Gratitude

by P. S. Power

  “I’ll be on the line with you, if needed, and Jen, she’s my wife, will be running for us. If you start to run out of anything, at about a quarter of the pot or warming tray, call it out and she’ll bring the next batch out. We probably won’t have to do a lot that way, but things have been tight around here lately, so we might have a few hundred show up. It’s hard to know.”

  That was bad news. The bigger the event, the more likely his flash mob of anti-pilgrim protestors might be more than two or three people. If it was just him, well that was one thing. He could stay behind the counter and hide, maybe removing the headdress and the face paint. The fringed vest would have to stay, or he’d look like a nudist, but he could survive it. If it was more than that, well, it was going to be a little obvious who set it all up, wasn’t it?

  The only thing he could really do now was watch and wait.

  That and learn his job. It wasn’t hard, of course, since everything had already been set up and they weren’t the only family that had volunteered. They were however, the only ones there yet. It had to be hard to drag a group of kids out to someplace like this, on the wrong side of the tracks, and too close to real people that didn’t have a silver spoon in their face from birth. His parents clearly thought it was a lot of effort. They were hard working in their own, very well to do, way, however.

  He almost gave in and shouted “power to the people” and started in on protesting early, but that would be the wrong one for the day. It was important to keep to a single, very clear, theme. Otherwise people could get confused and start thinking it was all just a game or something. A lot of the protests he’d seen had been like that. People with anti-gun chants standing next to pro-public breast feeding activists, and all of them being right next to the Klan. The press didn’t know who was who most of the time.

  The fit looking Native man pointed casually at a covered station along the steam table counter.

  “Stuffing, next to the potatoes, gravy, turkey, cranberries and rolls. There’s butter too. We have to serve it, or people will collect it up. For later. It can make a mess when that happens. It melts in the pocket and the hand.” His tone was dry, and his majestic Indian face betrayed nothing of what he was thinking.

  It was probably that he shouldn’t have sold out and become a doctor. Lucas couldn’t prove that, but it just made sense. Sure, medical people all claimed they wanted to help, but how many of them really did? Maybe one in ten? Most of them were just broken early by their mountains of school loan debt and had to spend the first twenty years of their careers working to pay those off. All the while the world burned in Africa, and they were stuck in Hoboken, sharing a tiny apartment with an orderly in order to make ends meet.

  Or worse.

  Lucas let his head move side to side a bit, but stopped himself. It wasn’t up to him to tell everyone how to live their lives. No, his part was just to point out things that could use some attention. That was enough, for now. He hoped. It was just that so few ever actually tried to do anything to make real change happen.

  “I’ll take the stuffing and potatoes. I can get both done fast enough, I think.” It wasn’t hard to put a spoon of potatoes on a plate and then do the same for seasoned bread lumps. No, the hard part was the gravy, since people got picky over where it went. Some wanted it on the bird, others on the potatoes, but not the stuffing. Still others hated it, but that one was easy to manage. It always took ten times longer to negotiate where the gravy went than anything else on the plate.

  Allison looked up at Daniel and all but batted her eyelashes. It wasn’t disgusting, because his sister, while too full of herself most of the time, didn’t actually think she was a beauty queen. She was smart, and it showed, most of the time. Still, even at fourteen, Lucas knew that hormones kind of ruled what most people did. For instance, he had more than a bit of interest in Sondra Hopes, didn’t he?

  Not enough to make a fool out of himself, like his sister was dangerously close to doing, but it was close to that, sometimes. He was certain that any day now he’d end up stammering at the poor girl, trying to get her attention. It wouldn’t work, he knew, since skinny white guys with a social conscience were about as uncool as you could get without playing D&D in public.

  Allison smiled, keeping her eyes on Daniel, who’d already announced he was married.

  “I’ll take the gravy? I can do the butter too.” She sounded girlish and just shy of flirty, but Daniel probably missed that part. He didn’t react to her at all, except to nod.

  “That works for me. So, the pilgrims can be up front. We need two line backers and someone to work the door. I’m a little worried that people might have a hard time finding us. The space here is a little similar to the ones next to it.”

  Lucas nodded, but knew it wasn’t going to be a problem. People would be showing up. Somewhere in there, he’d forgotten about how insulting this was probably going to be, and started to feel excited, as the minutes ticked past. It was, he knew, probably his white man’s arrogance that let him think that way. His darned white self just assuming that his plans were the best.

  But, of course, they were. The idea nearly made him smile, since it wasn’t lost on him how conflicted that all sounded.

  The food, they were assured, would be out ten minutes before the hour, which was closing fast. That was probably just his nerves, but Lucas really hoped that things would go well. That, and if possible, that he’d manage to stay out of jail.

  There were always costs to doing anything worthwhile though. It was one of the things he was feeling grateful for that afternoon, after a strange and kind of strained fashion.

  He was free to try and do things, to make a difference. Even if it cost him everything, which his little event wouldn’t, it was a gift.

