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Story by Alissa King
The Dinner Party
"Do you believe in monsters?"
"Sure."
"Ghosts?
"I don't want to talk about ghosts."
"Okay. What do you want to talk about?"
I looked at the room full of people. I looked at the table full
of food. I looked at the animation all around me. I had nothing.
A rogue, flirtatious impulse rose inside. I looked at him.
"How about pickles?"
My companion shifted a little.
"No I'm just kidding. Sorry."
He smiled. "Why don't you want to talk about ghosts?"
"Maybe I don't feel like being haunted." I tried to
look all enigmatic and eerie.
"So you think you attract things when you…"
"Obsess on them? Sure." I was serious, now.
He closed his eyes. He squinched up his face. He strained like
he was taking a pooh.
"Um. Are you alright?"
"I'm obsessing."
"Really? It looks painful."
He snorted through his nose, trying not
to giggle.
"What are you obsessing about?"
".....Pickles."
I laughed. "Cucumber karma."
He opened his eyes. "I want to talk about monsters."
he said.
"Okay."
"Know any?"
I shrugged "Look around."
"I mean it."
"So do I."
"Yeah, okay." He seemed non-plussed.
"What would you call them?" I asked. "That woman
across the table, eating her meat. She's all fluffed and done
up and shit, but look at her. She's ripping that flank with her
sharp teeth. And that flank never had a chance in hell. It got
raised in a cage and fattened up. It was A LIVING THING we kept
it in a cage and then lead its stupid, mooing body to the guillotine.
Now there's a meaningful life."
"You're talking about the cow?" he sounded incredulous.
"Yeah, I'm talking about the cow. Somebody should."
"But it's a cow! Are you one of those PETA people?"
"No, no… Its just a sick way to live. Bred like that,
utterly and completely born, bred and killed for something's
appetite. Existing like that…" I strained to explain
it, the repulsiveness of the whole process.
He shrugged. "It's a cow, though; a big, hunkering bovine.
Something was going to eat it eventually. A part of you has got
to recognize that a cow is bred and born to be an entrée."
I glared at him.
"And… they fart methane. Bad for the ozone. Not to
mention deforestation." He took a bite of asparagus.
"So are you -for- eating the cow, or against? Its not real
clear."
"Does it matter? Tonight I'm having chicken." He grinned.
"Okay." Now I sounded non-plussed.
"But we were talking about monsters."
"Were we?"
"Yeah!" He was animated again. "Real ones."
"People. People are real ones. They're the only real monsters
I know of."
He looked at me with this sort of disappointed look. When he
spoke he seemed almost sad. "The beast inside. The thing
with teeth. I know. I know. Again with the Heart of Darkness
shit." He put his face close to mine. "I've READ Conrad,
I'm asking you something else, doll-face: Have you ever seen
a monster? A real one?"
I pushed baby peas around my plate and thought about it. I felt
that he was mocking me. The beasts I see are real. Their eyes
glow red, you can see it when you develop film. They smack and
tear and howl and scare. I smiled at him. "Screw you."
I said.
He put his fork down. "Do you want to see a monster?"
"No thank-you."
"Are you sure?" He sounded earnest.
"I know this one." I smiled. I just kept freakin' smiling.
"Some Ted Bundy wannabe gets a girl all intrigued with a
dope line about monsters and drives her out into the hickville
mountains so her blood can fertilize the pansies. No THANK you."
He shuddered. It was a real shudder. I watched his face close
in and a convulsion move down his body. I felt suddenly bad like
I'd poked a sharp stick into something to see what it was, and
it turned out to be a kitten.
"Sorry." I mumbled.
"No." he had picked up his fork again. "No, I'm
sorry I scared you. I didn't mean to make you think that."
We ate in silence for pretty much the rest of the dinner. He
mentioned something nice about the hostess. I made a pretty comment
about dessert. We both seeped disappointed through our pores
as we said goodbye. I went home and took a shower.
I laid in my bed later and thought about the party. I know there
were other people there, someone had invited me. But it felt
like he and I were in a small, sealed chamber. I turned over
on my pillow. I played through the words, I played the conversation
all the way through, and replaying this way I finally thought
about monsters, real ones: Things with scales and teeth and horns;
things with sinuous bodies that lunge and snarl and hide. Things
that can be fierce or terrible or beautiful, but cannot be understood.
He had wanted to show me something. As the night wore on and
our silence descended, the thing between us grew and took shape.
It had been there in the room; something, something that desperately
wanted to look like a monster.
And if he had asked me again, which he wouldn't have, because
of what I said, so that's how it goes... but, if he had asked
me again, to come and see the monster? I'm pretty sure now that
I would have said yes.
©Alissa King 2008
Alissa King is a recovering
preschool teacher who ran away to the Oregon Coast to write a
pomegranate cookbook. In her spare time she writes online articles,
raises an Amazon, and tries to keep housepets alive. Some of
her mental detritus can be seen at Stop
and Wander.
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