The turkey was placed upon the table a full five hours later than the Laurintzes’ invitation had said it would be. Tammy, their daughter, had gotten stuck in traffic on Highway 5 coming up from LA with her new boyfriend. I could understand wanting to wait for their progeny before the seasonal gorging, but because the Laurintzes’ had expected to serve dinner by two o’clock, they decided against hors d’ oeuvres. Nor were we allowed to nibble on the plethora of salads, cakes and pies that aligned the kitchen counters. These “were for dinner,” I overheard Carol Laurintz telling her husband, George. “And besides,” she said, “Tammy will be here any minute now.”
When the dinner was finally served, the ten people now seated around the table were completely ravenous. Mounds and mounds of mashed potatoes, candied yams, dressing, cranberry sauce, asparagus, and turkey were shoveled from each serving dish onto our plates. We were all about to dive in fork-first when Carol dinged her glass with her spoon. With the enthusiastic tone of a first-grade teacher addressing her students, she said, “We have a family tradition we would like to share with you. Let’s all hold hands and go around the table and tell everyone what we are thankful for this Thanksgiving.”
Oh God, I thought, why couldn’t we have just stayed home? By now, I would have eaten and been sound asleep on the couch. My wife grabbed my hand and gave it a hard squeeze as if to warn me. Reluctantly, I reached my free hand over to Old Man Laurintz, who was seated to my left.
“Come on dad. Don’t be a party-pooper,” Carol said to her father-in-law, who was refusing to put down his fork. The old man shook his head, muttered something about his daughter-in-law being a kook, and then grabbed my hand.
Tammy Laurintz, the aforementioned daughter responsible for the turkey famine, went first. Why didn’t she leave earlier? Why couldn’t she come last night? How in the hell could she not have accounted for holiday traffic on a road that’s in a perennial state of traffic? Nineteen-year-olds in love, I sighed. I could only hope that she would make up for her tardiness by being succinct.
She wasn’t. College, her friends, the beaches in Southern Cal, professors, the checkout people at the local Starbucks and, of course, her new “beau”—there was apparently no item too trivial for Tammy to pay homage to.
I gave a long, sad look down at my food. The gravy lake on top of my mashed potatoes was thickening. If only I didn’t have my hands tied up, I thought. While no one was looking I could sneak a piece of turkey to last me through this horrid holiday habit. My stomach growled. A few more stomachs began to growl. Soon we had a barbershop quartet of gastric unrest.
Tammy’s boyfriend was the next victim on the turkey torture rack. Welcome to the family, beau!” Planning on coming back for Christmas?
I looked around the table. Hal had trouble keeping his eyes open. In addition to being starved for five hours there had been little entertainment. The football games were terrible. The commercials weren’t much better—I must have seen that damn Energizer bunny twenty-five times today. The only real entertainment we had was George’s collection of fine scotch. Hal Bauer and George had quite a thirst. Hal now seemed to be keeping time with his head bobs. I bet he was going to catch hell from his wife later. Man am I glad I don’t like scotch!
Speaking of wives, I blame mine for all of this. I was content with staying home, but, since the last of our own kids moved away a couple of years ago, she feels that “we need to connect with others.” This apparently means that on holidays we either have to have guests or become guests ourselves.
The smell of food permeated my nose. What utter torture—to be starving with a huge feast only inches away. If I could just free up one of my hands… Just a single piece of turkey, who would it hurt? Old Man Laurintz won’t say anything; he’s likely to join in on the turkey rebellion. That does it. I’m loosening my grip. I’m going for it…jailbreak!
“Hal,” Hal’s wife tapped him on the shoulder.
“Huh?”
“It’s your turn.” He just blinked his red, bleary eyes at her; “What are you thankful for honey?”
“Oh…Oh yeah…I’m thankful for…” The words sloshed out of his mouth. “I’m thankful for the Energizer Bunny …That little pink bastard just keeps going, and going and going…” He then fell head-first into his mashed potatoes.
I suppose I should feel guilty for picking up my fork, but with the rush of people who went to Hal there wasn’t much assistance I could offer. Besides, I knew Hal was okay. I mean, who hasn’t ended up in mashed potatoes at least once in their life?
Maybe I shouldn’t be so cynical I thought as the now lukewarm turkey and gravy flooded my mouth. As it turns out, I do have something to be thankful for: after this fiasco my wife is sure to welcome having holiday feasts at home.
Damon is an IT Security Professional by day and a storyteller by passion. In his free time, he crafts both fictional and non-fictional narratives. His work has been published in outlets such as Bust Out Stories, The Toastmaster, Careers and the Disabled, Coping Magazine, The Challenge, Dreamers and Half and One.
