Gratitude

by P. S. Power

  Gratitude:

  A Thanksgiving

  Story

  P.S. Power

  Orange Cat Publishing

  Chapter one

  Allison

  “This is so stupid.” Allison rumbled from the back seat, as if her words would be listened to. “I get it, Lucas gets it. We all understand the underlying message. You don’t have to ruin the holiday each year like this. We’re thankful already.”

  Her plain brown hair was put back rather primly for a sixteen year old girl, and she wasn’t wearing much by way of make-up. Her clothing was… looking down at it she decided that it was a lot closer to blending into the food kitchen they were going to than what anyone else with her would be wearing. Her rattiest jeans, oldest tennis shoes and a t-shirt, with her warm blue jacket pulled over it. It was the only way to keep bums from hitting on her.

  Sorry, she thought, glaring at the back of her mother’s head, homeless men. That came with an expression that was a good bit snottier than the day really deserved, but she really didn’t want to be there at the moment. Other people got to have fun on holidays, didn’t they? She was going off to be a temporary slave. Again.

  This was pretty much the start of the annual argument about their family’s Thanksgiving Day tradition. In a moment her mother would stiffen, and glare back at her from the passenger’s seat, and her father would clear his throat, getting ready to lecture her about the value of giving back to the less fortunate. It wasn’t that he was wrong, of course they should help others and give back to the community. It was just that the people there smelled bad. They weren’t friendly for the most part, and half of them were insane.

  As in, talking to their pet rabbit, that wasn’t really there, nut-bags. Totally gone upstairs.

  This year she had a different take on things though, an argument that actually might hold some merit with her lawyer father. It was a carefully planned and crafted thing, meant to hit him right in the logic, while pushing his fatherly instincts into overdrive. That was the plan, if she could pull it off. It really wasn’t likely that she could, but you didn’t win by not trying.

  “I don’t really feel safe there. It isn’t the fault of the homeless people, but a lot of them have real problems, and one of these years we’re going to end up walking into a situation we don’t want to be in. It would be safer to stay at home, and just cook a turkey. That would make me feel better too. Safer.” She meant it and that part, the feeling that came from deep within her, rang out into the silence as they pulled out of the driveway, backing up onto the nearly empty street.

  That tiny slice of quiet was devoured faster than the pumpkin pie would be later. Everyone loved free pie, didn’t they?

  It was Lucas, her younger brother, that ended the quiet respite, making a face at her. It was a bit strange though, almost grown up, as ridiculous as that sounded, given the makeup he had on at the moment.

  “Or we could save a turkey, and just have a Soymondo bird. You know I don’t eat meat.”

  Allison let her eyes go up, looking at the ceiling for a bit as if some giant bearded father figure in the sky would give her strength, before shifting slightly to actually look at Lucas, who sat there dressed up for the occasion. Or, really, dressed down.

  Not like their parents, who had come as Mr. And Mrs. Pilgrim, all in black with buckled shoes and a strange black hat for her father. No, that would have been ridiculous, and embarrassing enough. Anyone could have gone as a young… She fought for a pilgrim sounding name, but the only thing she could come up with was John Smith. It wasn’t like she’d studied up for the day or anything. Still, Lucas probably had. In his own, warped and sometimes idiotic fashion.

  Her little fourteen year old brother, who was more than old enough to get the implications of what he was doing, had elected to dress up as an Indian Chief. He even had war paint on, and a full headdress that had been purchased the year before at a Halloween supply shop. It didn’t go with his thick glasses to be totally candid, but she didn’t mention it. The fringed fake leather vest was enough for him to feel awkward about, without too much help from her. She wasn’t evil after all. Just a little uncomfortable around street people.

  Forcing a smile she tried to keep the snotty reply she felt out of her voice. You won with reason, and in a case like this, as the last six years had shown her, you didn’t really win at all. They were going to serve dinners to the homeless, and that was that. It always was, really. The harder she argued against it, the more her parents wanted her to go and be immersed in the work of the day. It wasn’t like she was lazy, but they didn’t seem to get that yet. Sixteen and a half years hadn’t been enough to let them see that about her? Most people would have caught a glimmer of that already.

  “Save a turkey, but cultural sensitivity be damned? You do get that what you’re wearing is a giant insult to every Native American in the country, right? You’re going to make them cry, if they see you.”

  From the front her dad actually laughed, and didn’t lecture her at all. So far the day was going differently than the last few years. They weren’t stopping however, which wasn’t lost on her. She glanced at the back of his head as her father spoke, his voice filled with good natured humor.

  “Like the Indian from the old littering commercial?”

  Lucas held up the little rubber tomahawk that went with his insulting ensemble and grinned, which was what he did when he was trying to seem clever. It didn’t work because she knew him too well, and at the moment the expression made him seem just a little drunk. Like one of those boys from a frat house movie that was about to say something stupid.

  He was a little better than that, but not much.

  “I’m protesting the theft of the Native’s lands from them, by the white demons that came and took without asking. Abusing their good will and aid, the white man came and stole it all, leaving them with nothing.”

