Thanksgiving

                                                                       Thanksgiving


      The air was crisp and fresh that morning when I turned into the driveway of Grandma’s house.  I could feel a distinct swell of happiness and satisfaction sweep through my chest as I returned to the place I had known my entire life.  I was eager to return to the warm kitchen filled with familiar, comforting aromas, and the chatter of reunited family.  And, even though I was happy with the life I had created hundreds of miles away, I took great comfort in my return to my roots.  I am not certain why I felt so comfortable, however.  It was not as if I returned as a conquering hero, but I had that kind of feeling, as if my successes had further endeared myself to my family and filled them with pride.  But, it did not take long before I remembered why I left for the city in the first place.
         I pulled up the long gravel drive to the ranch style house stretched across the top of a hill before the woods.  Pebbles rattled and pinged in the wheel wells as the tires ground along.  I parked my Jetta behind a maroon Buick I recognized as my mother’s car.  It occurred to me that I had not seen my Mom or Grandma since last Christmas.  And as it was Thanksgiving, it had almost been nearly a full year since I had seen Them.  A ruffle of shame fluttered through me for that, but I was quickly able to forgive myself for such a prolonged absence as I remembered all of the important work I had accomplished in that time; the ever important work I did for The Corporation.  The bean counting I performed and the rat race I ran through to do it made me an integral component to our department’s continued growth. Yep, I was successful.  I grabbed the bouquet of flowers I bought along the way and walked to the house.  I entered through the garage door without knocking and felt a bit deviant in doing so.  Despite that morsel of self consciousness I knew I would be received by familiar people, in a familiar setting, who did not care if I knocked or announced myself.
         “Hello,” I chimed merrily as I entered the kitchen.
         The scene was just as I expected.  Mom was frantically going through the cupboards while Grandma stood steadfastly before the stove.  The aromas of turkey, stuffing, potatoes, and other traditional foods, filled my nostrils and forced a squirt of saliva from under my tongue.
         “Well, there’s Mouse,” Grandma greeted graciously as She turned from the stove.
         “Happy Thanksgiving Grandma,” I replied and offered the flowers.
         “Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha,” She croaked out hoarse laughter as Her foggy eyes managed to gleam.  I gave Her a gentle hug.  My fingers could feel Her ribs through Her white wool sweater.  She reached up with swollen knuckles and tremulous hands to gently pat my cheeks.   
         “That’s my Mousey,” She greeted in a raspy voice and chuckled.  She took the flowers and put them in a vase.
         “How are you Grandma?” I asked.  I knew that after ninety-three years She was tired, it showed.
         “Busy, busy,” She replied and turned back to the stove.
         “Well, let me know if I can help,” I offered as Mom approached.
         “Hey Mouse,” She greeted with a hug.
         “Hi Mom,” I replied and realized the inevitability of time had caught up with Her as well.  She was not yet frail and delicate, like Grandma.  But, She felt physically smaller and lighter in my arms than I remembered.  In many ways She was starting to resemble a younger version of Grandma.
         She kissed me on the cheek before She pulled back and held my hands.  “Mouse,” She asked, “can you go to the liquor store for me?”
         I hesitated for a moment, as the anticipations I had were crushed. After all, I had only just arrived.  Now there was no time to greet the rest of the family and catch up. There was no time to relax with a cocktail and ease into meaningful conversation.  But there was no way I could refuse Her.
         “Sure,” I conceded with a weak smile.  “Anything I can do to help.  What do You need?”
         “Well, I need more beer, wine, and Old Fashioned and Manhattan fixings.”
         I stood there silently and waited for the rest of the list.  But Mom was quiet and stared back at me.  Her eyes narrowed to slits. 
         “Is something wrong?” Mom finally asked sarcastically.
         “No Mom,” I replied and rolled my eyes.  “Everything is just as I expected.”
         I returned to my car and drove east on the county highway, into the mid-morning sun, toward town.  At the outskirts I pulled into a strip mall with a supermarket, a liquor store, a bowling alley, and a bank. 
         The warmth of bright sun was a stark contrast to the cool, dry November breeze.  I kept my jacket on, but was not certain I needed it.  Inside the liquor store all sorts of specials were going on.  I grabbed a shopping cart and filled it with a case of locally brewed Oktoberfest, a 1.75 liter bottle of Russian Standard vodka, a 1.75 liter bottle of Makers Mark whiskey, a couple bottles of both red and white wines, mixers, and a case of seltzer, garnishes and a bag of ice.  The Bag of Ice didn’t ask for a bag of ice, but I knew She would need one.
         “Hey Mickey,” I heard from the cashier’s counter.  I looked over to see my former girlfriend, Lisa, behind the cash register.  She still wore her blonde hair the same way she did ten years ago, in high school.  She had put on a little weight too, not that she was fat, but she seemed … fuller than before.
