Inkling | rejected & unpublished short stories

Salt and Pepper

            "Can you pass me the salt?" I said in a normal tone.

The whole table was arguing over something. Black or white, square or circle, carpeted or tiles. The girl at the edge of the table stood up and started talking while her hands were moving, illustrating her point. The boy across me was not listening. He was talking fast, taking up the speed of the bullet train.

I raised my voice by one notch, "Excuse me, can you pass me the salt?"

I pointed at the small glass bottle four seats away from me but no one was looking. The round table was surrounded by people who think they are right. Their voice fluctuated from high to low but the frequency stayed the same tall pitch. My eyes skated around the table and scrutinized the blue blazers they all wear.

"Can I please have the—"

I was cut off immediately by a person enthusiastically interrupting everyone in the room. Their attention span only lasted a few seconds before the room started bustling again. I blew through my mouth and caged my head in my own fingers, frustrated. I stared at the fries on my plate, untouched and unsalted. How could I possibly eat with no salt in my fries? It was outrageous. Unacceptable. Absurd.

The girl beside me opened her mouth to counter an argument but was instantly cut off by a person from the other side. An idea flicked in my head. I extended my fingers and let my fingertips brush the side of my neighbour's elbow on the table.

"Can you pass me the salt?" I whispered. She nodded and tapped the shoulder of the boy next to her, whispered the same thing. The request went all around the table faster than a counter argument the speaker speaking at the top of his lungs. In two minutes, I got my salt and I was happily peppering them on my fries. A girl was going off about the symbolism of circle relating to teamwork and unity compared to the angles of a square. I was grinning at my salted food, knowing that my legitimacy of teamwork did not rely on loud voices but strategy instead.

Volume of the voice had never affected the genuineness of one's argument. The louder you speak does not mean the more you get heard.

"Can you pass me the pepper now?" I whispered and smiled smugly as my request, slower in volume but louder in domino effect, spread across the table and I cracked the secret of being heard.