Can you tell a tale in under 1,000 words? Three writers accept the challenge

Cookout

Rachel Newton

I

swipe a hot dog while no one’s looking.

“No you don’t!” Ma taps the back of my hand with oily tongs. “Those are for the kids.”

I grin at her while tucking it into a bun and slathering ketchup all over it.

“I’m your kid. When are you gonna sit down, Ma? The men are on the last burgers now.”

She promises to come soon (which means only after everyone else is happily full), so I pad back to my chair and tackle my hot dog.

“So cool everyone could make it!” Chaya’s digging into a bowl of salad. Well, good for her.

I close my eyes and mm-hmm, partially to Chaya but mostly because the crunch of char and the tang of garlic against the soft, soft white bun; this is what summer tastes like—

“Shosh!” Someone’s elbow knocks mine and my eyes pop open.

“Adina, shhh. I’m eating,” I say with my mouth full because it’s only my baby sister, and soon the kids are going to come running around the side of the house, ravenous after kicking a ball around with Ta.

“Everyone here?”

I nod and swallow. “All here.”

Chaya looks around — the five men sweating and laughing over at the grill, Ma fussing over plates and drinks, Adina and Miriam and Esty and me….

“Where are Eli and Sarah?”

/For want of a nail the shoe was lost/

No one told Eli about the family barbecue.

We have no clue how it happened, words going round and round — but I said you should text him, no, Chaya was going to talk to Sarah anyway about babysitters, Ta said he thinks he told Eli before Shabbos, we didn’t finalize on the family chat? — our excuses like balloons, air leaking out of them as we look at each other and know it’s too late.

The flavors on my tongue forgotten; all I can taste is ash.

Eli and Sarah. Of all of us, why them?