Only When I'm Sleeping

{Third Person}

(1979)

She flipped her journal closed and went out to the kitchen. Her mother was at the table, sewing together a tear in a pair of Ryan's jeans.

She watched her father pull a pan of meat loaf out of the oven, floral oven mitts on his hands. He'd taken over her mother's role over the past two years. He was getting better at it, but occasionally he forgot to buy toilet paper or misplaced the cable bill, which resulted in an hour's worth of searching the house. That was, until her brother, Ryan, found the bill in their father's den under a hand-drawn portrait of exotic birds in flight.

His dinners were improving, too. But Robin hated meat loaf. It was her mother's favorite, though, so she couldn't fault her dad for making it.

Robin came up beside him. His silver-framed glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose. She noticed more gray hair on his head than black. A year ago, she might have poked fun at him for hit, but now he wouldn't laugh or make fun of himself. He'd just shrug and probably say, "I'm not going to stay young forever." He was rarely in a good mood anymore. But Robin couldn't blame him.

"Need any help?" She asked. She didn't really feel like helping, but it was something to get her mind off the fact that her parent's relationship was falling apart.

"No," he said as he set the pan on the stove top and poked the meat with a knife."Thanks for asking, though" He turned to his wife. "Honey, dinner is done."

"All right. I'm almost finished."

Mr. Howard nodded and got plates out, then started slicing up the meat loaf. Robin groaned, seeing the moist meat on her plate. She didn't want to be right now- certainly not eating that. Her house had become a silent, half-living empty thing. She could predict exactly what would happen over dinner.

Her dad would serve the food. He'd pour the drinks and try to make small talk with his wife. The phone would ring in the kitchen and Ryan would excuse himself from the table before he could touch the meat with his fork. He would not be seen for the rest of the night.

"Dad, i think I'm skipping dinner tonight."

He pushed his glasses back. "Robin, you have to eat." He gave her that look.

"But Ryan never eats dinner. Can I please just go to my room?" Robin protested.

"Well," Mr. Howard shot a glance over to his wife. When she didn't look up from her plate, he said, "Go ahead."

The thought of spending her Saturday night this made Robin want to cry, or sleep for a month.