My dad’s mouth made a chewing motion. I’m pretty sure he was chomping on a scathing vitriolic response that was bubbling up from inside of him. I could only imagine the number of ways he was about to tell Max and Millie that they were lunatics that should be committed to an insane asylum. Luke, Derek, and Randy were still red faced and watery eyed from their last bout of uncontrollable laughter. I could see them watching intently. Their stupid mouths hung open and they elbowed each other with anticipation of the punchline that was Millie’s hippie turkey.
I had an idea. I whispered to my mom, “Do you have a pen in your handbag?”
“Of course, I always do.” With her pen, I doodled two cows on a paper napkin.
“Hunter, please pass this napkin to Luke and Derek.” As soon as they saw the reminder of their bovine days, and the not so veiled threat I implied, they sobered right up. “Be nice.” I mouthed the words so they could plainly read my lips.
“Grandma! The turkey is asleep,” Moon’s oldest girl said as she carried the limp bird in her arms. The love beads dangled down from his flaccid neck that hung down to the floor. With each little step the girl took, the turkey’s head bounced and swung in circles.
“Oh my God! What happened?” Millie rushed from her chair and retrieved the turkey. Max cleared a spot on the table in front of them and Millie laid the big bird out on its back. The thing looked quite dead to me.
“And there it is, Schrödinger's turkey,” Randy said flatly.
Max put his head against the breast and listened. “He’s asleep all right. Or maybe he’s unconscious.” Max then lifted the bird’s head to see if it had been injured. “It doesn’t seem like he’s been injured. I’ve never seen anything like this.” Max looked directly at Kelly, who was squirming from obvious guilt. “Kelly, you were with him last. I saw you feeding him. What was that you were giving him?”
Kelly spoke up and offered an explanation in the hopes of a fair judgment. “Okay, before I answer your question, I would like to remind everyone that this turkey was creating one hell of a mess in here. The crapping on the floor. The nasty feathers. The pecking with that beak. Not to mention all of the horrid noises it made. So I gave it one little valium to calm its ass down. And look at him now, sleeping like a newborn baby. I think he happens to make a better guest in the shape he’s in now.”
Now I had to say something because Millie and Max were obviously upset. “See? It’s just knocked out from the valium. I’m sure he’ll be just fine in a few hours. How about letting him sleep it off? But can we put him on the floor at least?”
Millie was fuming—visibly it seemed, by the fact that her face was turning purple and veins were popping out. I didn’t realize that she had it in her to say anything in a harsh tone, but Kelly’s amateur veterinarian move kicked some sass into Millie. “Valium? You have got to be kidding me. You gave our turkey valium? Are you nuts? How could any grown woman be so damn stupid—” And with that outburst directed at Kelly, Millie soon learned that she had just unwittingly taken on a champion.
“Whoa! Hold on there. You’re calling me nuts? You? The one who walked a live turkey into this house on a goddamned leash like you were taking a poodle for a walk? The one who gave a turkey a bath and dressed it up like a frickin’ hippie? And to top it off, you expect everyone here to kiss its feathery ass in some weird turkey loving ceremony! No, Millie, I’m not the one who is nuts. That shit is nuts. As a matter of fact, you’ve probably created a whole new clinical level of insanity with this whole ‘begging the turkey for forgiveness’ thing.”
Then my dad just had to join in. He pointed with his fork and spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. “She’s right you know. Most people would say you Kovacs are nuts. It’s just not normal to bring a filthy animal in here like that.”
“Oh? Then what are you doing here?” Millie shot back.
“Please, Dad. Enough,” I begged.
Hunter came to the rescue and shouted, “Kelly! Mom! Knock it off. You’re both being a little nuts right now. Let’s just let the turkey sleep it off like Leigh said. We’ll do the ceremony later. Kelly, you don’t have to participate if you don’t want to. Now, can we please just sit down and enjoy a nice normal dinner together?”
