"Benjamin, get that damn thing off your head," his older sister Hope scolded.

"Don't use that kind of language," her older sister Joy scolded.

"Don't scold my sister," her younger brother Benjamin scolded.

The object of objection was a scuffed crash helmet the colour of smoker's tooth which Benjamin had found in the nearby dumping grounds, separated from the neighbourhood by a reedy gulch. Benjamin had been warned to avoid the area, but one day while seeking a suitable location for a game of post nuclear holocaust, he laid a plank across the gully as a makeshift bridge and crossed over. It was in fact a dangerous area, he soon realised, coming upon exposed nails, broken glass, jagged edges of metal, and rodents the size of telephone directories. But before evacuating, he happened upon this crash helmet laying upside-down behind a smashed barrel and was intrigued. It had a large dent in the starboard frontal lobe and the interior was stained reddish-brown, but he took it home, washed the grasshoppers out of it, and tried it on. The fit wasn't bad, he was surprised to learn, although perched atop his slender body it made him look like a spindlelegged alien from the planet Billiard. From then on he wore the helmet whenever he hunched over his comic books. Then he would leave it on until forced to remove under immediate order from a parental unit. His mother worried that he would try sleeping in it and injure his neck, so she took to confiscating it every night.

"You look like a lollipop," his sister Hope exclaimed. He stuck his tongue out at her but the gesture was obstructed by the bulk of helmet. Nevertheless he grudgingly removed the offending headgear, cowlick sproinging into place. He placed the helmet on the carpeted floor beside his chair.

The three siblings sat in their respective places at the dinner table. The plates before them were empty, the sterling silverware waited expectantly beside each plates. Two chairs were also conspicuously vacant. The chair at the head of the table where their father always sat, and the one to its immediate right which dutifully supported the petite derriere of their mother. The siblings listened for the usual sound of clatter emanating from behind the swinging kitchen door, but there was only silence.

"I'm hungry," Hope whined.

"What do you suppose is taking them so long?" Joy wondered.

Benjamin shot up all the glasswear on the china hutch with a semiautomatic index finger and made the accompanying explosion noises by vibrating his tongue against the back of his teeth.

"How long have we been waiting here?" Hope asked.

"Three days," Joy replied.

"Do you think they've forgotten us?"

"I don't know."

"I'm hungry," Hope whined. This was punctuated by a borborygmic grumble. "Shut up," she ordered her tummy.

It was Friday. Pot roast night. But there was no familiar aroma of cooking meat and baking potatoes permeating the house. Three days of expectant waiting. And it slowly began to occur to them that they weren't growing any less hungry as time went on.

"What do we do if they don't bring us anything to eat?"

"I don't know. We could always roast Benjamin."

The sisters slowly turned towards their younger brother. He aimed a neuron-frying photon ray at them in retaliation.

"No," Joy finally decided. "He's probably all gristly and would taste horrible."

Hope shot her brother an accusing look. "He would probably taste bad on purpose just to annoy us."

"Besides, mom and dad would have a fit."

"Serve them right," Hope declared, arms crossed defiantly. "For abandoning us."

"Don't be silly. They're grownups. Grownups don't just abandon their kids."

"What about Mrs Pugg?" Benjamin spoke up.

"That's different," Joy replied. "It wasn't her choice to abandon Lenny. She had to be sent away so that she wouldn't hurt anyone. She didn't want to go."

"Maybe that's what happened to mom and dad."

"No, that makes no sense. They were very good parents."

"Maybe they don't love us anymore."

"How could they just not love us anymore? You don't just stop loving someone, do you?"

They pondered this.

"Maybe they're just playing Hide and Seek," Hope suggested.

The siblings exchanged encouraging looks. They rose out of their chairs and began to search. Joy looked in the pantry. Hope glanced under the table. Benjamin peeked in the punchbowl. None of them found the barest trace of parent. With defeated shrugs they resumed their vigil around the dinner table. Benjamin picked up his helmet and clamped it down over his head.

Whiffle, their tortoiseshelled cat, stalked in and silently crossed over to its food dish, displeased to find it empty. She peered up at them through narrowed eyes, rebuking them as poor masters.

"We could eat kitty," Benjamin proposed.

Hope was horrifed. "Don't you dare even think of eating poor little Whiffle."

Benjamin set his photon blaster to broil. "Here kitty, kitty," he taunted, beckoning with a raised finger. Whiffle looked highly unamused by the whole proceedings. She sulked off with her tail in the air.

"I'm scared," Hope whimpered. "What if they're never coming back?"

She thought of her dad in his polyester slacks, seated on the edge of his lawnchair, tossing her high in the air. The verdant lawn, the thatch of hedgery, the length of eavestrough, all whirled around her. The grassy sky and the wispy lawn trading places in weightless rotation. Then gravity tugged her ankle and down she fell, straight into dad's arms, never failing to catch her. She would giggle and he would toss her airbourne again.

Benjamin abruptly sneezed in the key of D minor, letting the air out of her memory.

"I don't think they're coming back," Hope declared glumly, drooping her softboiled eggwhite eyes.

Benjamin adjusted the chinstrap on his helmet and stepped onto the dinner table. He then climbed into the gravy boat and ladled off downstream towards the ocean.