  Except casinos. Allison didn’t say that out loud, since it was rude, and a bit racist. Once again her little activist brother was doing the wrong thing for the right reasons. It was a hobby of his, making a scene and trying to get attention for one cause or another. Shifting in the seat, she started to feel a bit uncomfortable. This wasn’t the old soup kitchen she was used to, which wasn’t that far away from where they lived, about ten miles. No, this year they were headed into the next town over, which had been hit by the depression really hard.

  Because making her look at people that were barely making it was really going to leave her feeling grateful? Thankful for all she had and what, by extension, they didn’t? That really didn’t seem like that great of a message.

  The thing there, she knew, was that it really did leave her feeling grateful for all she had. In a depressing and holiday ruining way, she always went home feeling that her life wasn’t that bad. She had a good house, and pretty much anything she wanted. She even had a car, sitting in the garage, which, while not new, was better than what almost anyone else at school drove. She’d gotten it as a present on her sixteenth birthday. Most of her friends just got iPods.

  Her family wasn’t even that bad. Her father was a lawyer, true, but he did contract law and wasn’t an ambulance chaser or anything too embarrassing. Her mother was a surgeon, and worked a lot, but tried to be around when she could. Even her brother was only annoying, not an evil jerk, or some kind of perv. Sure, they ended up eating tofu three nights a week and she had to argue to be allowed cheese, since everyone knew that the dairy industry led to the veal industry, which was monstrously cruel. So they had almond milk instead of the real stuff, and if she came home smelling of steak he’d shake his head at her soulfully.

  It wasn’t that bad, really, until they ruined it by doing things like this.

  Worse, they dressed up for it.

  T
hat not only left her feeling guilty for all the nice things she had, but with a deep and ever increasing sense of embarrassment. It was tacky, and with Lucas waving his little fake ax around all day, someone was bound to be insulted. That might not go over well at all.

  People that didn’t go to the places where homeless people were just didn’t really understand it. They thought they did, watching from the safety of their living rooms, seeing people who looked unclean and seemed liked they smelled. These people lived in every cop drama and most of the sitcoms at one point or another, and of course, the occasional lifetime special. Those were where people thought they became experts. Noting the man that was quietly talking to himself off to the side of the screen, or the slow person in the background that was being a little quirky and odd. It made them feel wise and ready for anything.

  It was different in real life. For one thing, they were real people. That meant they didn’t always play by nicely scripted rules all the time. She’d seen some things that had grossed her out, more than once too. Like the year before when a woman with weeping sores dripped on the other side of the counter. It was enough that she’d nearly thrown up. Her mom had helped to get her into a hospital, and felt self-righteous about it, no doubt. Allison couldn’t help her though. She couldn’t really help any of them. Slopping a bit of food on a plate once a year was no more than a token, and she didn’t feel inclined to spend a lot more of her time with people like that.

  They were there because they had problems to begin with, as often as not. You generally didn’t end up on the street if you were a mentally healthy, well put together person. Drunks, drug addicts and the insane were the ones that mainly lived like that. This year might be different, due to the economic downturn, but she didn’t know that for certain. For all she knew no one would show up at all. Or maybe just clowns. She hated clowns.

  It was her mom’s fault that she thought of that last one, dressed like she was.

  In the front seat her mother fixed her make-up in the visor mirror. She was touching up her lipstick as they hit a pot hole, but as always it worked out for her perfectly and she pulled the color away from her skin almost as if she’d known to do it. That was just how she always was. Ready all the time, steady and perfect. Always. It was horribly annoying. Allison felt a thin line of that very feeling creeping up from the pit of her stomach, tickling its way into her throat.

  She didn’t expect perfection of anyone else though, except her daughter.

  Why that was Ali didn’t know. She’d never done anything to make the woman think that highly of her, had she? She tried to remember a time when she’d saved orphans from a burning building or done the family’s taxes perfectly without being asked, but kept drawing a blank. Even without any reason that could be thought of, it really seemed to be there. Her mother expected great things of her. If so it was a mistake, because she paid for that ideal now, every single day. In disappointment. She was smart, so it really seemed like she should know better, didn’t it?

  “Allison, I know that you don’t see the value in this, but it’s our family tradition, can’t you at least be nice about it? No one is going to be a problem. They’re just people, like you and me. Besides, I’m not that certain you really feel the holiday spirit at all this year. Maybe this will help?”

  She blinked and shut down the nasty retort that wanted to pop out. It was a good one too, about how witches, like her mother, probably had spells for that kind of thing. She really was being nice though, and for that to have been missed so completely was kind of annoying. What did she have to do to make her kind and gentle nature clear? Walk in and French kiss a bum?

  That was a bit rough of her to think, so she waited a bit before answering. That normally worked to keep her sounding friendly. More or less.

  In this case less.

