I am awake. I am alert. I am aware. Please don’t leave me here.
My name is Matsalsbord. I’m from a far-off, distant land called Sweden. My four legs are held together by screws and bolts. My varnish is worn at the corners and that one spot where Jessie spilled a spray bottle full of vinegar. It was more of a 75/25 solution, rather than the recommended 50/50, so it left a scar.
I didn’t mind, though. She was my little girl. I watched her grow up, from crawling beneath me to towering above me.
And Mom, she was so attentive. Oiling my varnish, cleaning up from meals and craft projects. Wiping up ever speck of grease, glitter, or goo.
I was once more than just an object. I held keys, grocery bags, family dinners, festive holiday decorations (my favorite being the Thanksgiving cornucopias), runners, candles, or Tom, the family cat. His fluffy, delicate paws pranced over my paint, tickling the grain of my tabletop. He was often scolded off of me, but he was my friend, too, purring while lying across my lumber.
I commanded the dining room. It was the center of the house and I was its king. Everything happened around me. School projects to dinner to family meetings, I was the center of the world. My universe. My life.
Jessie made forts out of my skeleton, piled high with pillows and blankets. Dad helped our little girl with her algebra homework on my back. Groans of laughter at dad-jokes warmed me, birthday parties’ cake crumbs with sticky ice cream drips tasted fed me. Family dinners gave me purpose.
But now, tossed to the curb, like a broken lamp or rusted skillet, I’m left to be weathered by the sun. Only the memories of my previous life remain. I wait for the inevitable heavy item pick up. Trash day is coming for me, faster and faster. I’ll soon be covered in banana peels, coffee grounds, and other forgotten furniture.
Will I go into a compactor? Will I be unscrewed, torn apart piece-by-piece? Maybe I’ll end up on a barge to trash island, one last hurrah for me. The wind on my grain. The smell of rotting food surrounding me, but at least I’ll see one last sight, have one last adventure, create one more memory of the ocean. I’ll push myself overboard, float to the bottom of the sea, forever left with my thoughts. I just want to remember Jessie.
Brake lights illuminate. My time has come. I’ll say goodbye to dinner parties and sandwich crumbs and jigsaw puzzles. And laughter and love and happiness.
But wait, this is a family. With bungee cords and twine. They caress my frame, test me for wobbles. But I am still sturdy, just worn. They want me. They like me. Maybe they’ll even grow to love me when I sit in the center of their dining room.
About the Author Sasha Snow
Sasha Snow placed 1st in the Napkin Microfiction Writing Contest in May 2021 with her micro piece, Le Table. She won the $300 cash prize.
Sasha Snow is a director, writer, producer, and actress. She has a degree in Radio-Television-Film from the University of Texas at Austin; and has trained in sketch comedy, writing and improv at Upright Citizen’s Brigade, Groundlings, and Second City.
Snow has acted as a production coordinator for several DirectTV/AT&T and Netflix shows, working with a variety of well-known celebrity talents. Snow recently wrote, produced and directed the SAG short film Mullet Girl, which was an Official Selection of the Indie Short Fest.
In her spare time, she creates short films with her production company, Albino Hedgehog Productions. Sasha’s currently writing sketch comedy, re-editing her feature-length screenplay, and writing her first play.
