all of the hands around the table seem to shout out depression.

that is what i wish. instead, it's more of a cowardlike whimper of age and of sickness. the card game is slower than expected, and what else could come of six adults, all different generations, learning a card game called SPITE AND MALICE.

all of the wrinkles. i stare at my grandfather's fat fingers. tan and freckled. fat. sausages. and the largest dark fingernails. there is my meemaw, his wife- her class ring on one hand and on the other, a ring full of diamonds. is that her wedding ring? i can't remember if she lost her wedding band a long time ago or not to a circumstance involving immature and irresponsible aunts of mine--- this thought soon fades and there is my maternal grandmother's deck of cards... shaking in her arthritis-ridden turnstyle hands. she keeps red paint laquer on the tips. so proud of her hands... and there is the brace she keeps on her wrist. it's falling off. the velcro seems to be withering, like her bones. my mother's hands will be like that soon. i just know. but my mother's hands aren't 85. or 87. who keeps track of age anymore. my grandmother is so old. no--- my mother's hands are approaching 50, and she is scared as fuck that they are just going to fall off on that horrid day. that horrid fiftieth day. they used to play tennis. now, they type doctor's notes and massage her own neck when she is tired and needs a break from her life. my father's hands aren't anywhere. well, they are, but i refuse to take notice. i can't see his hand of cards because in my mind, he's not playing, and he is not sitting next to me, staring at my cards, cheating his way to failure. my hands. dry rims around my shortened fingernails. i am a fountain of youth, surrounded by a table of death. and of life. then i can see tiny wrinkles approaching from my tiny limbs, and even some scars from cat scratches and of cigarette burns.

when i die, i want my hands to look like my grandmother's. she wears a lot of jewelry and the brace will do me good when these bones are rotting to hell. rather drop the facade when you're that old than to drag around pride.

the card game ended when my mother went out with a 10, then a 4 and lastly she played a wild king followed by a measly 5.