I debated putting up my Thanksgiving story so early but next week, Friday, Thanksgiving is over.  So, I decided to post it early rather than late.  Enjoy.

Thanksgiving In The City

It was raining.  Day was blotted out by a cold drizzle falling out of an overcast sky.  At eight in the morning I stood at my apartment’s living room window looking at the street below.  My hot tea slightly fogged it but not enough to hide the gloom of the day or the sheer sadness of naked trees, trunks black with wet.

There was no going home for me despite the Thanksgiving Day holiday.  My new job didn’t pay enough for any such luxury even if they’d let me take Friday off.  I sighed into my cup, sending up another fog onto the glass.

I went to my tiny kitchen and sat at the tiny table.  I had two chairs but so far, no one had ever sat in the second one.  I made cold cereal, eating the boring breakfast with a second cup of tea.  I washed the dishes and in a fit of dogged determination, took a package of two chicken thighs out of the freezer, Thanksgiving dinner for one.  It seemed kind of sad.

I turned on the TV, the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade was on.  All of those people – laughing, pointing, hoisting their kids up for a better view.  It made my little apartment feel even smaller.  I had to get out.  I grabbed my wool pea coat and the crocheted hat and mittens my mom had made for me and charged out of the door.

It was still overcast, the drizzle had changed to mist.  I hadn’t explored much of my neighborhood; I was usually at work.  It was an old neighborhood, streets lined with maples and oaks.  My apartment was one of four in an old, converted, single family house.  It felt good to be out in the damp air.  I started to relax, looking at the different houses.  Victorians are my favorite, even more so if they’re still a single family home.

I walked up and down the streets, enjoying myself despite the occasional forlorn brown leaf hanging by itself in late November.  I passed into an area with a neighborhood Methodist Church.  Lots of cars were parked along the block on both sides of the street.  A woman was coming out of a basement door with a stack of take out boxes.

“Can you give me a hand?  I forgot I had to open my car door,” she laughed.

I took the stack of boxes while she opened up the car.  She took them back five at a time and put them in the front seat of the car.

“Thanks,” she beamed at me as she straightened up.  “Would you mind giving me a hand with rest?”

I was a little surprised to be honest, but looking at her, standing there beaming at me, I couldn’t say no.  “Sure, why not.”

I followed her into the basement.  It was hot and humid, bright and bustling; full of the smell of Thanksgiving being cooked up.  It was organized chaos.

“This way,” she grinned over her shoulder at me.  “I’m Carol; it’s so nice of you to give me a hand.”

“No problem Carol.  I was just out walking.  I’m Jean.”

“Nice to meet you Jean,” she darted around two teenagers setting tables in the community hall we were walking through.

At the kitchen, Carol picked up five more already prepared boxes and handed them to me, then picked up eight more to carry herself.  She led us back through the dining room.  Near the door, a guy in an orange pullover sweater, giant turkey embroidered on the front, stopped us.

“Carol; another trip out?”

“Yes Pastor, just a few more deliveries.  Oh, by the way, this is Jean.  I shanghaied her out on the sidewalk to help me bring more dinners out to my car.”  She grinned at me.

I nodded to the Pastor, my hands full of Styrofoam boxes.  “Hello Pastor.  I’m happy to lend a hand.”

“Thank you very much,” he smiled.  “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“No Pastor.  I’m new in town.  I was just out exploring the neighborhood.”

“Well, thanks for helping out.  Please come back inside when Carol lets you escape.  I can introduce you around.”

I just nodded.  I didn’t want to commit myself to anything even though I had felt at home as soon as we had walked through the door.  We took the boxes out and Carol loaded them into the backseat.  “Thank you again Jean.”  She closed the car door and looked at me.  “He was serious you know.”  She nodded toward the community hall door.

“Go in, make yourself at home.  We could use the extra pair of hands.  Besides a couple of hundred meals delivered to shut-ins, we’ll be serving about 500 meals in the hall.”  She paused, “It’s up to you.”  She smiled at me, went to the driver’s side and got in.  I saw her wave as she pulled away from the curb.

I gave a small wave then put my hands back in my pockets but I didn’t move.  I watched her stop at the corner; then make a left turn.  I sighed, taking in a big, damp breath full of the smell of wet leaves and roast turkey.  It was quiet out here, cold and dreary.  I could go back to my apartment, watch TV, eat chicken by myself.  Or, I could make myself useful, make others happy; be with other people.

##

At six o’clock I called mom.

“Hi mom,” I could hear the rest of the family in the background.  It sounded like a spirited game of Monopoly was in progress.

“Yeah mom, I helped out at the local Methodist Church dishing up Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Yes,” I laughed, “I had all the dinner I could hold.”

“Yes mom, I met a lot of people.”

“I might go back on Sunday, I’ll see.”

“OK mom.  Yeah, I had a good day.  Love you too.  Bye.”

 

The End

992 Words

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