Wild Turkey Days Part Two

Wild Turkey

Meanwhile, back at the dinner table, Steve's stepdad made his rounds with the crescent rolls. When he came to me, I just shook my head no and waved him off, acting like I had food in my mouth.  He told Steve to hand him my plate.  I know my eyes were huge with fear. I grabbed the plate and covered it, and said I just could not eat another roll.  He sat down. 

I was eating slowly as I often do, chewing and concentrating on what I was doing.  Before I knew it, I caught a glimpse of something scarlet-colored hitting the table. I looked over, and right between Steve and Gail was a big blob of cranberry sauce.  And then everyone started laughing except me.  I just sat with a stupid but relieved grin on my face.  I didn't get it, they were all laughing, nobody was mad. Steve and Gail were accusing each other of making the mess.  I just sat there.  Waiting.  And then I got the explanation.  Ron, Steve, and Gail were trying to set me up and make me nervous enough to spill something.  The deal wasn't that the stepdad would lose his mind and get mad.  The deal was that in their house, the first person to spill something had to do the dishes, and those three were going to make sure they were not promoted to the dishwasher for the night.  Ha, ha, ha, hilarious guys.

After dinner, I sat in the living room while both Steve and Gail washed, dried, and put away the dishes.  I answered questions about myself, where I had lived, questions about my family, just polite questions.  After the dishes were done, Steve and I left to drive around for a bit and then headed back to Maryland.
He spent more time on the road going back and forth from Virginia to Maryland to Virginia in one night just to get to see me.  That made me feel special, and it was our routine every time we saw each other for 2 years.  That was the first year I had ever been away from my crazy house for a holiday, and I loved it.  And on Christmas, we would be doing it all over again.

The last Thanksgiving that my family was all together was right before my brother joined the Army.  My great Aunt Myrtle, Uncle Jerry, and wife Diane, my mom. Grandmother, my grandfather, was divorced from her.  That was the first Thanksgiving my aunt had been alone; her husband of a million years died the winter before.  She had a pretty advanced position working for Health, Education, and Welfare in DC. She was, I guess, knowledgeable.  However, I thought she was off her rocker.  She was always kind of grouchy and always picking at me.  And, she called me Sharon. When I was younger, I would just try and be kind to her.  As I got older, I started standing my ground, and she didn't like that at all.  She told me I was sassy.  I was proud.  She hated my brother; she just didn't even try to hide that.  In fact, I don't think she liked anyone except my mom, and she was pretty good to her.

We didn't have a TV at that time, so I took my food and went to my room and played records.  Yeah, records.  I could hear all of the loudness downstairs, everyone trying to get in a word over the other person. Everyone in my family talked so loud, my ears would pound even after they left. I called my friend Rita to see what she was doing. Her horrible mother started screaming at her to get off the phone.  She was a really mean mom and abused her daughter verbally and physically just because she could.

It was coming to the end of the day.  I could tell by the way everyone was talking, and I could hear them all dividing up the food.  My aunt and grandfather lived about at least a mile and a half away from us.  Instead of catching the bus back to her place, they would walk all that way. And it was cold.  I didn't know why she didn't just take a cab.  She had the money.

I went downstairs as everyone was packing up.  My aunt always carried a big old shopping bag, no matter where she went.  I could not tell you what was in it; I never knew except on this late afternoon.  As she and my grandfather were getting ready to walk out the door, the bottom of the shopping bag broke.  She didn't know that it had broken.  They walked towards the door, and hamburger buns just started rolling across the floor in every direction.  My aunt and I looked at each other and started laughing.  Laughing so hard that we couldn't even talk.  She started picking up her buns and stuffing them in a, are you ready for it, a spare shopping bag that she had in the broken one.  Why she picked up dirty buns, I don't know.  Why she even had them, I don't know; it was Thanksgiving, not burger day.  But she was scurrying around chasing her buns, cussing at my uncle's wife and me.  Once she had most of them in the bag, she screamed goodbye to my mom.  As she stepped across the threshold, burger buns once again began falling and rolling all over the floor.  This time she kept on trucking, and the buns rolled free.

That woman was so mad at my aunt and me that she didn't speak to us for about  4 years.  She passed right by me on DC's streets by the Executive Office Building one day and never spoke.  I know it was her because she was carrying a big old shopping bag.