         “Hi Lisa,” I returned and smiled as she glanced at me while she rang up the customers before me.  My back relaxed and my chest expanded more deeply with each breath.  I really liked Lisa.  I was not surprised when long stayed emotions for her quickly welled up and a few embers of my passion for her burst forth a small flame.  I was always comfortable around Lisa.  Maybe it was because she was the first girl to ever give me a blow job.  I remember, it was a warm, humid Saturday night in June of ninety-three.  The crickets and the peepers were already chirping in full force.  We were on the couch at her parents’ house watching USA Up All Night.  We clowned the movie until we were able to break through our discreet tensions and finally kissed.  We necked on the couch for what seemed like hours.  Kissing Lisa was a wonderful experience.  She had full lips and a delicate, frisky tongue.  When she popped open my pants I thought she was going to give me a tug job.  Then she stood up and stripped out of her shirt and bra.  Her breasts were full and firm with taut nipples.  For a moment I thought she was going to slip out of her shorts.  But instead, she leaned forward and kissed me deeply before she went down.  I watched her head begin to bob on me.  When she looked up at me with her smiling, mischievous blue eyes, I could not hold back any longer.  I whispered a warning that I was going to cum.  That only caused her head to bob faster.  It did not take long before I burst in her mouth.  Lisa coughed once and finished me off by jerking my cock on her magnificent breasts.
         When the customer ahead of me was finished, Lisa walked deliberately around the counter with her arms in open invitation.  And I returned her gesture warmly.  We held each other tightly for several seconds before she pulled away.
         “You look great,” I said softly and smiled.  “It’s good to see you again.”
         “Thanks Mickey, you too,” she replied as she smiled and cupped my face in her hands.  “So, you back for Thanksgiving?”
         “Yep,” I said as a woman pushed her cart up behind me.
         Lisa’s warm hands left my face and she returned to her station.  “How long are you in town for?” she asked.
         “I’m planning to leave in the morning,” I replied as she rang up my liquor.  I smiled bashfully.  “But, I might stay the weekend.”
         Lisa chuckled and snorted softly as her ears and cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink and her teeth showed.
         “What time are you done with work?” I asked.
         “I get done at three,” she replied as her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink.
         “Well, if you feel like it, you should swing by my grandma’s place for some turkey or dessert,” I offered hopefully.  “I’m sure everyone would be happy to see you again.”
         Lisa tore the receipt from the cash register and wrote on the back before she handed it to me. 
         “I have to go to Pat and Jean’s for a bit,” she informed me.  “But give me a call later.  I’m sure we can get together somewhere.”
         “That’d be great,” I smiled and put the paper in my pocket.  Then I helped her put the paper bags full of booze in my cart. 
         “It’s good to see you again, Mickey,” she grinned with pink cheeks.
         “You too, Lisa,” I smiled.



         
        I arrived back at the house to find more cars parked along the gravel drive.  I grabbed a bag and the ice and made my way to the kitchen.  There I met my brother Dan and my cousin Ellen as they helped Mom and Grandma.
         “Hey Mouse!” cousin Ellen greeted.  She put aside the potatoes she was whipping and gave me a hug.  She was a big girl, Ellen.  She wasn’t fat, really, but she was taller than me and thick.
         “Is this all you got?” Mom squealed.
         “No, I have a case of beer and another bag in the car.”
         “Is that all?” she squealed again.
         “I’ll go get it,” Dan volunteered and rushed out the door.
         I knew he was just using that as an excuse to get out of the kitchen for a few minutes.  But, I didn’t blame him.  I would have left too, but Mom was only getting started.  She took off Her glasses, pinched the bridge of Her nose and shook Her head.  Then She sighed and put Her glasses back on.
         “Your cousin Mary is coming today,” She explained, “and she’s bringing her acting troupe with her.”
         “Well how the hell was I supposed to know that?” I defended.  “Besides, I spent all of the money I had.”
         “Ugh!” Mom grunted and sighed with disgust as She rolled Her eyes before She went to the closet to collect Her purse.  She pulled money from Her wallet and handed it to me.  “Go back to the store,” She instructed, “and get more of everything.  And don’t get all that expensive stuff, get something reasonable.”
         I nodded quietly with a tight lipped smile and started toward the door when Dan entered with the beer and the bag.
         “Where are you going?” he asked as he set the bag of booze on the counter.
         “I have to go back to get more.”
         “I’ll go with you,” Dan volunteered.
         “Me too,” shouted Ellen.  “You two can’t be trusted without adult supervision.”  Then she turned to Mom.  “Is there anything else you want us to pick up?”
         Mom gave Ellen a warm smile and dug back into Her purse.  She handed Ellen some cash.  “Oh, thank you so much for asking, Ellen,” Mom replied.  “We need a fruit salad.  I totally forgot to bring it with everything else that’s going on.”
         “Oh, that’s okay Aunt Fey.  I’m just happy to help out.”
         Mom sighed and smiled at Cousin Ellen before She returned her purse to the closet.
         “Let’s hit it bra,” my brother Dan stated emphatically as he popped me on the shoulder.
         I was disgusted to find myself relieved to be leaving the house again so soon.  Whenever I would come home to visit I would usually feel relieved to leave.  But that was after a full day, not a broken up hour.  Dan and I made our way to the car with Ellen in close pursuit.  Dan got in the back seat, Ellen took shotgun. I started the car and headed back down the drive. 
         Dan leaned forward between the front seats.  “Boy, it sure is great to be back, huh?”
