Thanksgiving

by Robert C. Waggoner



  Thanksgiving Without

  By Robert C. Waggoner

  Copyright 2014 Robert C. Waggoner

  Thanksgiving Without

  Short Story

  2014

  Arlene Madison said, while holding her tattered apron to her runny nose “Russ what are we going to do for Turkey Day?”

  “I don’t know, but crying is not going to help, said Russ Madison while standing at the window looking out at his ruined crop of corn from a few months ago. It had not rained enough to hardly settle the dust in the last year, thought Russ. Drought was the ugliest word in his dictionary. He heard Arlene with an occasional sniff as she made morning coffee. He shook his head thinking after almost fifty years working the land, it had come to this: dead broke and the land not worth the price of advertising.

  Russ thought back while talking to his crop insurance salesman about the increase in premium he was faced with. Talk about a rock and hard place. He did not have the funds to buy the insurance and if a crop failed, that was the end of him. Now he faced ruin. The crop failed, his credit was to the limit everywhere in town, and his worthless two sons were in no position to lend a hand. Both had left right after high school to the city to seek their fortunes. The fortunes came in the form of a brown stubby and green plant growth.

  “Arlene let’s have a cup of coffee and talk. I know talking isn’t what we have done much of in the past, but it appears we’re really up against it.”

  She burst into more tears, but amazingly brought over two mugs of coffee without spilling a drop. She returned to the fridge and brought a small can of half and half that he liked in his coffee. She sat; she stirred her coffee after a teaspoon of precious sugar was added. He said, “We’ve been together for fifty years Arlene. I’ve no real complaints. Both of us have worked hard and as most people reach retirement age, wonder what they’ll do the rest of their lives. I always thought I’d be sitting on the porch in my rocking chair and my faithful dog at my side. I was never thinking I’d be whittling a piece of wood. My old eyes and ears would be tuned to the fields where our sons were toiling away preparing or harvesting a golden crop of corn or some other vegetable.

  My eyes would turn and see the two houses of our sons resting under those three giant oak trees out front. Our grandkids would be running around raising dust chasing each other. And then after the fall harvest, we’d celebrate the bounty of our labor with a family turkey dinner. I remember wearing a white shirt years ago. I also remember getting a fresh haircut from town. The smells and sounds still echo in my head Arlene. But in reality, as I look around today, this morning, I see two old people without a pot to piss in. Our two off spring living in a city of filth and despair. And you know the funny thing; they too don’t have a pot to piss in. We haven’t seen our grandkids, not that I really miss them, for years.” Russ took a sip of hot coffee and starred into his wife’s eyes. He continued, “By God come hell or high water, we’re going to eat turkey next week Thursday.”

  Arlene perked up hearing the positive side of things. “Where are we going to get a turkey Russ?”

  Stan told me the food bank in town has some small ones set aside for farmers who are in trouble from the drought. He said I’ve one with my name on it. I’m going into town today and pick it up. I’ll ask the electric company to not cut off our power until Friday next week. We can keep the turkey in the fridge. How’s that sound?”

  “I like it and Belinda came by yesterday and told me she’d gotten a sack of spuds from a friend. She gave us a bag full. We’ll have mashed taters and turkey Russ. I’ll ask around for some canned beans for a vegetable. I guess pie is out of the question, but that’s alright with me.”

  “This could be our last hurrah Arlene. I feel us going down the slippery tube. Well, I’ve some work to do and best get after it. After lunch I’ll go to town for the bird.”

  Arlene followed him to the door. She held the door open while he went through the squeaky screen door with more holes than screen. It snapped shut like a shot out of a rifle, but neither she nor he paid any attention. He looked up as he walked to the barn. He saw a nice fall day coming and the big oak trees were half naked from fallen leaves. It was times like this when he’d welcome the company of his old dog. The last one died at around the age of fifteen. Since then he had been without a faithful companion.

  Arlene shut the door as a chill was in the November air. She slowly moved into the kitchen to clean up the coffee mugs and fix a meager breakfast of oatmeal and toast. It was a wish on her part that she had friend she could talk to. But sadly, they’d no phone and what friends she did have had moved away some years ago. She shook her head thinking how smart her friends were leaving when things were turning sour. However, Russ was stubborn as a mule. He said God made the earth for men to live off of. It was up to Him to send the life giving rain to provide subsistence for his children. A lonely tear rolled down her aging weathered cheek thinking about all the years of hard work that had passed by doling out just enough to keep them alive.