Thanksgiving Turkey

Not quite the right season, but who cares. 

Write about the only time you hosted Thanksgiving—and how it went so terribly wrong. Start with the line, “For my first Thanksgiving as host, I bought the biggest turkey they had in the store,” and end your story with “And that’s why we all ate hamburgers.”

For my first Thanksgiving as a host, I bought the biggest turkey they had in the store. I bought a small fortune of groceries to go with it. I was determined to make this day memorable.

The morning of the big day found me hard at work, cooking and moving furniture to find the most effective configuration for holding twelve people and a Bernese mountain dog. (The dog was my sister’s, and even though I reminded her my place was tiny, she insisted that Barney was part of the family, too.)

At 3 o’clock, the doorbell rang. Before I could really register who was at the door, a huge mass of fur slammed into me. Barney’s front paws nearly reached my shoulders, and his large wet nose was centimeters from mine.

“Hey, Buddy,” I said. “Nice to see you.”

“Barney! Let me give my brother a hug too!” came my sister’s voice from behind the wall of dog.

Barney slipped back down onto the ground and trotted to his favorite spot on my couch and sprawled out, taking up the whole thing.

“Dude. You don’t get the whole place to yourself today,” I told him. “You have to share with ten more people.”

I swear, that dog looked at me and then stretched out the tiniest bit more.

Alice helped me with decorations, by which I mean she did the whole thing.

Barney was already snoring on the couch when the rest of the family started showing up.

It was a very tight squeeze, with people bumping into each other with every turn, especially since Barney made the couch unavailable. But everyone was in good spirits. I felt proud of myself for how well this day was going.

When we were just about to take out the turkey and start our wonderful meal, Alice said, “Wait, everybody! We haven’t taken a family picture yet!”

There was a general muttering of consent, and Uncle Dave went to retrieve his tripod. I took one look at the couch and the peacefully sleeping Barney and suggested we take the picture outside.

We all shuffled outside to the garden out front. Uncle Dave set up his camera.

Click!

“Wait, I think I blinked!” someone said.

Click!

“Can we do it again? My hair was in my face.”

Click!

“Can we do a funny one after this?”

After an eternity of different positions and facial expressions, I finally reminded everyone of the waiting turkey. We traipsed back upstairs, suddenly hungry.

When I opened the door, the first thing I noticed was that Barney was no longer on the couch. I looked around for him, and saw an even bigger problem instead.

The table, with all of the food, was overturned.

Dishes were scattered all over the floor

And in the middle of it all was Barney, happily gnawing on what was left of the turkey.

Alas, my Thanksgiving was made unforgettable, though not the way I planned.

And that’s why we all ate hamburgers.

Scenes of Christmas

Jingle bells-ells-ells, jungle bells-ells-ells, jingle all the way-ay-ay-ay! A slightly modified version of the classic song plays in the air above the many customers bustling around two days before Christmas, scurrying to find last-minute gifts. From the ceiling hang aluminum red balls coiled in plastic green wreaths, now iconic signs of the season.

Sales clerks hurry around the store, jumping from customer to customer. Can I help you with something? Hold on a minute, I have to take care of someone over here first. Yes, we do have that in another color. Oh, I’m sorry, we’re all out of that size. In the moments out of the public’s view, looking for shoes in the back room, she balls up her fists and closes her eyes and lets out the exasperated sigh that’s been pent up since the last trip back here. Calm down, she tells herself. It’s these short moments, away from the chaos of grumpy Christmastime shoppers, that keep her sane. In these moments, she reminds herself of the wonderful food her mother will make, and the look on her best friend’s face when he sees the present she got for him. After a couple seconds, she opens her eyes, grabs a box of shoes from a shelf, and takes one last deep breath before pushing open the door, her cheerful smile already back on her face.

He’s been standing behind the coffee bar since 7:30. The line of customers never seems to end; on the contrary, it seems to be growing by the minute. It seems like it will be a rather glum morning, but he reminds himself of the better things to come after he gets off at 12. Lunch with a friend, and then off to go look for his own last-minute presents. Something nice for each of his parents, that cute girl at work (he turns his head to watch her give change to a customer), maybe a little something for his dog. He’d appreciate something to chew on.

The twelve year old boy is sprawled over two large chairs in the fancy boutique. His mother is somewhere behind him, talking to a salesgirl. He lazily stares at his cellphone, wondering what game to play next. It seems like they’ve been here forever, even if it has only been 14 and a half minutes. (He knows, he’s been watching the clock ever since they came in.) Tired of cutting ropes and catapulting birds, he shoves his phone in his pocket and stares at the ceiling, praying to Santa Claus to speed up the time and fast-forward to Tuesday morning, when he’d wake up to a beautifully lit Christmas tree with even more beautiful Christmas presents under it. He glances back at his mother, who, miraculously, is finally at the cash register. Maybe now they can head over to the Godiva store! Or meet up with his little brother, who is waiting in line to take pictures with Santa.

