Flash Fiction: Round-Trip

© Rie Yamada

Text by By Brent Leoni

I could never remember everybody’s names. By the time I did, I wouldn’t see them for four months and had to remember them all over again. At some point, I just gave up and avoided saying their names, or avoided them altogether. But it’s easier. You get to know relatives. Then, you get to know their kids.

Family is a business. It has to grow. It can’t stagnate. It’s like that shark metaphor. I take pride in contributing toward its growth. The delicate balance of the family event is to make it feel special while making it feel like you would have seen each other even if it wasn’t for something special.

I can’t help but feel like I’m in one of those train seats where you’re in the position where it feels like the train is going backward. When I was a little girl, I always felt it was strange that everything outside the train window was moving backward while you were moving forward. I still feel that way.

I’ve had this theory that you’re defined by your flight descriptions. Where you’re going. Who you’re going with, or if you’re flying solo. First class or coach. I’m starting to think the same thing is true about family events. Who you bring, if you bring anyone. Which members you gravitate toward. What you say in your small talk.

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