         I did not have to look at him to know the sarcastic smile stretched across his face.
         “Hey, come on now,” Ellen defended.  “Your mom is just trying to work this out so everyone has a good time. “
         “You keep telling yourself that,” I replied softly.
         Dan slid back into his seat behind Ellen.  The rest of the drive was silent, which was fine with me.  It gave me a chance to turn my attention to familiar roads and country side, old friends from my childhood.  It struck me how nothing ever seemed to change along those roads - parcels of corn fields and soy fields separated by parcels of dense woodland, home to deer, foxes, opossums, and others.  In the city things are dynamic, always changing, always recycling, and always growing.  I think that’s why I keep coming “home” for the holidays.  There is true comfort in childhood memories.  I found true solace in the fact that the scenery here remains unchanged and intact year after year.  Still, I had moved on and I could not move back.  It was as if I had outgrown the vast lands, or had been driven out.  But soon those comforting stretches of farmland and forest gave way to houses and eventually the little strip mall.
         I pulled into the parking lot and slowed to a stall before the liquor store.  A burst of adrenaline radiated through me when I realized I would see Lisa again.
        “No, no,” Ellen protested as she violently shook her curly, red hair.
        “What?” I defended.
        “Go to the grocery store,” Ellen pointed to the far end of the strip mall.  “It’s cheaper.”
        “But it won’t have as good of a selection,” I reasoned.
        “Mouse,” she reminded me, “we’re here for your mom.  We don’t need a vast selection.  We need more bang for the buck.”
        “Yeah man,” Dan agreed.  “All we need to get is three or four cases of High Life, a couple boxes of Franzia, and a couple bottles of Seagram’s.”
        “Don’t get Seagram’s,” Ellen insisted.  “That shit’s for virgins.  Get Black Velvet.  Your mom likes Black Velvet.  She always has some in the liquor cabinet.”
        I sighed and continued on.  We slowly made our way to other end of the half full parking lot in front of the grocery store.  Dan and I followed Ellen inside.
        “I’ll get the salad and meet you guys in the liquor department,” she instructed.
        Dan grabbed a shopping cart. It rolled smoothly across the floor.  He pushed it to the side and grabbed another one.  This cart had an uneven wheel in the back which caused the cart to buck rhythmically as he pushed it over to me.
        “What the hell dude?” I asked with a grin.
        He shrugged.  “It just wouldn’t be a proper Thanksgiving shopping adventure without a fucked up cart to make the day all that more memorable”
        “Right, right,” I chuckled as we walked side-by-side to the liquor department with our cart banging out its tinny cadence as we went.
        The liquor department was jumping.  Here it was, a holiday, and there were long lines to the check outs.  I always felt like there was something fundamentally wrong with stores being open on holidays.  Certainly I understood the reasons why they were open.  One reason is because of people who knew the Holiday was coming and failed to adequately prepare.  You know, people like us.  So, our holiday turns into another weekday. 
        “So, how have you been man?” Dan asked.
        A ridiculous question, I thought.  I mean, really, what did he care? I figured if he really did care he would have kept in contact with me.  I gave him a call every now and again, but he never answered, so I left messages just to say hi. 
        “Eh, you know, work, women, the scourges of my life.  How about you?”
        “Yeah, pretty much the same,” he replied.  “You ready for the Packers’ game today?”
        “Dude,” I replied, “watching the Packers trounce the Lions again is one of the few things I look forward to for Thanksgiving.”
        The cart rattled along, and banged out its tinny cadence.
        “Yeah, I know,” Dan agreed.  “Of course, listening Mom talk about our short-comings is always fun too.” 
        “So, then why do we come here every year for Thanksgiving?” I asked hesitantly.
        Dan shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Maybe we just have an underlying desire to make Mom happy and we are willing to put up with just about anything to accomplish that mission, that innate obligation…  Fuck!  I hate Thanksgiving!” he belched out.
        Thanksgiving, historically, has been my favorite holiday.  I have always appreciated the notion behind it, the concept of different people and cultures coming together to share food and thought and soul.  But in my world, the world I am perpetuating, I cannot even get along with my own family.  Fucking family.  The people that I hate yet have to love.  I am not one to think that love is a learned process, but with family, sometimes it actually seems that way.  My chest collapsed as I realized Thanksgiving had always been my least enjoyable holiday.
I did not respond to his outburst.  The truth was that after long moments I had not been able to mount a response worthy of all his profound profanity.  I simply walked along with him and collected cases of cheap beer, boxes of cheap wine and bottles of cut rate liquor that dives would not use for rail drinks.
        We loaded up the cart and went to the check out confident we had procured enough booze to make everyone happy, or at least let them forget about how miserable they were.  We paid and met Ellen at the entrance to the liquor department.  The weight of the booze caused the cart’s off balanced wheel to bang with heavy authority and rattle the bottles. 
      “You all set?” Don asked Ellen as he pushed the cart forward past her.
      “Yep, I sure am,” she said with a proud smile.  She held up a plastic bag containing two quarts of assorted fruit.      “They have this salad bar type thing, so I was able to pick out the fruits I wanted.  They even had dates, so I threw some of those in too.”
      “Dates in fruit salad?” I asked.