A couple days from now, most people will be with their families and friends, perhaps celebrating Christmas, perhaps simply enjoying a day off and thanking everyone else for celebrating Christmas. Little kids run around in their pajamas, gleefully playing with new toys. Parents finally get to watch them peacefully from the couch. Despite the commercialism and stressful, chaotic days leading up to it, Christmas still manages to be a time of relaxing and celebrating with loved ones. 

Door

I can see the door in front of me
Made of an illusive material that seems to be mobile
A white, pearly substance that swirls before my eyes
It's intriguing and frightening all at once
I can hear the sweet voice of Mrs. Weasley in my ear
"Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous"
I should, should just jump right in
Like into a cold swimming pool
It's not as cold once you start doing things
I close my eyes and reach out to the door
Quickly push it open and step inside
I'm not sure what I see
A swirl of colors, red yellow blue
And others I've never seen before
I look back at the door I've come through
Hoping for a glimpse of the room I have left
But the door is gone
Yet the room is still there
For I haven't gone through a door
I've knocked down a wall

I Am

If you are a stranger asking what I do,

“Figure skating” is always my first answer for you

The ice rink’s a place I feel I belong

Wind on my face, a flying jump – I could go on

I love it for its graceful tricks

As well as friendships strong as bricks

For someone who loves such a flashy sport

One would expect, perhaps, a louder sort

But though I perform in many places

I’m not that loud in many cases

I don’t always get out all that I’m thinking

And many teachers tell me to be louder-speaking

But rather than talk, I’d read a book

Lose track of time, curled up in a nook

Or write in my journal, as I do many a night

Where, sometimes, a short story comes to light

Perhaps I’d like to write it in français

My favourite language, apart from l’anglais

It can be easier to write in a strange tongue

The words sound better, and it’s really much fun

For all my friends I really care

Despite the daily insults we share

When anyone complains of troubles with school

“I won’t let you fail,” I say to the fool

For I believe with some help and some trying

There’s no need for anyone’s grades to be dying

Sometimes I find myself thinking about life

Wondering what matters, if it’s worth the strife

I am sometimes confused by my own strange thoughts

Understanding myself ties my mind in knots

But I suppose, with growing, it’s something we learn

Understanding will come when it is my turn

With most of the world, conforming to individuality

I want to be unique, just like everyone else.

Warbler

“Can I have popcorn?” Jenny asked her brother, Mark.
“But you just had lunch!” he protested.
“I’m hungry again,” she retorted. Mark sighed and went to the cupboard. For a tiny six year old, Jenny could be so demanding! There were bits of popcorn still scattered on the couch and the windowsill from Jenny’s previous snack.
Mark went back into the living room to see what Jenny was up to while the popcorn heated in the microwave. He found her kneeling on the couch, staring out their large window.
“Mark! Come here!” Jenny yelled at the top of her lungs.
“Calm down, I’m right here!” Mark yelled back. Jenny raised an eyebrow at him, but quickly turned back to the window.
“Look!” she pointed at some indiscriminate point in the distance. Mark followed her finger. The sky was mostly clear, save for a few wispy clouds that floated lazily along. The trees in front of the house were beautiful, as usual. Some leaves waved slightly in the summer breeze. Mark had no idea what was making Jenny so excited, and told her so.
“There’s a birdy there!” Jenny said, exasperated at her obviously blind older brother. “It’s so pretty!”
Mark picked up a set of binoculars on the coffee table and squinted into the trees. A tiny blue bird stood on a thin branch several feet away. Mark wondered how in the world his sister had spotted it. It was mostly blue, but had a white belly and black streaks on its wings.
“I think that’s a cerulean warbler!” he exclaimed. “I researched them in school but haven’t ever seen one! You’re amazing, Jenny!”
Jenny smiled at her brother smugly. “Will you give me my popcorn now?” she said. The microwave had beeped a few moments ago. Mark rolled his eyes, but smiled.
When Mark returned to the couch, he found Jenny with her nose pressed against the glass.
“It moved closer,” she whispered.
The bird was standing right on the windowsill. It was nibbling on a small fragment of popcorn that had landed there.
Mark was speechless. All those days trying to set up a bird feeder with just the right foods to attract a warbler, and it had been his little sister’s popcorn litter that had finally done it!
“You’ve made a great discovery!” he finally said to his sister.
"What do you need to make a discovery?" asked Jenny, cocking her head to the side just like the bird outside the window, who gave a shrill chirp.
"Hard work, dedication, and..." Mark could hardly contain his joy "serendipity!"
"What’s serendipity?"
"It's like, your obsession with popcorn lead to discovering the bird... and the fact that they like to eat popcorn,” he replied. “Well done, kiddo!"
Jenny beamed at him as she put half a fistful of popcorn in her mouth, and dropped the remaining pieces onto the windowsill.

Mercurial Mailman

Benny was being chased by the school bullies again. He spied a small door along the wall. Benny swung in and dived behind a counter. Footsteps thundered past, and voices shouted in confusion. Benny breathed a sigh of relief.

