Evening Silence

Her parents move through the kitchen in a practiced, synchronized dance of carrying and rinsing and wiping away the chaos of dinner.

Forks scrape plates into the stainless steel sink, clinging food rinsed clean with scalding water.

Spoons lift the salvageable into carefully labeled containers, stored neatly in the spotless refrigerator.

Her mother pauses, pushing back her hair and leaning against cold granite, breathing in the warm scent of pine and the silence of post-dinner homework.
Her father moves back and forth, his mind in his office.

The flickering candle casts shadows they wordlessly ignore.

Her room is the arranged mess of a teenager with one foot still in girlhood, pale blue walls and plush carpet, teddy bears pushed carelessly against lavender pillows, thrown to the ground at bedtime to mingle with pom-poms and notices of spirit week fundraisers. 

The white dresser smoothly cradles a jumble of bracelets and earrings, some borrowed from her mother’s endless collection, and glittered lip gloss, aching to whisper secrets they see in the silence.

Leaning against a wall plastered with Justin Bieber, she tips a small vial back and forth between her palms, contemplating the cleanliness of a rolled-up dollar bill.

the prompt:

This week I want you to take me to your version of 8:00 -AM or PM, fiction or creative nonfiction- in 200 words or less.