      “What’s wrong with that?” she challenged.
      I thought for a moment and shrugged.  “There’s nothing wrong with that.  It just sounds unusual to me.”
      “It may not be common, but your mom loves dates, so I thought they would be good to add,” Ellen stated.
      “Mom loves dates?” I asked incredulously.  “How do you know She loves dates.”
      “I pay attention, Mouse,” she replied with a chuckle.
      I sighed and silently followed Dan to the car.  We had half the cart’s contents packed into the trunk when Dan started back to the store.
      “I’ll be right back,” he shouted over his shoulder.
      I watched him jog through the parking lot to meet and old high school friend of his.  After Ellen and I finished loading the trunk, we got in the car and waited.  We sat in silence.  It was not an uncomfortable silence, but rather peaceful with a hint of subdued anxieties, almost like a calm before a storm.  A couple of minutes later Dan came back to the car and climbed into the back seat.
    “Wassup bra?” I asked.
    “That was Pete,” he explained.  “I haven’t seen him in about a year.  He’s gonna stop over for a bit.”
    I nodded and put the car in gear.




    Back at home I carried a couple cases of beer and followed Ellen into the house.  She set the fruit salad and a box of wine on the counter and walked into the living room.  I stacked the cases of beer on the floor alongside the refrigerator.
    “Mouse!” my step father’s voice boomed behind me.  “Jesus Christ you’re late!  It’s about time you showed up.”
    I knew it made no difference to inform him that I had been making booze runs for the last hour I simply replied, “Happy Thanksgiving, Randy.”
    He muttered something to my back as I walked outside to haul in more libations.  I got back to the car to find Dan talking with his friend Pete.  I remembered how these two were good friends back in high school and whenever I saw them together I could only wonder what they were up to.  Years later, my opinion had not changed.  I greeted them with a pensive smile and token words; you know, the usual stuff, “Hi…  How have you been?  Good to see you again…”  We filled our arms with the magic elixirs that promised to aide us through the day.  And once again we exited the bright, crisp air of late November, so quiet and clean, into the steamy kitchen filled with noise and distraction.
    “Oh!” Mom gasped.  “This fruit salad looks fantastic!”  She paused for a moment and tried to find counter space for our bottles and boxes.  “Who put dates in the salad?” She asked excitedly. 
    I could hear Pete and Dan laughing behind me.
    “Ellen did, Mom.  Remember?  You asked her to get the fruit salad,” I finally replied.
    “Do they have pits?” She asked.
    “I don’t know, Mom,” I replied with a sigh.  “Ellen got the salad.  Why not ask her?” 
    “Oh,” She gruffed.  “You were along too, so I’d thought you’d know.”  Then She pulled a flat date from the salad and bit into it.  “Mmm.  These are so good!”
I pulled a rocks glass from the cupboard and filled it with ice.  “What do You want to drink, Grandma?” I asked as She toiled over a steaming pot.
         “Oh, I’ll just have an Old Fashioned.”
         “How about You, Mom?” I asked
         “I’ll have one too.”
         I poured the ice filled rocks glass full of Vodka, the good Vodka I bought on the first trip to the liquor store, and then topped it off with seltzer.  I took a deep sip before I grabbed a couple more rocks glasses and began to work on their Old Fashioneds.  I had just delivered the cocktails to the cooks when Ellen returned to the kitchen.
         “Hey  Mouse, the game is starting,” she informed me.
         “Okay, I’ll be right there.”
         “And could you please bring me a Manhattan?” Ellen asked in a sing-song voice.
         I smiled.  “You got it.”  I then opened the bottle of good Whiskey for her cocktail.  When finished I picked up my drink and started toward the living room.  As I did the door to the garage opened and my cousin Heather led a group of three other young women and two young men into the kitchen.  They greeted Grandma and Mom as Heather introduced them when the living room exploded with turbulent cheers.  I quickly escaped the awkward greetings and stepped into the living room.
         “What happened?” I asked as I could see the Packers were already deep into Lion’s territory.
         “Williams threw an awesome block on the kick off and Nelson almost broke it for a touchdown,” Ellen shouted, her voice churned with excitement.  I crossed the room in front of step dad and step grandpa and handed Ellen her cocktail.
         “Happy Thanksgiving, grandpa,” I offered.
         “Happy Thanksgiving, Mouse,” he replied with a bold and impatient tone.  “Now, come on, get the hell out of the way,” he instructed as he waved me to the side.
         “Sorry,” I said and quickly stepped out of his line of sight.
         I felt a tap on my shoulder just as the first play from the line of scrimmage began.  I turned to face Mom. 
         “Mouse,” She instructed, “I need you to find Dan and get the tables set up outside.”
         “Outside?”
         “Yeah, it’s actually warm enough this year, and it will give us more room.  You’ll find all of the table clothes and dishes and silverware on the dining table.”
         “Okay,” I complied and took a deep swig of my vodka before I followed Mom back into the kitchen.  The kitchen was still packed with Heather and her friends as they poured drinks and chatted loudly.  “Any idea where Dan is at?” I nearly shouted to Mom.
         By this time Her attention was back to the stove.  “Nope,” She said over Her shoulder.