He peered above the counter to see where he was. The room was small, the far wall covered in cubbyholes stuffed with packages. Letters spilled out of a large sack on the ground. Was this a post office? Something moved. Benny quickly ducked down, peeking around the corner. A bearded, athletic-looking man wearing a white toga walked out from behind a stack of cardboard boxes carrying a lyre. He was starting to play when a woman walked in.

 “Welcome to Mercury Mail!” the man said, setting down the instrument. He spoke with a Greek accent.

Benny didn’t catch the entire conversation. The woman seemed to have a letter, and called the man Hermes. After she left, Hermes dropped the woman’s letter into his sack, heaved it over his shoulder, and left as well. He wore winged sandals.

Benny, still hiding, thought about what he’d heard. Hermes was the the Greek messenger god; he’d learned about it in history class. And the lady had paid him in drachmas, ancient Greek money. Was this postal service really run by a god? In any case, Benny wanted to go home. But before he reached the door, Hermes came back, sack now empty. Benny stopped in his tracks, startled. Hermes looked surprised too, but smiled.

“What brings you here?” he said.

“I was… being chased?” Benny replied uncertainly.

“School bullies?” Hermes asked. Benny nodded.

“I hate those,” Hermes said disapprovingly. “Do they come after you often?” Benny nodded again.

Hermes laughed. “Don’t be so frightened! I’m not Zeus. He’s one to watch out for. I’m just Hermes! Who are you?”

“Benny,” replied the boy.

“Well Benny, would you like some help avoiding those bullies?” Hermes asked.

“Okay,” Benny replied.

“Wait here,” said Hermes, disappearing behind the cardboard boxes. He came back with a shoebox for Benny. Inside were a pair of blue sandals.

They fit Benny perfectly. “Try running,” prompted Hermes. But Benny hadn’t gone far when two wings sprouted out from each sandal! Benny shouted in surprise as he zoomed forward three times faster than before. Hermes laughed. “No one can catch you now!” he exclaimed. Benny slowed and looked at the god with wide eyes.

“Gee, thanks,” he said. “But why…?”

“I dislike bullies,” Hermes said simply, shrugging. “But anyway, time for you to run along now!”

Benny was still in a state of awe, but picked up his backpack and headed out the door. That man really was a god! He glanced at his watch. 4:30. Oh no! His mother would be wondering where he had been! Benny broke into a run. His sandals sprouted wings again, and he sped off into the distance.

Hermes smiled to himself as he watched the boy go. Mail sent, mortals happy. A good day’s work.

Dracula's Return

The employees of the hospital thought it was odd when a tall, thin man walked into the hospital covered in black clothes and asked for a job at the hospital morgue. They thought it was even stranger when the man said his name was Dracula and seemed convinced that he’d been born in 1430. But, being believers of science rather than myth, the hospital employees decided he was being theatrical and gave him the job. They needed more people anyway.

As such, everyone was surprised when all the bodies disappeared the next day.

Naturally, the first suspect was the alleged vampire. Especially since “Dracula” had disappeared with the corpses.

The hospital contacted Harker & Helsing, the local detective agency. Refusing to take the hospital’s claim of an undead suspect seriously, the agency sent James and Victor, two bumbling teenagers.

 “Where would a vampire hide?” Victor wondered upon receiving their assignment.

“Maybe a cemetery?” suggested James.

No other ideas between them, the two set off for the local cemetery. As they approached, they found a group of perhaps twenty milling among the tombstones; not a likely place for a runaway vampire. Yet before turning back, the boys realized this group was quite strange. They were all rather pale. Some even lacked limbs. But most conspicuously, each donned a tattered hospital gown.

New vampires?

“Now what?” whispered James. Victor shrugged.

“Look for Dracula?”

They cautiously approached the crowd, ready to run at any moment. James fingered the small knife hidden in his pocket. The boys circled the group once, wondering briefly if the potentially-vampires were even aware of their presence. There was no tall man in black. They were about to report to the hospital about their discovery of the missing undead when Victor noticed something on a nearby stump. A dark, humanoid figure sitting on it was partially hidden in the shadows.

James and Victor approached the figure, certain it was Dracula. But as James reached into his pocket for his knife –  

“Why does everyone hate me?!” Dracula wailed. “I thought making more vampires would give me companions. But they just ignore me and wish they were dead again!”

He noticed James and Victor.

“I would kill you, but I would still be friendless,” he said sadly. The boys were speechless for a moment.

“Maybe if you didn’t kill people so often, they’d like you more?”  ventured James.

“Really?” said Dracula, brightening. “But they’re always afraid of me,” he added dismally, hanging his head. James and Victor looked at each other uncertainly. This hadn’t turned out as they had expected.

The boys tried to comfort Dracula by telling him that other people were also ostracized at times, and assured him that they would help him find his place in society.

“You could start by returning the corpses,” advised Victor.  

Dracula listened intently, gaining hope through their words. He even became convinced that it was his duty to help others who were as misunderstood and discriminated against as he was.

And thus, Dracula became an advocate for minority rights.