Listen to a reading by the author:
1. Before the Fire
A rubber paddle whacks the ball—ping. A ball slams down on the table—pong. Ping, pong, ping pong. Ping pong the sound. Echoing. Forehand, backhand. Spin. Again. Serve. Rally. Smash. Ping pong the slam.
Ping pong the family connection. Played with father, brothers, husband, children. Ball into corners yes! Barely cresting the net gotcha! Slamming it ooh good one. Little white dog following the ball with his head, scampering after it when it lands off the table—not giving it up. Point for dog. Point for son. Game. Ping pong the table. The new tournament sized black one in the carport. Shiny. Inviting.
2. The Fire
Evacuation.
Goodbye table, carport, house. Goodbye everything. We will be back. Wood becomes flame becomes ash at 570 degrees. Wildfires burn at over 2000 degrees. We talk Fahrenheit but it’s all the same, irrelevant to the incinerated. To the disappeared. The house, the carport, the ping pong table.
3. After the Fire
The melted remnants of metal legs lying in a pool of bizarrely beautiful. Ping pong the debris.
Ping pong the art piece. Hanging on the wall of the new house. This was our ping pong table we say. Its legs. Pointing to the dark charcoal bits embedded and protruding from the abstract sculptural metal form, these are pieces of the old house. Our old life.
Ping pong the memory.
Shira Musicant, a retired psychotherapist, lives in the foothills of Santa Barbara with her husband, several adult children, six chickens, and one black cat. Twice a Pushcart nominee, she has stories in or upcoming in Star 82 Review, Vestal Review, Fourth Genre, and Does It Have Pockets, among others.
Shira!! This is incredible! Love the repetition in this story. And the burned ping pong table as art. 😓