The stressful atmosphere kick-started Bill’s brain into making involuntary hand claps and seal noises. “Ork, ork, ork.” Clap, clap, clap. “Ork, ork, ork.”
Sarah launched into poor Bill. “Damn it, Bill! Enough with the seal thing already. Why do you always pick the worst times to pull that dumb seal imitation? Nobody thinks it’s even one bit funny. I swear if you do it again, I’m going to feed you some of Kelly’s valiums and lock you in the car.”
“Sarah, I told you. I can’t control myself! It’s some sort of syndrome,” Bill whined.
Mom went into preaching mode on her. “Sarah, he told you he can’t control it. Take him to a doctor already. While you’re in town, you should see your father’s doctor. He had some problems with control, too. It turns out that it was all just in his head. Now he can control it as long as he wants to until he’s ready to climax.”
My dad cut off my mom, “They don’t need to hear about that!”
“Jesus Christ!” Brad yelped. Derek and Luke were starting to get the laugh attacks again.
“Ork, ork, ork,” Bill barked and Sarah smacked him on the back of the head.
Max and Millie hovered their open palms above the hippie turkey and chanted some gibberish in low voices. I stared at the lump of feathers and beads while it happily snoozed away in overdose la-la land, completely oblivious to the turmoil going on around it. I was about to ask Kelly if she had a spare valium for me because my Thanksgiving feast was nothing I hoped for. I was on the verge of tears. To top things off, our repaired but overactive furnace was apparently belching out heat like a volcano. Everyone except the turkey was sweating. Then I remembered how I vowed to make this year’s festivities fun and joyful, no matter what.
“Excuse me. I have something I’d like to say.” My voice was a little shaky and it betrayed my suppressed disappointment. Derek and Luke scooted their chairs as far away from me as possible. I took a drink of water, shook it off, and started again. “Some of you know that I was really hoping for an ideal holiday meal today. More than that, I was looking forward to something I’d always dreamed about. When I was younger, I imagined my Prince Charming would ask me to marry him in a fairy tale setting. That came true. I also dreamed that my family and his family would be just like those perfectly normal, happy families…you know, those ones that they plaster pictures of on holiday cards, advertisements, and church calendars. But that didn’t quite work out…obviously. If I seem disappointed, and I am, it’s only because I hoped for, and yes I even expected, something that didn’t really exist.” I paused to take another drink and give everyone my teacher face.
“Now, I’m okay with it. We are all weird, or have different beliefs, make seal noises, or whatever, but this is the beginning of the holiday season. Today we are thankful for each other and for what we have. Next up is Hanukkah, the festival of lights, where we celebrate life, hope, and bring light to the darkness of the world, and guess what? Right after that is Christmas with the exact same basic message. So, I think if each of us could at least try to keep that holiday spirit in mind, we could all get along so much better and maybe, just maybe, we’ll have a great time. It’s much better than belittling each other, or poisoning our guests’ pets, assaulting or threatening each other. Now everyone make up. Marie has catered an authentic Louisiana Thanksgiving meal. Let’s all thank her and eat.”
Surprisingly, my speech had some sort of effect. Hunter picked up the turkey from the table and unceremoniously laid it out on the screaming rug. Following some apologetic words among Kelly, Millie, and my dad, we ate our meal without any more incidents. Bill did have one more involuntary seal bark, but Sarah kept her response to a non-vocal fork jab in his thigh. Civil conversation returned to the table and I was pretty happy with the way T
hanksgiving turned out in the end. There was one question that Max asked Hunter that lingered with me, and it gave me a worrisome feeling. Max asked, “Hunter, so what ever became of that bomb incident? Do they know who was behind it?”
Hunter seemed unconcerned. “No. Not that I’ve heard. I know they were surprised once the bomb squad got ahold of it. It had all of the makings of a bomb, but no actual explosives. Just some sort of chemical. I guess they are still analyzing it. I’m sure once they finish, they’ll know where it came from. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
When our guests began to say their goodbyes, I caught Marie alone. “Marie, I have something to talk to you about. A dream. I think it was a dream. It’s too bizarre to not have been.”