  “What is the holiday spirit of Thanksgiving anyway? Being thankful? How does rubbing in our good fortune help anyone else feel that? That seems a lot more like bragging than anything. Really, how are any of us supposed to feel it at all? We have our lives all the time, and can think about how lucky we are, but…” She stopped as half a frown became visible in the mirror. Allison sighed. “I know, you don’t want to be questioned on things like this. There is no real answer though, I mean, this entire holiday was just made up by some old woman that wanted…”

  No one knew what her real goal was. Something about family and being thankful, but other than that, what had she been thinking? Ali was almost certain that she’d really just wanted to create a legacy for herself. It had worked, except for the part where even people that knew the story always seemed to forget her name.

  Lucas sat back a bit, his flowing headdress pulled to the side, so he wouldn’t crush the feathers. It made him look like he had a head of nice and rather flowing brightly dyed hair, just for a second. Not that he was girly. It was just what it looked like. He had a big old head of cheerleader hair. That was all. She held her tongue, and once again her hard work went unrewarded. No one ever noticed what you didn’t do. Not at all.

  “That’s true. I was reading up on it the other day. The whole pilgrim thing was tacked on later, did you know that? We could have a day to be thankful and watch football, while doing our civic duty to promote obesity without that part at all. It isn’t Founders Day. Not that the pilgrims were our founders at all. It’s all just a crock of shi-”

  “Language.” His father spoke with a more academic tone than Allison had expected. That was a hit or miss thing in their house. Sometimes you were told not to use bad words, other times he’d curse up a storm himself over something at work or in the news. Though he could be responding to the obesity crack. He’d gained a few pounds over the years. It was a bit too much really. She was used to seeing him that way, but it was getting to the point where it couldn’t really be all that healthy.

  Lucas rolled his eyes now, and looked at her, as if they were on the same side. Maybe they were? He apparently had grown to realize it was a waste of time too. That or he’d decided that their parents were doing things for the wrong reasons. That was his game though.

  “Sorry, but you know what I’m getting at. Maybe we should have new traditions. Give thanks in a different way. Go and get vegetarian Chinese and watch a parade? As a family?”

  Allison debated what to say, but quickly before her parents could both start to work against them in tandem. It was a balancing act that way, since they’d back the established plan in an almost knee-jerk reaction, the vast majority of the time. On rare occasion however, if they were backed to the edge of a cliff, you could trick them into agreeing with a better idea. If presenting people with more sensible options was really a “trick”.

  “That could work. Or, we could cook at home. Get one of those Soymondo things and help Lucas on his pathway towards young womanhood.” She winked at the boy, knowing it wasn’t really true. “Soy is the one that had all those female hormones, right? One slice of that kind of thing and he’ll have a rack on him that would make half the girls at school jealous.” She wasn’t saying this by accident, and while her brother made a face at her, she gave him a half nod, to signal the need for silence. Which, for once, actually worked. It was clearly a minor miracle, but there it was. Right there in the car. Her brother actually working with her and not being a total pain in the rump. A Thanksgiving Day wonder.

  Not that the words were going to go unchallenged for long. That was, naturally, all part of her clever and diabolical plan.

  Because it was medically inaccurate, and their mother, the slightly stuffy doctor, wasn’t going to let that slide. Not at all.

  In fact her voice moved into her own lecture mode, being a bit more stuffy and bland than the way she normally spoke. It was a thing that some might have thought of as subtle, but they were just ignorant of what it meant. Even knowing that it was coming, Allison stiffened a tiny bit.

  “That hasn’t been shown at all. In fact in the studies that have been done, there is no clinical indication at all
that the trace amounts of estrogen precursor elements have any effect in the male body. There is some data that show it might help with menopausal women, in controlling symptoms, but the idea that soy will turn you into a girl is just an urban legend. A silly one at that.”

  Allison put both her hands in her pockets for comfort. The front was unzipped, and she was warm enough, since the car had a good heater and seat warmers. Which she tried to feel thankful for. Toasty buns. She made a considering face, but realized it was a good thing and that a lot of people didn’t have it. Her whole life was like that, if she looked at it too closely.

  “All right, so fake soy bird it is. Good plan, Lucas.” That part wasn’t going to work. They were already a third of the way to the soup kitchen already. There was no way they were turning around now. Still, there was always next year to think about. Her plan was in no way about the day, or more realistically, evening, ahead of her. It was about the future.

  Because some day, when they had flying cars and food replimats, she didn’t want anyone expecting her to spend her freaking Turkey Day with people she didn’t even know.

  Her father, being both practical and no doubt getting what she was trying to do, chimed in then. Not helpfully, since he was pretty brilliant himself, but he spoke and it wasn’t a fight, so there was at least that to say for it.

  “Well, Christmas is right around the corner, we could do that then? I’ve been feeling that the whole thing with all the presents was a little over the top anyway. I’m sure you all agree, especially you kids. We could just sing songs and eat horrible fake turkey instead? How does that sound? Who needs all those nice things anyway, right?” There was just the hint of a teasing edge to what he was saying, but she got it.

  She always did.

  To her parents she was still just a child. Not a teenager, or a young adult. They only said things like that when they were trying to manipulate her into doing what they wanted without a fight. This was her father forgetting that and trying to cleverly steer them into a different line of thinking. One in which she would hold her tongue and be good for the rest of the day, tied down by the might of the implied threat. It would have worked, a few years before, but not now, she didn’t think.