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Adventures In Living With The Mythical |
| This was the first time I've ever felt like a holiday was needed and welcomed. Most people have thanksgiving filled with traditional foods like turkey and that cranberry gelatin stuff that comes from a can which everyone for some reason calls "sauce". It's a warm house filled with familiar bodies and scents. Warm hugs, a parade on television no one is really watching or a football game that people are watching. And of course, the traditional drama fest filled with political and social discourse, which leads to shouting, which sometimes leads to front yard fisticuffs. Our thanksgivings at the house have never been like that, thankfully. It's Mostly good food, discussions of what everyone is doing, and lots and lots of teasing. You can tell the health of a family, through it's jokes. Jovial attitudes and teasing means your family is good and healthy. If there's no teasing, no jokes nor any kidding, if you have angry shouts instead of love, then perhaps there's something you need to address. This year, Crash stayed human throughout most of it. Though, no fault of his own, he ended up having to shift to his night uniform and run out the door at about three in the morning. Sometimes horror shows don't take the holidays off, even if you wished them to. He cooked the turkey and the ham. And the pumpkin pies. And well, almost everything, really. Zack did his fair share of cooking as well: stuffing, reheating rolls and making gravy. Kris did his famous mac and cheese. Among all of this was a green bean casserole, a couple of other vegetables as well that currently slips my mind. We even had a bit of Cajun turkey, thanks to Elouise who brought over a fireball of pain cooked down to turkey form. This was started thanks to a bet that Elouise and Crash had going. I wasn't the only one Crash had been talking to at night. Elouise had taken to doing some nightly hunts with him as well, just to talk to him a bit and see what was going on. The subject of cooking had come up during one of these talks, and how he as a werewolf, could take just about anything. Of course, Elouise said, "well, not anything. Bet I could whip up something you couldn't handle." And somewhere between running through trees and running down deer or suspects he said, "My fuzzy butt can handle anything you put in front of me, you over grown handbag." Or something like that. I maybe embellishing a little bit. Their fault for not giving me the full story. So, when it came close to time to eat, Elouise stopped by with a 'real Cajun bird' she said. We wouldn't touch it. The turkey meat was a faint shade of reddish orange from the spices and peppers that it had been cooked with. It was injected with a special Cajun sauce, marinated in a different kind of sauce, and then basted with another kind of sauce as it cooked. I don't know all of the ingredients, but she later admitted that the peppers she used included names like 'Reaper', 'X', and 'Scorpion'. Just the scent of the plate made my nose run. She was kind enough to bring enough for everyone. Crash was the only one brave enough to try it. Zack literally covered his mouth and shook his head with an audible "Mmm MMm," when she offered. Crash called us all wimps and piled two big pieces on his plate. We watched with anticipation as he brought the first bite to his mouth. He smelled it and smiled, "You almost got it hot enough." Then took a bite. His face grew cartoon red. I swear smoke was coming out of his ears. He yelped in a high pitch that almost sounded like a whine and raced towards the kitchen sink. For five minutes he was spitting water on his face, rinsing his lips off and mouth out, and occasionally, rinsing his mouth out with milk. When he finally came back in, he said one word: "Uncle!" Elouise smiled and said, "wimp", then took the plate and started eating it. I wouldn't want to be her O-ring today, is all I'm going to say. Yeouch! This meal had something that we didn't have for a while. Something more was present at that table and ate with us. Something which felt it had been missing in the past several weeks. There was no polite smiles, no tiny talk for the big plates. Just genuine jokes, memories, and hugs all around had finally come to replace ignored bitterness and regret. It was a good meal shared with good friends that had grown closer than friends in some ways. We had a long time ago stopped being mere people who shared rent and bills in order to survive. We had become something more: a type of family. It wasn't the traditional family by any means, but it was family none the less. The people who sat around that table with me had grown to be more like siblings than distant friends. More like relatives than basic house mates. More like a bond that's needed by us all to get us through the toughest times. Though we had been pushed, pulled, hunted, attacked, cursed. We had been struck and insulted. We had been kidnapped. The past year shown us one thing: no matter how strained, how angry we may get, how small and insignificant we may feel at times, we're still more than a basic family. We're still a pack. And that is still more than anyone of us could ever ask for. |
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