Flash Fiction

Slap bang in the middle of the round dining table was a large ornament.  It wasn’t cutesy or childlike; it was quite realistic in its details.  It had been created in clay, fired with a high-gloss glaze.  It stood some three feet tall, a little more in length, perhaps half that in depth.  It comprised mainly shades of grey.  It was of an elephant.

The four of us sat around the table equidistant from one another.

My host, a gentleman (or so he said), sat at my twelve o’clock.  He had salt and pepper hair, neatly trimmed if thick eyebrows, even features, and skin that spoke of plenty of time spent outdoors in all weathers.  He wore a dark suit with a white shirt open at the collar.

To his left, at my three o’clock, sat a sophisticated lady of indeterminate years, somewhere between forty and sixty, I would guess.  She had honey blonde hair, caught up at the back in a large purple grip, and her long-sleeved tailored dress was of the same hue.

Opposite her, at my nine o’clock, was another man.  I had no idea if he professed to be a gentleman.  He arrived last and only spoke to greet everyone.  He sounded like he had been privately educated and smelled strongly of Brut.  Although his skin was less lined than Mr Twelve O’clock, I felt he was older, perhaps reaching retirement age.  He too wore a dark suit with a white shirt, but also sported a red bow tie.

We were served by a young man and woman, traditionally dressed in black and white.  They approached each of us from the side and showed us the dishes they displayed on silver trays, asking if we would like some and telling us to say when we had been served enough.  They also provided a choice of red or white wine, according to our individual selection.

I hoped I was going to be able to eat.  My stomach felt rather knotted at the strangeness of the situation.  I felt like at arrived at a restaurant alone and was receiving an embarrassing amount of attention from the staff.

Once we had food and drink, the servers blended back against the wall, out of our way, but near enough should we need them.

With no more excuses not to, we began to converse.  The host kicked off with the tried and tested comment on the weather and enquired if we had any problems arriving at his house.

Mrs Purple said she found the wind invigorating and had no hold-ups on the way there at all.

Mr Nine O’clock, simply said, “Hmm,” and continued to eat.

My uninspiring reply to our host was simply to say the weather was typically English and my journey had been fine.

I felt the knot inside my abdomen tighten, and my cheeks grew a little hot.  I felt bereft of anything more to say.

It had been useful that the host had greeted us all personally as we arrived, and the other lady and I had stood with him for a few minutes in a small room with a glass of champagne, awaiting the man now to my left.  Had it not been so, we would have had difficulty knowing who was talking and who we were addressing.

Of course, I was able to see the purple woman’s profile, as well as that of the older man, but it was all rather difficult, sat there at that circular table.  Indeed, I couldn’t see my host at all and had to assume he was there and not a speaker, through which he was addressing us from somewhere else.

But none of us mentioned the problem.

We continued through each course, receiving our food and drink from the servers, sitting still at our places.  Well, I tried to sit still but my right foot kept jigging up and down as a nervous tick, and I had to concentrate to keep it under control.

I felt it was the lack of eye contact that caused the stiltedness of the conversation, and it grew ever more disconcerting as time passed.  It flitted through my mind that our host could have discarded all his clothes, and I wouldn’t know, except for any reaction from the lady to my right and the man to my left.

But still we didn’t mention it.

I sighed as I finished relating this awkward and embarrassing evening to my best friend the following day.

“Sounds awful,” she said, rolling her eyes.  “I’d cringe having a meal with people I couldn’t see properly.”

“It was awful.  The event was badly designed.  It was the elephant in the room.”