We all hate it, but still we have to

 Small Talking

We are in a car, stuck in a traffic jam in front of a railway crossing, somewhere halfway between Walcz and Poznan.

Piotr was supposed to be my navigator. But he kept on fiddling with his new camera and filming the road signs rather than reading them, so we got lost. Twice. I was hoping that Marta would help, but she just keeps to herself in the back seat, silent like a church mouse.

It’s rapidly getting dark. I’m running late for a dinner with my brother’s sister-in-law’s husband’s parents.

Earlier on I silently grumbled against having to carry the burden of starting conversation with that autistic duo. But. I’m bored stiff.

“Do you know that my brother got married?” I say to Piotr in a pleasant tone.

“No I don’t” He sounds obnoxious, or maybe just indifferent.

“And you don’t seem to give a shit either”

“I do give a shit! No, wait, I don’t really. Is it this Agnieszka he married?”

“Yeah. You’ve met Agnieszka”

“I’ve seen her once. I remember when she came down the stairs when we were watching TV. Wearing a nightie!”

“It was the middle of the night you moron. You’d rather she wore a ski suit? You used to prance around the house barely clad in nothing but boxer shorts yourself and it was in brightest bright of the day”

Piotr doesn’t respond, unfazed. When I glance sideways, I can see the left corner of his mouth twitching.

       “Remember how Chunky was going nuts then?” I go on “In Ela’s absence that is. Barking and      

running berserk as if she were rabid?”

“That I do”

“Poor Chunky ain’t with us anymore you know. She apparently passed on last year but I found out only recen…”

“But Ela has a child now” intercedes Piotr

“Which means…she doesn’t need a dog?” Well. “It’s true, she used to carry Chunky in her arms everywhere as if she were a baby…”

“At least the child won’t cark it on her so soon”

“It wasn’t SO soon” I protest “Chunky lived the whole ten…”

“Piotr!!!” Marta’s shocked voice from the back seat flogs our ears. I’ve completely forgotten she was there.

“Marta! I’ve forgotten you’re even there.” says Piotr.

“Sometimes when you open your mouth…it’s hard to remember that you’re this supposedly evolved, compassionate, sensitive human being” Marta is shy, but when she speaks, it is with cunning sweetness. Or is it sweet cunning?

“Who, me?”

“Piotr speaks in pure poetry” I chime in.

Piotr grins openly now. “Now look who’s talking.”

He’s all warmed up and wants to keep chatting. I’ve achieved my aim, but Marta’s shriek and her stolid words have had the effect of a bucket of cold water poured over a hot head. They’ve put me back in place; reminded me who the oldest in the group is (me) and who, therefore should set the moral compass – and show the way.

So I try.

(this happened a while ago)