The Last Slice (Alternate Ending)

The car stopped in front of a particularly grumpy house in a square neighborhood. Shrouded in a tree, this house was the one that he had been to once per year, his entire life. Every Thanksgiving, after all of the only slightly older and very fun cousins had left, when he was tired and starting to get hungry again, he had to go to this cranky old house.

The car paused outside of the fence grid and he dutifully unbuckled and jumped out to open the gate. This was a City Neighborhood, and surely-someone-will-try-to-steal-something-from-the-car. It pulled forward but paused again three quarters of the way into the fence to wait for a very large dog. The dog tinkered along slowly, with an aged gait, as one moves that has lived in a certain place for years and has realized that all beings within its fenced territory will wait for it. No sense of urgency.  The car finally eased around the old dog and he closed the gate. He took his time walking slowly to the door, giving the dog a wide berth, in case it was the-biting-kind.

He was shooed inside the front door and he squinted as his eyes adjusted and then teared up with the smell of pipe smoke. The door closed quickly behind him, as if to keep out the fresh air and sunlight at all cost. Awkward hugs and handshakes made the rounds, and coats sloughed off and disappeared into a back room that he had only seen a glimpse of – pale blue paint on the walls. Settling into the uncomfortable sofa between Parents, a slice of fruitcake appeared in his lap – a self-contained Fear Factor Kit – complete with a napkin and fork! The mystery globs of fruit grinned at him from inside a dark brown bread-thick casing. As the ritual proceeded, he pushed it around until his father finished a slice, then they quietly traded plates when the New Wife of the Other Grandfather wasn’t looking at them directly. His father could eat anything, like the small black cat that had snuck behind the recliner and was sitting on a TV Tray, stealing bites of its own slice of fruitcake.

His eyes darted about the room. The wood-paneled walls were completely covered, floor to ceiling, with strange items. A television hung from one corner. It had not been turned off for this visit. A clock that was part of a tree was his favorite to ponder, as it appeared to be in the shape of something. A state, perhaps? After careful deliberation, he once again decided it was just a cross section of a tree stump and was no particular shape. The framed Marine portrait of her-son-that-killed-himself was hidden on the wall between a mix of commemorative plates and trinkets. He stared at him awhile, to see if he could tell anything from the photograph. Nope. The smile looked genuine. A small ceramic tree with lights blinked under the television, and he wondered if that was the actual Christmas Tree. As he had never been at the house on any other day than Thanksgiving, it was possible a real tree existed with lights and decorations and it all happened when he was not there. But he suspected that was not the case.

Trying to distinguish what exactly the plates were commemorating, he still at a low level listened to the conversation that was proceeding without him. Annually, on cue, he was asked A-Question-About-School, which was always the same, or Sports, which he did not play. But this visit took a different turn. He heard the pipe in the corner, this Other Grandfather who-walked-out-on-your-Granny-and-six-children-in-the-sixties, say something that had never been said before.

“I have an Announcement.”

This proclamation was uttered with the gravelly voice and was muffled by the pipe hanging from the bottom lip. Heads turned towards the dark figure in the recliner, interest peaked. The intimidatingly tall Other Grandfather stood up from the recliner in the tiny room. Necks craned from the too-low sofa. Eyes, still blinking from the smoke, looked directly up. The Other Grandfather who had left the very fun Granny with-six-kids-and-no-job-and-no-car-and-not-even-a-driver’s-license looked down at them and said “I had a dream that told me I was going to die tomorrow.” Eyes continued. Blink. Blink.

The New Wife of the Other Grandfather leaned back in a wooden chair, clutching the cigarette close to her mouth, as if it was an oxygen mask that she had to breathe through for life. “He also dreamed that skunks got in the house.” The Other Grandfather sat down abruptly with a whoosh of smoky air and a grunt.

His father's hand landed on his own knee as the suggestion to go-play-outside, and he jumped up from the couch, eager to do so. The Parents had a carefully planned maybe-it's-time-to-consider-a-group-home conversation that he wanted to miss.

There was nothing outside, and it was cold. The trash can sat inside the fence, presumably safe from city thievery. The dog laid in the yard with its eyes open, pointed towards the bush. He sat on the porch and looked towards The City, where he had never been. The buildings were shiny and black and reflective, and he wondered what he looked like to the people inside. How did a black window work, that you could see out of it from only one side? Could they open the windows? A rustling noise from the bush startled him, and he realized how devoid of sound the neighborhood had been before. The dog’s ears perked up and, head cocked, it stared expectantly at the bush.

His fingers holding the latticework, he peered around the side of the porch. The rustling was louder. With one arm blocking his face, in case something jumped out, he pulled the sides of the bush back and winced. But nothing jumped out. The bush was thick and not much light came through to the center, where the noise was. He leaned forward and inside sat two little black kittens. Their eyes were open and they were very fluffy. They looked like two tiny sumo wrestlers in slow motion as one jumped on the other in the leaves. No wonder that cat inside was so hungry. He had a brief vision of the cat chewing up fruitcake and barfing it up to the kittens, and laughed to himself. But birds did that, not cats.

He heard his name called and without thinking, he grabbed one kitten up and put it in the big cargo pocket of his pants. It was small. If he could just make it home, he could pretend like he found it in his own yard and they would have to keep it. He wasn’t worried about it leaving the mother cat – he knew baby kittens could be fed formula with an eye dropper if not big enough to eat real food; his best friend’s family had done it.

He ran inside, and took a big gulp of fresh air right before he was ushered into the door. Coats had come out of the back room and were now going back on. The smoky air was tense, and he supposed that the Conversation about it-could-be-early-onset-dementia had resulted in an offense of some kind. It appeared the second dinner would not take place, and he was glad.
The Other Grandfather puffed the pipe aggressively, and seemed maybe to be glaring at them. He couldn’t quite tell because the eyes were behind big glasses and then suddenly the Other Grandfather pointed and growled, “What is that in his pocket?”

All necks craned, downward this time, and stared at the cargo pocket of his own pants. Nothing happened.

And then it did. The pocket moved, ever so slightly, and a head poked out. He stared at his leg like it was not his own, and he saw that the black fluffy head had a wide streak of white on the top.The alarmingly tall figure of the Other Grandfather leapt to its feet and snatched the kitten, that was maybe not a kitten after all, out of his pants pocket. Shrieking "Skunk!", the figure ran with great strides out of the house, leaving the door wide open.

The furry black and white thing, that in retrospect was most definitely not a kitten, dangled precariously in the long bony fingers. Reaching the fence quickly, the thing was tossed and sailed into the neighbor’s yard. The Other Grandfather turned back towards the house, with a furious face that, as the group in the house stared at it, slowly changed into a shocked face. The bony hand was now clutching at the chest area under the left shirt pocket. The Other Grandfather fell forward, one arm holding the body up off the ground for a moment, then not holding it up at all and with a thump fell all the way forward onto the yard.

His father ran forward and checked for a pulse, but did not find one. The New Wife of the Other Grandfather inhaled air in through the cigarette, leaned towards him and said, “Now, he must have had that dream the day before yesterday.”