Objects

By Mimi Tien

Mason was seven years old when he stood in his green dinosaur pajamas, shivering as his mother's casket was lowered into the wet dirt. He stared at his mother's memorial photo frowning. It certainly captured the best of her: her bright, caring smile filled the floral decorated frame. Although it seemed his father thought otherwise when he shook his head and spat on the grave. Mason rubbed his eyes which were bloodshot red, while staring at the spit. It dripped off the smooth dark wood of the casket. When he looked up, he was dumbfounded. His mother's memorial photo no longer was filled with her smile but a picture of a fluffy pillow instead.

Confused, he looked at his father, who was now making a huge scene as he drunkenly pushed through the crowd of distant friends and family. 

"We—where is she?! Can the bitch get muh anothfer drink!" Mason's father slurred. 

His father's walk was unbalanced as he returned back to his son. Only this time, his father had another lady at his side who gave his father a beer and kissed his father's cheek. Mason's eyes burned with itchiness as he looked at the women and his father, then at his mother's "pillow" photo. 

His mother used to take him to countless appointments for his eyes. However, the eye doctors all failed to diagnose him. Despite this, Mason always thought it was time well spent. He found joy in ripping out magazine pages full of emaciated models and stuffing them between the reception desk and wall to see how many he could get in before he was caught. 

Mason whined and scratched at his eyes until they hurt. When he opened them again, he realized that the lady next to his father appeared to have changed into an umbrella! His father didn't seem to notice and handed his beer to his young son, who hesitantly just held it between his tiny hands and looked at his dazed father with a questionable look. Right then, his father quickly scrambled away with his "umbrella girlfriend" to go off and barf behind a tree; he then started an argument about it being her fault. Mason looked back at his relatives, alarmed when he only found appliances and other random items standing behind him while other relatives/men stood in between some of them. 

The situation didn't seem to improve even when years flew past, and Mason was starting to come of age. That fateful day his father asked him, "So, son, when you gonna find yourself a homemaker?" His father's mouth twitched as he spoke. His neck craned down with deep focus as he cut his toenails. 

Mason shrugged but later found himself slipping his socks and sandals on to wander down the street to a dimly lit seafood restaurant. 

As he peered over his flimsy menu, he spied on a bright-eyed young waitress whose short ponytail swayed as she helped customers. She was incredibly attractive, although the more he looked at her, the more his eyes seared with itchiness. 

By the time she was approaching his table, he had wasted half the supply of napkins from the metal dispenser just to dab his eyes. He instinctively pushed the slimy wet heap of napkins across the tabletop with his hand. The heap smeared off the edge of the table and made a thick wet noise as it slapped the tile floor. He crossed his arms on the table to hide the residue that was leftover. Their conversation seemed to go well, although he almost looked like he would break a blood vessel in a straining effort to not rub his eyes which he eventually gave in to. His father's words echoed in his mind, and he mumbled them under his breath as he itched. 

"Homemaker."

When he opened his eyes again, the itching had ceased, and there seemed to be a chair in the place of the waitress. She seemed to have disappeared. Confused, he scratched his head and took a sip of room temperature water from his plastic Coca-Cola cup. He cleared his throat and wiped his sweaty hands on his khaki shorts, prepping for when she comes back to possibly sit in the chair that she had brought over. Or so that was what he believed would happen, but the chair loudly scraped across the restaurant floor on its own to then casually take orders from customers who remained unamused. The customers even thanked the chair, which turned into the kitchen and came back with plates of food for the customers. 

He stood up without another word in a clumsy shuffle to get to the bathroom. He entered the coral-colored bathroom, which smelled of citrus air freshener. Mason looked at himself in the mirror and let out a sigh while splashing water on his face multiple times. After collecting himself he exited the bathroom along with a few other men. 

Across the hallway, the door to the women's bathroom slammed open and a tan lamp waddled out. One of the men from the restroom went over to the lamp and put his arm around the lampshade while explaining to it that he would cover the bill and that he had a great night. Mason struggled to process his situation as he took a step back, only to bump into the receptionist. He murmured an apology only to find out he just apologized to a mop. He looked around the restaurant to find another man who seemed to be arguing with a mini freezer while the women's bathroom later flew open again as a wrinkly shower curtain emerged and readjusted its curtain rod rings. 

Mason eventually reached adulthood. He walked up to his mother's and father's graves, clearly well dressed in a suit and tie. 

"I finally popped the question. It's time that you meet her." Suddenly a traffic cone with a veil came into view. The two shared a kiss, and before they headed off, Mason looked over his shoulder to spit on his mother's grave.