         Before I got caught up chatting with people I did not know, I checked out the other rooms in the home.  I found the back half of the home to be quite a pleasant change of pace from the rest of the house.  The chatter in the kitchen seemed a distant echo and there was no one about.  The bathroom was empty, so were the bedrooms.  I could not help but notice the commode next to Grandma’s bed.  She and grandpa slept in single beds separated by a nightstand piled with jars of salves and balms.  I never understood why they would sleep in single beds, but I also knew the day may come when I would.  Anyway, the commode was there because Grandma fell and broke Her hip a few months earlier.  She had to spend about a month in a nursing home to get physical therapy.  Christ, She hated that.  She vowed She would never go back to such a place again.  ‘Most people don’t make it out once they’re admitted,’ She said and insists She was lucky.  The therapist wanted Her to have a bedside commode so She is not up walking to the bathroom in the dark.  That was how She fell in the first place.  I sighed deeply.  The aroma of wintergreen penetrated my nose and forced a sour expression across my face as if I were a child who just swallowed medicine.  Then I remembered my task at hand.  Dan was nowhere to be found.
         I returned to the kitchen to find Heather and her group packed in around Mom and Grandma drinking and laughing. 
         “Mousy!” Heather squealed and pushed her way to me.  “’Ow’ve you been love?” she asked in cockney accent.
         “I’m okay,” I replied cautiously, “How ‘bout you?  It sounds like you’ve visited London’s east side.”
         She leaned forward, and in a strained whisper, informed me with her regular voice, “We are in a play this weekend and we all agreed to stay in character whenever we’re out together.”
         “Ah, very clever,” I remarked without a grin or smile.  “I’m sure it’s quite entertaining for everyone you encounter.”
         “Shut up you ass!” she charged and slapped my shoulder.  A few drops of red wine tumbled from the lip of her glass and exploded on the floor.  She burst a short laugh.  “Christ!” she laughed again, “I’m not even drunk yet!”
         I could not help but grin.  Heather tucked a strand of her long, auburn hair behind her ear and chewed her bottom lip.
         “Have you seen Dan?” I asked rather abruptly.
         She gulped down some wine and shook her head.  “He was up here with his friend a little bit ago, but I don’t know where they went,” she returned to the cockney accent.
         “Great, thanks,” I sighed as I started past her.  “I’ll see you later, cheerio!”          
         I started toward the door that led to the garage.  As I walked past the refrigerator I noticed the cases of beer were missing. 
         “Grandma!” I shouted, over the top of the costermongers of London’s East End.  “Do you have any idea where Dan may have gone?”
         She stopped stirring the pot with Her wooden spoon and slowly turned toward me.  As She turned, She pointed the wooden spoon toward me and a thick blob of brown gravy lazily dripped to the floor.  My initial instinct was to rush to clean it, but I resisted that urge and let Her continue.  Her eyes squinted, “You may want to check on him,” She suggested.  “He and his friend took all of the beer downstairs.  They’ve been down there for awhile.”  She said with a knowing wink and turned back toward the stove. 
         “Okay Grandma, I’ll go check the fridge downstairs.”
         I set my cocktail on the counter by the bottles of booze before I snaked my way through the crowd of aspiring thespians, to the basement door.  Honestly, I have no idea why we didn’t leave the beer in a tub filled with ice in the garage.  It would’ve saved folks a lot of time and energy from running up and down the stairs.  Anyway, I opened the door to the basement and crept half way down.  The wooden boards groaned under my feet when my nostrils collected a familiar aroma that promised relaxation and swollen, red eyes.  I slowed my gate, but proceeded.  I was on the third step from the bottom when Dan popped out from the laundry room and stepped on to the landing.
         “Hey man,” he said with a grin and bloodshot eyes, “what’s going on?”
         “Are you guys fucking crazy?” I demanded in a subdued voice.
         “What?” Dan asked.
         I looked at them and hesitated.  “Can I get a piece of that action?”
         “Sorry man,” Pete giggled.  “But we just burned the last of it.”
         “Shit,” I exhaled.  And with that deflated sigh I recognized another disappointment of the day.  “You better take some cover,” I suggested.
         “Are my eyes bad?” Dan asked with a wide grin. 
         “There getting there,” I assured him.  “Grandma may have some Visine in the bathroom.”
         “I’ve got some here,” Pete offered as he pulled a bottle of Clear Eyes from his pocket.  Dan chuckled. 
        “I’m a good stoner,” Pete admitted.
        Dan giggled as he put the drops in his eyes.  “Thanks man,” he said to Pete as he gave him back the bottle.  “That’s really good stuff.”  Dan turned to me, “Is the smell real bad?”
        “Don’t worry about it,” I encouraged.  “Odds are we will be the only ones who come down here.  Besides, you have plausible deniability with Heather’s nut jobs running around the house.”
        Dan and Pete burst forth with sluggish laughter.
      “Where’s the beer?” I asked in a tense and strained voice.
      “It’s in the fridge,” Dan choked out.
      I moved past them into their sweet leaf cloud and took a couple of deep breathes, which forced them to laugh again.  Then I pulled a case of beer from the fridge. 
