At the dinner table

The afternoon sun was blinking between the trees. My shoulders were aching because of the heavy backpack. I breathed over the bike on the rough country road. A car came behind and squeezed itself between me and a meeting car.

I turned to the gravel road towards the house. The birds were singing happily. A breeze was playing around me. My back was warm and sweaty when the house in the forest welcomed me.

Inside the house I could smell dinner. I tore off my wet t-shirt and found a new one.

-Hiiii, my son cried. He ran up from some toys, let his arms around me and hugged his head into my stomach. My wife glanced out from the kitchen and smiled. -Hi, she said. -Hi, I replied.and gave her a tiny hug. I pulled up some groceries from my backpack and put it into the refrigerator.

-How was work today, she asked at the dinner table.

-As usual, I said.

-How do you mean?

-Nothing special happened. Just the usual.

Then it was silent around the table. The little lad grabbed a piece of a sausage with his hand and stuffed it in his mouth. Forks were knocking against the plates. Sausages and mashed potatoes. The food filled up my empty body.

-You haven't asked me ho I am, she said.

-Hm?

-Actually you never ask me how I feel.

-Sure I do.

-No, almost never. I`ve told you that before. But it never change. You dont care about how I feel.

-Well,...how do you feel, I asked.

-That came a little late. 

She turned her head toward the plate and started eating. I looked at her.

-Is there something wrong, I asked.

She let down her fork and looked at our son. He put his hand into some mashed potatoes and smeared it around his mouth. She put her head in her hands and looked down at the table.

-You just dont understand, she said. -You really dont understand how it feels to loose a child.