Trust Fund Dinners
Oct 23, 2020
The old lady sat at the end of the table, a clear piece of tape holding her tired glasses together, her thin wrinkled hand clinging to the cigarette between her fingers. I wondered if she even knew what was going on, if she had an inkling what her money had done to her family. Three children all counting the days ‘til her death. Two grandchildren holding their breath with anticipation. She sat at the table as long as she could, lighting cigarettes off each other, ashes piling up on the wood in front of her. Once the meal was over, they waited anxiously for the checks to be written and distributed. Everyone wanted something.