      “What are you doing?” Dan asked as he stifled his laughter.
      “Grandma wants some beer upstairs.  And you guys have to help me set up the tables outside.”
      “Outside?” Dan exclaimed.  “No way!”
      “Yep, that’s what Mom said,” I stated plainly as I started up the stairs.
      I could hear Dan and Pete follow me up the stairs, their feet softly pounded out an uneven cadence that squeezed squeaks and groans from the aged wood.  I opened the door and returned to the crowded kitchen to find grandpa standing in front of the refrigerator with the door open.  His eyes glazed with a light coating of anger when he saw me holding the beer.
      “Christ, Mouse!  Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.
      “Here now!” Grandma interrupted.  “Don’t yell at Mouse.”
      “Sorry, grandpa,” I said, making certain I was loud enough for Grandma to hear.  “Somebody put all the beer in the refrigerator downstairs.”
      Grandpa’s eyes narrowed at me.  “What idiot did that?”
      I shrugged and tried to keep my face as vacant as possible.
      “Christ,” grandpa mumbled.  He pulled the case from my hands and set it on the floor.  He quickly ripped it open and stocked the refrigerator.  Then he grabbed two beers and weaved through the crowed kitchen back to the game.  I followed a couple of steps behind and made my way back to my vodka soda on the counter.  The glass was where I left it, but someone had placed a strawberry in my cocktail.  I surveyed the room, but no one seemed to be paying attention.  I could not imagine who would drop a strawberry in my drink or why.  I fished the strawberry out and tossed it on the counter.  Then I delicately waved the glass under my nose, only to catch the faintest suggestion of the summer fruit.  I took a quick sip and looked around again.  Still, I had no one’s attention, and the drink was still palatable.  I gulped down the rest and poured myself a new one with fresh ice.  Just as I topped it off with soda I felt a tap on my shoulder.  I turned to see Dan and Pete with beer in hand, grinning like idiots. 
    “Wassup bra?” Dan asked.
    “You’re ready?” I replied.
    “Mm-hmm,” he nodded and gulped his beer.
    “Okay,” I sighed, “let’s go.”
    They followed me into the dining room where we found the table clothes, dishes and silverware neatly stacked on a dining table large enough for only eight.  I set my cocktail on the table and grabbed the table clothes.  We started out the sliding glass door to the expansive back yard that abutted a forest of mixed hardwoods and softwoods all of whom stood barren and naked, having dropped their crisp, sun burned leaves.  The air was unseasonably warm, and the bright, blue sky ushered in only a suggestion of late morning air.  I crossed the brown grass to the two picnic tables and moved to the second one as Dan and Pete began setting the first.
      “Man,” Dan stated emphatically as he set place mats around table, “it is fucking beautiful out!” 
      Pete chuckled, “Yeah, I know.  I don’t remember the last time we got a piece of Indian Summer this late in the fall.”
      Dan belched out a hefty chunk of laughter.  “Indian Summer on Thanksgiving!  That’s just perfect man!”  Then he turned to me.  “Hey man, how many places do we need?”
      I did a mental count.  “Pete, are you staying for dinner?”
      “Yeah, I better,” he giggled.  “I’m getting pretty hungry.”
      Dan laughed softly and a restrained grin crossed my face.
      “Seventeen,” I said with a nod.
      “Oh, come on bra,” Dan exhaled.  “There’s not that many people here.”
      “Not yet,” I concurred.  “But right now there are fifteen of us and Uncle Jim and Aunt Judy will be showing up at some time.”
      “Wow,” Dan muttered as he counted out the places set before he continued.
      I left Dan and Pete to finish setting up and went inside to tell Mom the tables were set.  I returned to the dining table to retrieve my drink along the way.  It was exactly where I left it, but once again, it had a strawberry floating among the ice cubes.  My brow wrinkled with wonder as it had become apparent that someone was fixated with providing me an unwanted garnish, but whom?  And why a strawberry?  At first I thought it could not be Dan or Pete as they were with me.  But, certainly my back was turned long enough for one of them to put the strawberry in my drink.  So, anyone was suspect.  Still, none of it made sense to me.  I sighed as I fished out the strawberry with my fingers.  I then set it neatly on the table so it stood point up.
      The kitchen was still crowded and I was forced to weave my way through a gaggle of poor cockney accents to Mom.
      “We have the tables set,” I informed Her.
      “Thank you, Mouse,” She replied with a twinkle in Her eyes.
      This was always a big day for Mom.  That everything comes off perfectly, especially the meal, was paramount.  But, it never does come off perfectly.  The meals were always fantastic, though, She’ll only talk about what’s “not right” about it.  The sad thing is, or maybe it’s a good thing, She is the only one to recognize it.  I just wish She could relax about it and not give the unachievable perfection so much scrutiny.  Funny that, how She will place so much emphasis on the Thanksgiving day meal, but She let Her varicose veins go until She had a superficial phlebitis and a tiny ulceration.  It wasn’t until the ulcer appeared that She decided to seek treatment.  But, today, if the potatoes do not have enough garlic or the stuffing has too much sage - good God!  The world is going to come to a sickening end!
      “Will you tell everyone in the living room that we are going to be serving in a few minutes?” She demanded more than asked.
