by Luke Brown
“This is a big, three-bedroom house. I don’t see why not, my love.”
“I’ll give up my apartment, because I can’t afford to pay the rent any longer. You won’t have to give us anything other than shelter. I’ll be able to provide everything else that my family needs. Moreover, I’ll be able to cook for you and the kids every day, so in a sense, it should save you time and money.”
“I’m divorced and have no kids. This is a large house for just one person. I said it was fine as long as you keep the house clean, and your kids don’t tear my place apart.”
“Are you sure, my dear?” She wanted there to be no misunderstanding between them before she went ahead and gave up her apartment. “I’ll have to give up my apartment, so I have to be sure that you don’t mind sharing your home with me and my kids.”
“It will be fine.”
“I never thought that I would have to do this, but sometimes life forces you to do what you have to do. I know that it will be a little inconvenient for you, but I’ll make it up to you.” Essie said this with a big wink-wink smile on her face.
“Now we’re talking. I like the sound of that.” He was not a man of many words. He was tall and handsome, with a light complexion and curly black hair. His humble personality and his good looks were what had attracted Essie to him in the first place. She had liked him a lot and was very happy to know that she had found someone with a relatively large house who was willing to take in both her and her large family.
“Thank you, Mr. Livingston,” Essie said as she kissed him softly on his lips. “You won’t regret it.” It goes without saying that they made mad, passionate love that day, and they were both satisfied with the deal.
She started making plans right away to leave her apartment. She packed all of her clothes, as well as the kids’ belongings, and started moving her furniture and miscellaneous items over to Mr. Livingston’s home. Since she still had three months left on her apartment contract, she was able to move her things slowly, a little at a time. Within a month, she had moved everything.
However, the first time the family spent the night there, Mr. Livingston woke up the next morning like a man possessed with demons. To say he was in a bad mood would be a big understatement. It dawned on him overnight that a large family like this was too much for him to handle. He cared for Essie, but not enough to give up his tranquil lifestyle.
“What is the problem, Mr. Livingston?” Essie asked. “You don’t seem too pleased this morning.”
“Yes, you’re right,” he said in a sudden rage. “I want my privacy back. This whole thing is too much for me. I want you all to get out of my house.”
“Oh, Mr. Livingston, you don’t mean that, do you?” Essie asked in utter surprise. She had hoped that he was not another smooth-talking man who comforted her with empty, futile words. When these men were hit with the reality of the first storm, they dropped her like a plate of hot potatoes coming from an overheated microwave oven and ran away like cowards, leaving her terrified and standing all alone holding the bag of useless promises.
“I don’t mean that? Really? See if I’m not dead serious.” He ran for a container that was usually stored by the bedside or under the bed. The large basin looked like an oversized cup with a handle and was used for urination during the night because the bathroom was on the outside of the house.
Mr. Livingston daringly reached with one hand under his bed, grabbed the container by the handle, and threw the repugnant, stinking contents into Essie’s face. As if that weren’t bad enough, he went to the kids’ room and tossed the rest of the stale, rancid-smelling urine at them. Most of it got on Gena’s clothes, and they were all frantically crying as he began yelling, “Get out of my house now, I say. I want you all out now.” Mr. Livingston was raging mad and wanted everyone to know that he was as serious as an ischemic heart attack. He wanted them out of his house immediately.
They all ran outside, hysterical, and watched as he angrily tossed their clothes and furniture out the door. Essie was humiliated in front of her kids. They were all sad and disappointed to see that a man who had gone to bed calm and collected woke up like a raging maniac the next morning. It was as if he had mysteriously turned into a werewolf overnight, and there wasn’t even a full moon.
That was by far one of the worst days of Essie’s life, but luckily for her, she hadn’t totally lost her previous apartment. She still had two months’ time remaining on the lease, so she slowly moved all of her belongings back that day.
The experience shattered Essie’s family, but it also made them stronger and produced a bond of solidarity. They all became determined that they would make it in life and change things drastically for their mother. No one spoke about that incident ever again, but it haunted Gena all her life.
When she celebrated Thanksgiving, these were some of the things she gave thanks for overcoming. The list was endless. That was one of the reasons why she was so passionate about Thanksgiving. That was why—though she seldom cooked during the year—on Thanksgiving, she went all out. She never dared take that holiday for granted.
Gena, anxious but exhilarated, started getting ready for Thanksgiving about a week before. She was as anxious about Thanksgiving as a little kid was about Christmas morning and what Santa had in store for him. The only difference was that Gena was the Santa Claus of Thanksgiving.
She started by buying the nonperishable items such as seasonings. She also started counting the number of people that she would be providing dinner for. To do this, she would call around to see who in her immediate family had other plans and who was planning on sharing Thanksgiving with her.
After that, she would call her friends and distant relatives and invite them to dinner. No one ever turned down an offer for Thanksgiving dinner by Gena, because they knew that she went all out when she put on a Thanksgiving celebration.
“Hello, Jenifer, what plans do you have for TG this year?” Gena asked her cousin and good friend in New Jersey.