“Ooh, now I’m intrigued. Please, tell me about it.”
“Have you ever heard of a witch suddenly walking through a time travel portal? Because that’s what happened. Luna and I walked down my hallway and next thing I know, I am in a medieval alchemist’s lab.”
“Yes. I’ve heard of such things. Rare. Very, very rare. Was anyone else in this place?”
“A wizard. A grungy old man named Cosmos and a young woman named Sybil. Sybil actually came from out of Luna.” I intentionally failed to disclose that I had written a story with the names. I didn’t want her to dismiss this as some sort of dream association to my choice of names for my story. “Isn’t that something? A woman appearing after having lived in a cat. According to her, witch’s cats like Luna can have any number of spirits.”
“Cosmos and Sybil?” Marie seemed concerned. I detected that the names seemed familiar to her. However, she followed up by saying, “The names don’t seem like any that I recall. And you’re right. That is why people say cats have nine lives. They actually do. Sometimes more.”
“One more thing. My magic desk was in that room. Isn’t that weird? I wonder what it means.”
“Now that is interesting. Let’s say this wasn’t a dream. That you actually went back in time. I’d say that you’ve found a very early owner of the desk. How does Luna seem to you now? The same? Different?”
“Now that I think about it, I’d say she is mostly the same. Although…a bit more content if anything. Sybil said she would be back. In a fortnight. From when I had the dream, I think it would be just about a week from now.”
“Luna? Come here please,” Marie called for my cat. I heard a quick series of thumps on the stairs and Luna ran to her. Marie picked her up and quietly said something in her ear. “I just wanted to see how she was. I wouldn’t worry about anything. If this Sybil does return, I would appreciate if you would let me know. I want to meet her.”
Chapter Nineteen
That Old Box
With Thanksgiving behind us, the next thing on my list was to talk to Hunter about wedding plans. I made a point not to bombard him right away after Halloween. Otherwise he may have thought I was presumptuous the whole time we were dating, as if I had been making plans with him from the start. You see, I had a dilemma. Like many girls, I had toyed with the fantasy of a perfect wedding for many years. I actually saved magazine articles for ideas, pictures, notes, locations, and especially dresses, both bridal and bridesmaids. It was even updated with events like the latest royal wedding or big celebrity wedding. All of these things were neatly packed away in a cardboard box that I planned to show him. I hoped he didn’t think it was too odd that I lugged around this box full of fantasies for years.
When I dug in the closet for my box, a precariously placed box fan crashed on the floor. “Hey, Leigh, are you all right?” Hunter called from the door that led from the kitchen to our little backyard.
“I’m fine. Just trying to get this box out of the closet by the entrance.” Since we moved in, the closet had somehow become a catch-all for still unpacked boxes and anything else we didn’t get to. Hunter came up from behind and peered into the closet.
“Let me give you a hand with that. It’s like a trap in there.” He took my place and hauled out the cardboard box that was near the bottom of the stack. Then like pulling the wrong piece in a Jenga game, the entire tower of boxes collapsed in the entrance.
“I suppose we really should get around to dealing with these boxes. I’m just so sick of seeing them. That’s why they ended up in here.” It really was my fault. I had been shoving them in instead of just finishing the unpacking ordeal.
“So what’s in this one?” Hunter turned the box around and looked for a label.
“This one is my wedding box. I’m not going to bore you with everything inside. Here, just take a look. I’ve always wanted a big—no, a giant wedding. I’m talking so big that it would end up on the evening news.” Hunter flipped through magazines and various clippings. “But I’m not so sure I want all of that anymore. Thanksgiving taught me a lesson. I had to ask myself if all of these old dreams were realistic and if they would be worth all of the stress that it would be. Let’s face it, that sort of thing would take a lot of planning. I just don’t know if it’s worth the hassle now. What do you think? What do you want?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m like most guys.”
