Disclaimer: The Glass Family is owned by the late J. D. Salinger. (R.I.P.!)
For the first time in years, all the Glass siblings were reunited under their parents' roof. Well, all five of the seven that were still alive, anyway. Two chairs were missing from the table; the chairs that would've been occupied by Walt, who'd died in WWII, and Seymour, who'd committed suicide on his second honeymoon. Bessie, the family's matriarch, and her passive husband, Les, were seated opposite each other, with Buddy, Waker, and Zooey, across from Franny and Boo Boo. If this were still nineteen-thirty-something, Zooey would've been on his sisters' side of the table, because Walt would've been positioned between his twin brother, Waker, and Buddy, who'd have sat next to Seymour.
About twenty minutes had passed, since everyone finished eating, but they remained at the table, where idle conversation took place. Zooey, who was bored out of his mind, only half-listened, while Franny ranted incessantly to Boo Boo about the diaries of Anais Nin, and their brothers held a philosophical debate. With a sigh, he pushed his half-empty plate aside, and drew the nearest ashtray closer to him. He plucked a mentholated cigarette from his new pack, struck a match, and lit the cherry, with a hand instinctively cupped around it, as though to protect the flame from a nonexistent breeze. With his elbow propped on the table, he rested his head in the palm of his free hand, and allowed his mind to carry him elsewhere.
"How are the boys?" Bessie asked, though Boo Boo didn't hear the question, since she was already listening intently to Franny. "Boo Boo!"
"Yes, mother?" Boo Boo whipped her head around.
"I said, how are the boys?"
"Oh, you know," Boo Boo paused to take a drag from her cigarette, which she held between her forefinger and thumb, "Lionel has finally run away for good, and joined the travelling circus. The other two are in juvie."
"I mean it," Bessie pressed, "how are they?"
"They're fine, mother. I think Lionel has finally outgrown that phase, and they're all getting good grades in school, and brushing their teeth, and eating their greens, and everything."
"That's good," Bessie said, before averting her attention to her youngest son. "Zooey, are you going to finish eating?" Zooey, of course, was lost in a daydream, so he didn't hear Bessie, either. "Zooey!"
"What, Bessie?" Zooey asked, more venomously than Boo Boo had.
"I said, are you going to finish eating?"
"I have finished eating."
"But, you're not going to finish the food on your plate?"
"That would be the implication." Buddy shot Zooey a disappointed look, in response to the way the latter treated their mother. "It was an exquisite meal, though," Zooey said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, if only to please Buddy.
"Oh, well, thank you, Zooey." Bessie's eyes lit up, surprised and delighted by the compliment.
"See what you made me do?" Zooey whispered into Buddy's ear. "Now, her expectations have been risen, and she'll only be disappointed, when I fail to live up to them."
"Or, you could just continue to be nice to her," Buddy whispered back.
"I'm plenty nice to her," Zooey defended. "I just say it like it is, and she happens to be overly sensitive."
"You know that you're hard on her, in particular."
"Well, I could only be nicer to her, if I refrained entirely from speaking my mind."
"If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." Buddy shrugged.
"What philosopher said that?" Zooey quipped, knowing fully well the origin of the quote.
"Socrates," Buddy quipped back.
"Oh, yeah."