Plates that don't match

Each plate was different. What was the point? Not so much is anything the point to anyone that's not interested in getting there. What did the uneven and abnormal shaped plates say about the home, the people gathering there, and the time that was already slipping away? Gine and Malley were on the porch, trying to keep the lightning bugs from escaping their jars all at once. The Argentinian horizon catching the sun like a head in need of rest. Rejoining the comfort of this familiar tradition from bright to dark. Dinner was nearly ready and the table was set with plates of every shape, color and size. At one seat at the table, was a long plate, one that looked like a Barricuda fish without the menacing snarl. Another plate was thick-like, probably shaped by a middle school pottery class student, this was the plate that was pressed by a childs untrained and dainty hands. It was dark murmering purple hue and sat three quarter inches above the top of the table. Next to the place setting was a circle plate that had a chip disrupting the perfect circle that it once was. Glad to be useful, glad to be loved like all the other plates. Chip or no chip, this plate would stand tall if that was a thing plates could do. Across the table from this plate was a big bowl of salad with heirloom tomatoes, fresh arugalah, parsimmons and pecans. A salad that requires no dressing. Beyond the salad was a large wide bowl of rice, seasoned with cummin and smoked paprika, this rice being the most traditional aspect of this family dinner that would go by before it felt like it had begun. Abuelita was in the kitchen, preparing the last garnishes for the bowl of beans. The plantains had been creating the ticklish aroma of sweet caramalized fruit making the wood's creaks and cracks stand out with aged splendor. Most admirable framing. Gine held onto one of the beams and felt her heart in her hand, holding the strong wooden structure, providing the setting for a memory that would fade and only be truly felt again when the sweet smell of plantains would find their occasional way back to Gine's mind. Malley was whining, she was hungry and went to the kitchen to score a few tortillas. Abuelita was finishing the tortilla's last, making sure they were the freshest possible. These tortilla's had been handed down lovingly by her abuelita and her abuelita before her. She handed a steaming hot thin and somehow crispy tortilla from the *tortilla holder, and handed it to Malley. Malley took a big adorable bite, closing her eyes and feeling the best life gets before Gine whipped in and ripped off half the tortilla. "Hey." Abuelita lowered down a bowl of salsa con colour that had summer sweet corn, simmered red onions, tomatoes and few other unknowable spices and ingredients. The food tasted the best here, better than anywhere else there is. Abuelita said, "Ok Nina's. Esta tiempo". She handed the two girls serving heat pads she had woven and had them carry in the hot salsa and the pescado tray, while Abuelita carried the prized tortilla's. They placed the food on the table, next to the arrangement of plates, everyone had found themself a seat, with the plate that they liked the most. It was a simple task and everyone gravitated toward either the deep gradient blue plate that looked like the ocean, or the green mishappen plate, or the place setting that specifically had three small plates equalling the size of one large plate. Abuelita sat at the last available seat, happiest knowing any plate of hers was her favorite. Each one, a different story, belonging to another moment of time that mattered most. When her daughter Lillian had made her the purple plate in middle school for mother's day, or when she had travelled to Panama and made love to a fisherman named Ramos who gave her three small plates of his, to remember him. Remember him she did, often. Or the mishappen green plate that was not a plate but a scale of roofing of her childhood home. Or the long barricuda shaped plate that was a gift she was given at her first wedding by her mother in law, a woman she never agreed with, but one whom she grew to admire. The plate kicked off the evolution of love, or the escalation of love. All the plates, surrounding the bounty of food provided by Abuelita, surrounded by the people that loved each other affectionately and passionately, fueding when time to fued, or laugh hardest when time to laugh hardest, or cry effortlessly inside a hug. These were the people life had given to one another, and everyone felt grateful smelling the aromas, gazing at one another, the food before them, their plates like doors to stories and traditions and other meals once eaten. Washed and more ready than ever, the chipped plate laid there, waiting to be served.