      “But it’s not halftime yet,” I said.
      “I don’t care,” She replied.
      “You got it,” I acknowledged and started to set my cocktail on the counter, but at the last moment the fear of another strawberry rushed through me.  I quickly looked around to see who might be watching… but no one seemed to be paying attention to me.  I pursed my lips and carried my cocktail to the living room. 
      “Run!” I heard Ellen scream.  I turned toward the television to see Brandon Jackson, number thirty-two, break a thirty yard gain down the right sideline.  A mixture of cheers and groans erupted when he was finally pushed out of bounds.
    “Sweet!” I blurted.
    “Ah,” step dad groaned and shook his head.  “He should have broke that one.  If he would have cut back inside he would have scored.  The Lions are dangerous.  We can’t let them hang around.”
    “And you know that from your years of playing running back in the NFL,” I mumbled loudly enough for Ellen to hear. She laughed devilishly and shot me a wink.
    “What was that?” step dad asked defensively.
    “Mom says were going to be eating in a few minutes and everyone should start outside,” I informed him. 
    Step dad shook his head and sighed.  “Couldn’t even wait until halftime.”
    “Christ,” step grandpa concurred.
    “Mouse!” Mom shouted from the other room… the thespians all squealed in horror.  “Come take these dishes out to the tables!”
      I set my drink on the counter next to a couple of Heather’s friends and followed Mom’s directions.  Outside, Dan and Pete stood around as they gazed and gossiped.
    “Hey prison buddies,” I interrupted.  “Why don’t you go inside and help Mom out?”
Dan turned and grinned, “Um… because we’re doing stuff out here.”  This retort brought him and Pete to knee-slapping laughter.
    “Look man,” I snapped, “just help Mom and Grandma get all of the food out on the table.  Mom is calling everyone to eat.”
    Their laughter diminished as they followed me inside.  We passed back into the kitchen and I paused for another sip of my cocktail.  Heather’s friends had moved and my glass sat on the counter seemingly as I had left it.  Then, under Mom’s specific direction, we had all of the dishes out on the table and family and friends milled out to seats around the table.  I went back inside to collect my drink.  I sighed in frustration as once again I found a strawberry among the ice cubes.  I picked the fruit out and left it on the counter.  By the time I got back outside the only place available for me was with Heather and her group of cockney accented characters.  It was a real joy to sit among them while they buggered about with their codswallup as dishes of food circled the table.
    Suddenly, a particular pressure began to move through my bowels.  For several long moments I sat silently as I uncomfortably tried to fend off the urge.  But ultimately the pressure was too great and I excused myself from the table.  I returned inside the house with hasty steps, and once out of sight from everyone, I rushed down the hall to find the bathroom door shut.  I stood there for a moment, cheeks clenched, face grimaced, and I wondered if I should knock.  Finally I gently twisted the doorknob to find it locked.  I paced in place for a few seconds then decided to wait in the kitchen.  I tensely entered to find Grandma there for salt and pepper shakers. 
    “Looky here,” She said to me with a hint of disgust.  “Someone left a strawberry on the counter.”  She picked it up and tossed it in the garbage.  “I’ve been finding them here and there all day.  The waste is a real shame.”  Then She turned and silently studied me for a moment.  Obviously, She could see the distress etched across my face.  “Mousey, what’s wrong?” She more demanded than asked.
    “Nothing,” I replied in a short chomp.
    “Oh, come on now.  You can’t lie to me,” She encouraged with a soft smile.
      I sighed and confessed, “Really, it’s nothing.  I just really have to go to the bathroom, but it’s occupied.”
    “Um-hmm, um-hmm,” She replied with a nod.  “I think grandpa’s in there.  He’s been constipated lately, so he may be in there for a bit.”  She leaned toward me and grinned.  “If it gets too bad and you can’t wait any longer, you can use the commode in my bedroom.”
    “What?!”  I was stunned, like She just poked me between the eyes with a bat. 
    “Oh, sure,” She said as She started back outside.  “Just clean it out when the bathroom is open.”
    “Thanks, Grandma,” I replied slowly as the hair on the back of my neck rose taught.  “But I think I’ll be alright.”
    I could not believe what I had just heard.  I mean, it was Her bedside commode She offered, not directions to a public toilet.  How the hell was I to use Her bedside commode?  For the next few long minutes I stood my ground, cheeks clenched tight, while I shifted from side to side as the pressure continued to mount.  Suddenly a bolt of sharp pain flashed through my gut and for a moment I thought my bowels might split.  I quickly looked around me to make certain no one could see as I wiped thick beads of sweat from my forehead.  Secure no eyes were upon me I waddled as quickly as I could to my Grandmother’s bedroom.  I stood at the threshold and peered in at the white piece of durable medical equipment next to the head of her bed.  I gulped audibly as I could not believe I was so desperate to come to this, but another sharp pain quickly encouraged me to proceed.  I took one last glance down the hall before I crossed the threshold into Her room and closed the door behind me.  I wiped beads of sweat from my forehead again as I stealthily crept toward the white seat on stainless steel legs.  At that moment I felt like a child in a watershed crisis, at the event horizon of an experience he knew he should not have.  I stood before the commode and closed my eyes.  Reluctantly I loosened my belt. 