“No plans,” Jenifer said. “I’ve no plans at all for Thanksgiving. My kids will have to pretend that they’re eating turkey this year, because I have no money and I have no time to do any big cooking.” She giggled a bit. “But I know that you’re going to be doing your thing, and I accept. You don’t even need to ask. I have already invited myself.”
“That’s true, Jenifer. You’re right. I am doing Thanksgiving this year, and I want you to bring the whole family.”
“Thank you, Gena, but did you know that my mother is here with me, too?”
“Shame on you. You have to bring your mother and, as I said, your whole family. I’m just getting ready to do my Thanksgiving grocery shopping, and that’s why I’m calling you now. I just wanted to make sure that I know who is coming and who is not.”
“Count me in—no, count us in. We’ll be there bright and early, or on time.”
“Great! I’m happy to hear that.”
“What should I bring?”
“Your appetite. Bring a big appetite, because you know me. I make a big dinner when I’m doing this thing.”
“I know. Lord, I can’t wait, Gena. I’ll see you at your big TG.”
“Please make sure that you do come, because I’m looking forward to having you in New York. It will be a lovely holiday get-together, because I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Yes, mon, no doubt, we’ll be there.”
“Okay, thank you. Bye for now.” Gena hung up.
Jenifer’s family almost always joined Gena for Thanksgiving. Jenifer was related to Miriam in Mount Salem. She was close in age to Gena, and they had kept up with each other over the years since they were little girls.
Gena knew that she was a great cook, just like her mother, so she was confident about the quality of the food she prepared. She also loved to impress her friends and family with her presentation. She would reach for the most expensive plates and glasses that she had stored away all year. Thanksgiving Day was when she pulled out all of her best
stuff—from dinnerware to clothes.
Gena’s style of dress was as fascinatingly bold and flamboyant as a banner with a vivid message that said a lot about nothing in particular—as bold as a banner waving high in the skies, saying, Let me be myself, and you be yourself. The bottom line was that she was not afraid to wear bright colors and over-the-top hairstyles.
One special thing that Gena always did on Thanksgiving was to make sure that she invited some poor or needy person from the neighborhood to join the family for dinner. Sometimes she would see someone standing on the street corner on or around the week of Thanksgiving and approach that person to ask if he or she had plans for Thanksgiving.
This year Gena noticed one young black girl who lived in the same building. She had a somewhat dirty, ragged look, like a person in need of some attention. Gena saw her sitting on the front steps of her building and approached her. “Hello, young lady. I’m Gena. We live in the same building. Did you know that?”
“Yes, I see you all the time.”
“I see you, too, and I noticed that you’re not working, it seems. What plans do you have for Thanksgiving?”
“None.”
“Oh, well, that’s okay, because I’ll be having a large dinner on Thanksgiving Day, and I would love for you to join us.”
“Where is your apartment? On the second floor, right?”
“Yes, I live on the second floor in apartment 2G.”
“Okay, okay.” She slowly nodded her head as she acknowledged the information.
“My name is Gena, as I said earlier. What is your name?”
“My name is Teshana.”
“So, Teshana, can I expect you to join us on Thanksgiving?”
“Maybe. I’m a little afraid.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, because my family would love to have you join us for Thanksgiving. So please come by. I’m expecting you, okay?”
“Okay, I’ll stop by,” Teshana promised.
Gena, just like her mother, could spot a person who was truly in need, and when she did, she was not afraid to approach that person. Also like Mrs. Essie Brown, Gena would run her errands and often bring some stranger home to rescue her from trouble.
One time she brought home a young lady with a two-year-old baby. The lady’s name was Ann Marie, and her baby was Sade. Gena saw Ann Marie walking downtown with tears in her eyes, so she stopped to find out what the problem was. Ann Marie told Gena that her mother had been taken to a mental institution. As a result, Ann Marie had been abruptly kicked out of their apartment by the landlord. She sobbed as she explained that she had no other family in New York and didn’t know where the baby’s father was.
“Where are your clothes and stuff?” Gena asked.
“They’re at the apartment. The landlord changed the lock on the door, and I’m not able to retrieve them.” She explained that she didn’t have so much as a diaper for the child, much less clothes for herself. Gena believed her story. Moreover, it was easy to smell the strong odor that was coming from the baby, as if the child hadn’t been changed for days.
“Okay, come with me to Conway. I can get you some basic stuff until you get your things from the apartment.”
“Thank you. I’ve been trying to get in touch with that guy, but he won’t answer his phone.”
Gena took the young mother and child to the Conway department store, located in downtown Manhattan, and bought them some clothes and other basic necessities. She then took them home to stay in her apartment and to sleep on the couch until they could rectify the landlord issue and eventually find the baby’s father so he could aid in the support of his child.
It turned out that such a matter was not that easy to resolve, and therefore, Ann Marie and her baby, Sade, spent a longer time living with Gena than expected. As a matter of fact, even Ann Marie’s mother was released from the hospital into Gena’s care, and they all lived in Gena’s apartment for a considerable time.
