looked at the water pitcher, how it mocked me, glistening with droplets of precious water from across the table just out of my arms reach. Surrounding the pitcher were my brothers and sister looking identical in dark burgundy clothes and shoulder length hair. They were arguing about the importance of the holiday, when I suddenly noticed the lines of age on their face and realized they looked a lot older than I remembered. I frowned, but this unnerving realization was suddenly forgotten when I realized how I was still so thirsty. It was as if dirt had entered my mouth and smothered my throat.

     “GUYS CAN I PLEASE HAVE THE WATER”,  I shouted hoarsely. My family remained oblivious to my pleas and continued eating dinner contently. Was I invisible or something? I finally got up myself and stomped my way to the edge of the table making a show of my tantrum.

     “Are you guys happy now?” I hissed and took the water pitcher. Except I didn't. I couldn’t hold on to it. Trying to grasp the pitcher I realized my hand simply went through,
    “What the hell?” I cried. I went over to my mother and tried to pat her shoulder, but my hand simply went all the way through. I tried, again and again, my throat parching and my eyes tearing, but it made no difference.

      Suddenly my mother spoke,  “I can’t believe this is the first Thanksgiving we have celebrated without Alice.”
      My eyes jerked at the sound of my name, “Without Alice?” I wondered. Glancing at my family’s sorrowful faces, pieces starting coming back to me: the feeling of dirt in my mouth, how my family seemed just a little older, my unmade place for dinner,
my car crash.

     I laughed. How silly of me to forget my passing, that the lines between life and death blur and mix, that I no longer belonged with my breathing, warm, solid, family. A dark mood settled upon me, that unless I somehow tried to make peace with myself and the world I would be left in this haze of confusion forever, attending one-sided Thanksgiving meals for the rest of my existence. I looked at my family: how much they grieved this year, how much they grown and realized that if the living can go on every day with so much going on and still move forward, I should be able to do the same and find my way to the beyond with a glass of water in my hand.