      “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” a man’s voice boomed behind me.
      My heart kicked in my throat and I snapped around to find grandpa at the doorway.  I could instantly feel my ears and cheeks warming red.  “I, uh,” I muttered as I quickly fastened my belt.
      “Oh no,” grandpa growled with disgust as he stood erect and crossed his arms over his chest. 
      “But Grandma…”
      “Get out!” he commanded as he glared at me.
      Without another word I tightened my belt and stepped past him.  As I continued my walk of shame into the hallway I saw Heather and two of her friends enter the bathroom and shut the door behind them.  I stopped dead in my tracks and stared blankly at the door.  I could hear muffled chatter and giggles on the other side.  At that moment I realized I had to leave.  There was simply no way I could stay and endure the ridicule that would follow after grandpa made certain everyone was aware that I attempted to use Grandma’s bedside commode.  With a defeated sigh I continued down the hallway to the kitchen.  As I walked, I noticed the pressure in my gut had vanished.  Without saying good-bye to anyone I grabbed the bottle of vodka from the counter and left through the garage door.  As I walked down the driveway to my car I could hear the low murmur of voices and a couple shots of laughter at my back.  I got into my car and started down the long, sloping driveway.  I turned up the radio, a best of The Jim Rome Show, to drown out any thoughts or memories of the day that might further foul my mood as I drove through the lands of my upbringing.  I felt far more relaxed with every mile I put behind me.
    I followed the highway into town and had to stop at one of the two sets of streetlights. Eventually I pulled through the drive thru of the KFC on the outskirts of town.  I ordered dark meat with original skin and a quart of mashed potatoes with gravy.  Then I drove back out to the highway and followed it another half mile where I pulled off into the parking lot of the Thunderbird Motel.  It was one of those long, ranch style motels with only eight rooms.  I remembered it was a decent place, nothing fancy, but the sheets were clean and the television worked.  The first time I got a room there was my senior year of high school.  I told my folks I was staying at a friend’s.  But instead, I had snagged a six pack from the refrigerator downstairs, I would have taken more but I was concerned my parents might notice, and Lisa and I spent the night there.  It was in room number eight, the room at the end.  That was where she deflowered me.  So, obviously, I have nothing but good memories of this place.  The only regret I had of that night was that I was not a more experienced lover who could have better pleasured her.
    I parked the car in the only space left, the space before room eight, and walked to the office.  I followed the brown stain across light brown carpet to the desk.  The room smelled like cotton candy, cigarettes and coffee.  The television showed the Packers’ game, but there was no one behind the counter.  I tapped out a resonating chime from the bell on the counter.  A few seconds later a woman, probably in her late twenties or early thirties, full and plump, approached the opposite side of the desk.  She had brown, curly hair, and her blue eyes were dim and vacant.
    “Sorry to bother you,” I smiled, “but I was wondering if you had any vacancies.”
    “Yep,” she replied lazily.  “You got lucky.  This is the last one.”
    She pulled the key for room number eight and slapped it on the counter.
    I hesitated a moment as a flood of memories poured back from that night.  “Perfect,” I replied and pulled the plastic from my wallet. 
    She ran the card.  I signed the paper and grabbed the key.  It was clean and simple - no questions, no hoops, no bullshit.  I walked to the end of the motel and stopped at my car to grab the chicken and vodka.  Inside the carpet was different than the stained, dusty yellow carpet I remembered, which was a good thing.  The carpet was light brown Berber, like the lobby.  It was a standard room with two queen sized beds, a dresser, and a television mounted to the wall.  I stood at the entrance and grinned before I entered the room and shut the door behind me.  Only the ambient light from the window illuminated the room.  I put the chicken on the night stand and poured myself a half glass of vodka.  I turned on the television and found the Packers game.  As usual, they were handing it to Detroit.  I lay back on the bed in front of the television sipped my drink and grinned with satisfaction.  Then I pulled out my cell phone and looked at the time – 1430.  I pulled the paper with Lisa’s phone number from my pocket.  I stared at the loopy writing for a minute.  I dialed the number.  It rang three times before she answered.
    “Hello?”
    “Hi Lisa, its Mick,” I said softly.
    “Hey, what’s up?”
    I could hear the beep of the scanner in the background as she rang up.  “I just wanted to let you know my plans have changed.”
    “Oh?” she asked in a slightly strained voice, “How so?”
    “Well, things didn’t work out with the family, surprise, surprise.  So, I got a room at the Thunderbird – room eight."
    “Shut up!” she gasped.
    “No, really,” I said earnestly, “I’ve got some food, not really traditional Thanksgiving fair, and a bottle of Russian Standard.  I’m not trying to proposition you; I just wanted to let you know I would like to see you again and that I’m not at Grandma’s.”
    “That’s cool,” she replied, again with a strained voice.  “Look, I have to go.  I’ll call you later.”
    “Okay,” I replied and she terminated the call.
    I took another sip of my cocktail and then felt an all too familiar pressure in my gut.  I calmly and deliberately sat up.  I got off the bed and casually walked to the bathroom to take care of some unfinished business.