Gena never minded helping whenever she could. She was a special, concerned citizen of the human society like her mother. There were very few people like Gena and her mother, who really and truly cared about other people in need. Gena lived a fairly simple life, so she could use the excess to help someone else who was worse off than she was. She had a unique way of caring for other people’s problems, like no other could. Gena was the Mother Teresa of her own little world.
On the night before Thanksgiving, Gena was all fired up. She went through her checklist to make sure she had enough of whatever she needed for the big day. If she didn’t have enough of something, she would run and get it from the supermarket herself. It was like the one-woman machine had been turned on, and she was about to put it into gear. When she had everything together, she started cooking. She seasoned the meats and made all of the cold side items, such as the potato salads and fruit salad, and whatever little things could be made ahead of time.
The one-woman machine never needed help, not even from her mother. Gena believed that, in order for the dinner to have her special stamp on it, everything had to be made completely by her. Moreover, she enjoyed knowing that she could do all the kitchen work while her mother sat down and was waited on for a change. She never allowed her mother to lift as much as a finger.
Mrs. Essie Brown never complained, because she was now getting tired of kitchen work, since she had done nothing but that all her life.
Gena made sure that all of the pre-Thanksgiving preparations were completed and everything was in place for the next day. Then she turned in early to bed, because she knew that she had to get an early start in the morning.
While everyone else was asleep at 3:00 a.m. on Thanksgiving, Gena was up bright, alert, and ready with excitement in her eyes. It was Thanksgiving Day, and she was about to work her magic. She fired up all of the kitchen aids and appliances: the burners on top of the stove, the oven, the microwave, and the pressure cooker.
She enjoyed being the fairy godmother of early Thanksgiving morning, and she started working like crazy on her tiptoes, making sure not to wake anyone before the right time.
By the time everyone was up, Gena was well on her way to completing the Thanksgiving dinner. Most of the items were already cooked, and what was not cooked was very much on schedule. Gena had everything on timers. That day, she was fully dedicated to the kitchen, moving from one thing to the other. She was like an orchestra conductor directing the pots and appliances to produce great musical flavors. She moved flawlessly as she conducted the Thanksgiving meal all day in the small, semimodern, four-by-four-foot kitchen.
By evening, all of the dishes were done and were being kept warm for the big dinner presentation. As the friends and family and other guests slowly began to arrive, they were greeted with the wonderful, tantalizing aromas of various delightful foods waiting to be appreciatively consumed. Everyone made their way to the living room to socialize and catch up on the holiday happenings, but with a hungry, watchful eye on the kitchen activity.
By 5:00 p.m., the house was full of people, and Gena rolled out her Thanksgiving presentation kit. Using all of her best dinnerware to serve her guests, she explained where each piece had been obtained, and the cost and story behind it. The guests had most likely heard the explanation a thousand times before, but they lent a listening ear anyway. They knew it went with the fine, exquisite meal at hand. Gena went all out to impress everyone with her personalized service.
They all loved her delectable, delightful Thanksgiving dinner and chatted up a storm as they ate. Everyone—men, women, and children—was having fun. This was what a good Thanksgiving was made of: friends and family all enjoying themselves, appreciating a good meal, and giving thanks for a good year of health and wealth. It pleased Gena to see everyone taking pleasure in her handiwork.
Moreover, she particularly enjoyed the sight of her family, who had struggled over the years in Jamaica, now getting the opportunity to indulge in one of America’s finest holiday celebrations and to enjoy a worry-free good time
and good food—all made possible, in more ways than one, by Gena herself.
This was what she had dreamed of as a child when she fantasized about a better place and a better way of life for her and her family. She didn’t notice that it was a lot of work. It was more fun than it was work. She didn’t mind it anyway, because she only did it once a year.
Mrs. Essie Brown also enjoyed her daughter’s handiwork. She knew how cooking a good meal made one feel inside. She had been there and had done that over and over again many times in her life. After all, Gena had gotten her natural cooking skills from her, and she knew that it was a great feeling to see how much others appreciated your cooking.
“My daughter, the dinner was great,” Essie told Gena after her first Thanksgiving dinner in the United States of America. “I especially enjoyed the turkey. You are a wonderful chef, just like your mother. I’m proud of you—proud of you in every way.”
“Thank you, Mom. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Can I help with the cleaning up? There are lots of dishes and things to take care of. I would like to help you now, if you don’t mind.”
“Yes, I do mind. I don’t want you or anyone in the kitchen. I’ll take care of all this myself. I’ve been cleaning as I go along. I have my own system of doing things. Thanks for the offer, Mom, but I’ll do it myself.”
Gena would clean up the kitchen after she bade everyone good night one by one.
“Thank you, Gena,” Jenifer said. “The food was excellent. I enjoyed everything, especially the tasty, uniquely cooked collard greens and stuffing. I must let you show me one day how your stuffing is done. Thanks again, but we have to go.”
“You’re welcome, my cousin. It was fun having you and your family for Thanksgiving. Thank you for coming. We’ll talk on the phone. Drive carefully and be good.” Gena bade Jenifer and her family good-bye and good night.
“Bye, Gena,” Teshana said. “Thanks for having me.”
