Writing Prompt: Table

I wrote this a few months ago, but it’s stuck in my mind as a favorite. Written in 30 minutes, little editing, pretty much made it up as I went along.

Edited to add: Wait, I posted this in June? That’s what I get for one cup of coffee! Hello, 2023!


The table sat in the corner of the garage buried under piles of moldy books, broken small appliances—a toaster, a microwave, doors broken off, rusty and dented—and surrounded by chairs and a couch and dressers and, well, you name it. If something ever belonged in a house well-loved, it was now out here, abandoned and forgotten.

By the time she had found it, after pushing aside the kitchen chairs with the ripped vinyl seats and the overstuffed ottoman that was now understuffed, and boxes of books and magazines, she was coughing and sneezing from the dust and years of accumulated pollen and mold.

“You could die in there.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“Why do you want this stuff anyway?”

“I don’t. I want the table.”

“Tell me again why? It’s not an antique, is it?”

“Actually, it probably is. Almost a hundred years old.”

“Worth anything?”

She swept the layer of dust and grime from the surface, inspecting her hand after, realizing the mistake. The grime might never come off. “Doubtful.”

She could barely make out the grain of the maple surface, chipped, dented, its polish long gone. She ran a hand down the turned legs. Solid, if scuffed. One leg wobbled, but otherwise it was sturdy.

“So why are we here?”

She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the carnage. She looked down to see an old, black Bakelite telephone, the kind with a rotary dial. “Bet you don’t even know how to use one of these.”

“What is it?”

“Point made.”

She turned and looked out the garage door toward the house. It would be demolished tomorrow. This was her last chance to claim anything she wanted. If she’d only known.

“Who lived here?”

“Your great uncle Oscar. I told you that.”

“Never met him.”

“You still can. He isn’t dead. We’ll go tomorrow.”

A sigh only a teenager can make. “I have plans.”

“Really. Like what? And can you look up from that phone for a half-second, please?”

A quick glance up, then back to drubbing the glass surface with thumbs evolved to create tools, build fire, but reduced to the rapid-fire Morse Code of texting.

She aimed her key fob at her minivan. A beep and the back hatch slowly rose open.

“Help me get this out of here. I hope it fits.”

The teen managed to free up a couple thumbs to grip the edge and pull it from the pile. “God, it weighs a ton.”

“It’s solid. Uncle Oscar made this.”

“For real? It’s not from Ikea?”

She let out a snort. “As if.”

“Would be easier if it came from Ikea. Those come apart, you know.”

“Lift, don’t drag. I don’t want to damage the legs.”

“You’re joking, right?”

But together they lifted and inched their way out of the garage and over to the car.

The teen went to sit under the shade of a tree, all physical ability apparently drained by that short lift and haul. It was a hot day. And cooler under the leaves of the maple. She glanced around the yard.

“It came from here somewhere.”

“What did?”

“The wood for the table. Uncle Oscar salvaged the wood from an old maple that had finally outlived its days. I used to climb it when we came here for visits. He made this table right in that garage.”

She leaned against the tree, the rough bark scratching her back, relieving an itch she hadn’t been aware of.

“I’m pretty sure this is the one he planted to replace it.”

“Huh. I’m thirsty.”

“There’s a thermos in the car.”


Now the obligatory sell. If you like my writing, check out my novel Endurance. If you like Endurance (or Wishbone or A Perfect Life), consider leaving a review on Goodreads or Amazon. I have a lot of high ratings, but few actual reviews. They help readers decide what to read, so think about it. Doesn’t have to be much or stressful. This isn’t a book report (do they still do those?). And thanks!

Advertisement

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Story Empire

Exploring the World of Fiction

Smart Bitches, Trashy Books

all of the romance, none of the bullshit

Women Using Words

where sapphic and queer, women loving women stories are reviewed

Elaine Burnes

Thoughts on Writing and Life

Reads Rainbow

reviews, releases and recommendations

thedrabble.wordpress.com/

Shortness of Breadth

Whatever

FURIOUSLY REASONABLE

M A G P I E à la modus operandi

Memories by Marguerite Quantaine

#HOPEJAHRENSURECANWRITE

books and things.

Zestful Writing

Thoughts on Writing and Life

Irrelevant Cyberspeak

because you don't have anything better to do...

Miz Chef

Cooking Up a Healthy Life

Ruth Perkinson

Author & Spiritual Teacher

Nicola Griffith

Writer. Queer cripple with a PhD. Seattle & Leeds.

Writer Unboxed

about the craft and business of fiction

Blackadder Blogs

Jesse Blackadder on writing, books, life.

%d bloggers like this: