Kalliope 2015 | Page 44

going to do it at the high school, they just installed that nice turf. “Hey, Dominick, you’re gonna be my number one pick, so you better bring your A game! I’m expecting you to destroy people, you hear me? “No, let’s be honest, people aren’t going to be up to soccer on Sunday. We’ll save that for next weekend, cool?” I head over to check on the inhabitants of the kitchen. Steadily munching their way through pizza and starting to work on the bags of chips, a couple of my classmates are obviously enjoying the “light” refreshments arrayed on the counter. Lying untouched is a salad that my mother prepared in a desperate attempt at healthiness. I shake my head at the futile gesture and, craning my head, spot her in the crowd, flitting around and ensuring that everyone is having a great time. I move towards her, a snarky smile plastered on my face, and catch her eye. Noticing me, my mom politely extracts herself from the conversation and says “This is going really well! Everyone seems to be really enjoying themselves.” “You most of all,” I reply, bending down to plant a kiss on the top of her head. My mother is incredibly short, and our family never lets her forget it. I take the opportunity to refresh my declaration that her tiny stature is the reason I would never reach six feet tall. Completing the ritual, my mother retorts that, without her, I wouldn’t have my intelligence. Seizing the opportunity, I riposte, “Well, well...no one is eating your salad!” Skipping out of swatting range, I chuckle and beat a hasty retreat into the sun room. In the process, I run into my father. Standing nearly six feet tall, he cuts an imposing figure, especially considering the predominantly short height of Indian men. I have to stifle my laughter at viewing him in this room. He hates it with a passion. A few months ago, my mother had come up with the idea of this adjunct, and finally, after countless arguments, swayed my father into building it for her. Despite its beauty, the cost alone is enough to ensure that my father, a thrifty man, will never vindicate its existence. He greets me with a smile and a tray of assorted goodies, which I politely decline. Even running around greeting guests, I have had several shares of pizza more than I should have. “Any more and I might actually explode,” I inform him seriously. “In that case, we will ask some of your friends if they would like anything,” he responds with a twinkle in his eye. I open my mouth to say that they were probably 44