“What do you mean by most guys? I don’t think I even have a clue what most guys think about weddings.”
“Exactly. Look at those magazines, those articles, ads. They are all directed towards women. Every one of them. It’s about a dress, or a cake, or colors and flowers.” Hunter held up example after example from my little box of dreams. “Most of the pictures don’t even have the groom in them. If he is, he’s just another accessory. All he has to do is put on a rented tux and show up on time with a ring.”
“So you’re saying that you don’t even care?” I wasn’t sure I liked how this was going.
“No, let me rephrase that. All of this marketing is for a huge industry. Think about it. Just like you’ve been saying about the materialism of the holidays, advertisers carefully manage the market and get people to have these huge ass expectations that aren’t realistic. I remember Moon and Burt’s wedding. It was just before I graduated from high school. She planned it for a year and a half and she got so stressed her frickin’ hair started to fall out. I’ll go with whatever you want.”
I smiled at him. “That little caveat at the end doesn’t absolve you from a decision. For now, let’s just think of ideas. I like what you said about materialism and I think I’ve been feeling the same way. I do think we could have a pretty fun wedding if we just think of how to do it with friends and family. And we can do it without feeling obligated to add in all the extra stuff that gets pushed down from some office building full of advertising people. It’s for us, not how it should appear to whatever that so-called norm is. Right?”
“I’m hoping the correct response is yes? Now about this box. Back in the booby trap? Or leave it out?” Hunter asked. He was testing how serious I was about forgoing the giant, reenactment of a royal wedding.
“Back. For now,” I answered. He restacked the boxes and arranged it so the box of wedding ideas could be easily retrieved at a moment’s notice.
“Did Gertie say when she was going to take the turkey down to her plantation? I have it out back in the little gardening shed, but it’s noisy as hell, and I’m afraid we’ll have a problem.”
“She’ll be here later today. Tonight I’d like to take her down to Daley Plaza to see the big Chicago tree. Tomorrow we can get our tree and whatever lights we’ll need. As far as the turkey goes, we’ll force her to take it away or we’ll end up leaving it someplace like that petting zoo.”
“That’s right. I almost forgot. She wanted to help us find a Christmas tree and put up some lights,” Hunter said. If he had any enthusiasm, he sure hid it well, but I didn’t mind. Gertie and I had more than enough holiday spirit to light up the entire block.
“Right. We are decorating for two holidays, Hanukkah and Christmas, so we should plan to double the lights,” I reminded him.
Chapter Twenty
Oh Christmas Tree
Tr
aveling by magic broom is a big advantage during the holidays—a huge, huge advantage. Goodbye to parking ramps, lots, meters, valets, and all of the risky winter driving. When I say risky, I’m actually talking about white knuckled, lip biting terror. And if you’ve ever traversed the city of Chicago in a snowstorm—when eight inches of snow has already fallen and four more are expected—and you somehow survive, you should be given a goddamned gold plated driver’s license. If it’s during rush hour, they should throw in a pet unicorn—complete with a diamond encrusted collar and twenty prepaid hours of therapy. And a stiff drink.
“Here we are, Daley Plaza. You guys wanted to start the season with seeing decorations and lights. It doesn’t get any more Christmassy than here. There’s the big tree and of course the Christmas market with vendors from all over. If you can’t feel Christmas here, I don’t know where else to look. Have you been here much, Gertie?” Hunter asked.
“No. It sure is a big improvement from what it was before the big fire. What exactly is that thing? It doesn’t look much like a Christmas decoration.” Gertie was pointing towards Chicago’s famous Picasso structure. A fifty foot tall monumental structure donated to the city by Picasso that has become one of the city’s landmarks.
I spotted the thing Gertie was pointing out. “It’s the Picasso. It’s not for Christmas, just some work of art that has been here for decades. I don’t really know what it’s supposed to look like. Personally, I just avoid looking at the eye. Or eyes. It makes me uncomfortable. What do you think it is, Hunter?”
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