Today’s flash fiction prompt: Include a flashback in your story. I am not the best at flashbacks, but I think this was a good exercise to try.
Time Machine
Hamburgers are time machines. It’s the only explanation that makes sense. I’m sitting on my mother’s couch, surrounded by cousins and siblings while Superbowl highlights play on the tv. Dad brings in a tray of freshly grilled burgers on toasted buns, sets it on the coffee table, and steps back.
Fingers fly out, quick as lightning. Me and cousin Teddy snag the same burger at the same time, but I make off with, I’d say 85% of it. He scowls. I squirt ketchup on the top side of my bun, careful not to stain the paisley fabric of Mom’s beloved couch.
One bite, and I’m five years old. It’s just me, mom and dad, watching the 300 club on yet another paisley couch. One of Dad’s grilled burgers sits on my plate, joined by ridged potato chips and homemade chocolate chip cookies that Mom left a little too long in the oven. I don’t mind, because I like crunchy things.
Pop, that’s my grandpa, rings the bell and lets himself in. He and Dad talk about the Sunday sermon, all the while Pops is hiding pencils in my hair. It’s a game we love to play, but Mom hates it, because even though we take them out, sometimes we miss one or two.
“Got ten in today.” He winks at me. I giggle. Mom clucks at us both.
I blink, and the Superbowl highlights are back. My burger gone, I stare at an empty plate. It’s been ten years since anyone stuck pencils in my hair, and I don’t know, but that last bite is hard to get down.
One painful swallow later, I wipe my eyes and join the conversation around me.
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