  Just having the ability to try was incredible.

  Better, it was something that no one could take away from him. It wasn’t a thing granted him by a license or a piece of paper, or even by the government, but a true right. The ability to struggle until the Corporate Machine killed him.

  This was a small thing, what he was doing, and it might not work at all, but he felt it then. The real spirit of the holiday. Gratitude.

  To the whole world.

  The universe.

  Maybe even to God.

  Everyone except the oppressors, who could go soak their lousy five hundred dollar haircuts, for all he cared.

  Smiling, he set his station to order, making sure he had the right implements to serve people their dinners, when they came. They deserved to eat, after all.

  They all did.

  As long as it didn’t get in the way of him expressing his right to free speech, that was.

  Chapter three

  Mackenzie

  The tension of the day was getting to her already. Mackenzie cast a sidelong glance at her husband, who was valiantly trying not to laugh at their sixteen year old daughter’s desperate attempts to be noticed by Daniel, the decently good looking GP that spent most of his spare time with the homeless. She knew who he was, since the man had a reputation in the area. The goody-goody young doctor with a heart of gold, and all that.

  Luckily it wasn’t the kind of thing that would get Allison into trouble.

  Not unless he managed to rope the poor girl into working these kind of things all the time. That would be a real shame. It was her husband, Blake’s, idea to come down here each year, or at least to volunteer somewhere. This place was new, but the goal wasn’t.

  The idea was that they’d sacrifice one day a year to teach their children about how the world really was, and could be, if they weren’t careful. If they didn’t work hard, and put their nose to the grindstone, it could be them living on the street while some dufus in a pilgrim dress served them slightly runny cranberry jelly. The problem there was that they couldn’t just come out and tell them that.

  The kids…

  Well, she mollified herself by thinking they were smart enough. They’d do well, or at least do what they w
anted, whatever that was. Allison had a bright future in front of her, it was clear. The girl was pretty, when she wanted to bother trying, and if her angling for a nearly thirty year old man in front of her own parents was any indication, she wouldn’t end up alone. So that part of Mackenzie’s parental duties was pretty well assured. She could also be anything she wanted, if she’d just bother to put her mind to it. It was just a matter of getting her to apply herself.

  Lucas on the other hand, well, his life would be harder. That was her fear. The main one she felt in regards to her kids, though she’d never tell them that. He was a dreamer, but not lazy at all. What he was however…

  She almost couldn’t bear to think the words. It was a hideous thing to consider. A true horror.

  He was a tree hugging hippie liberal.

  Mackenzie smiled and moved to the left, so that the large fellow with a Marine Corps tattoo on his forearm could get the turkey into place.

  “Make way. Hot food, coming through!” He didn’t bellow it angrily, but managed to sound jovial instead. Looking down she noticed that he had a prosthetic on his left leg. It wasn’t fitted all that well, and he limped away. That shouldn’t have happened, but she wasn’t there to work, not as a doctor, and even if she had been, all she could have done was recommend a refitting with someone that actually knew what they were doing. She was a surgeon after all. It was covered by his pants leg, and didn’t show, so she looked back at the silver counter in front of them.

  The food was… Actually turkey. The last two years they’d been at places that had served some kind of pressed loaf instead of the real thing. This was impressive really. The food came in a steady stream then, with the Marine and a woman that was probably Daniel’s wife, a short blonde woman that looked vaguely familiar from work, getting it set up as if they actually knew what they were doing. The woman finally stopped and smiled at her.

  “Doctor-“ She started to hold out her hand, but that got cut off with a big smile.

  “Call me Mackenzie. This is my husband Blake and our kids, Lucas and Allison.” She gestured to each one of them, fighting to remember the woman’s name. She was a nurse. In pediatrics. That much was coming to mind. They used first names there, but committing their names to memory wasn’t a big part of her job, day to day.

  Just as she was about to blow it and have to either confess to not knowing the woman’s name or fake having a seizure, Blake put his own hand out.

  “Nice to meet you. Are you Daniel’s wife, Jen, or is that someone else?” It was smooth, and done with a professional air that would get him out of trouble if he was just wrong. He was good at things like that. Perfectly correct when it came to dealing with others. Knowing the right thing to say all the time. He had a real way with people too. Friendly and polite, without seeming stuffy at all.

  It was one of the things she loved about him.

  “Yep, that’s me. It was great of you all to come in like this. It looks like the rest of the people are going to be no-shows. That happens. People decide it’s a great idea, but then get trapped going to Grandma’s for the afternoon. I just wish they’d call first.”

  The words from her son made her want to crawl into a hole. That happened often enough that Kenzie was used to it by now, so she only winced a little. Outwardly. Inside she tried to shrivel. There just wasn’t enough empty space in the thorax for that to go well however.

  She tried anyway, as Lucas let his mouth run.

  “Do you think they really just forgot? Most people are too selfish to really step-up and do the work. I bet half of them gave up the idea yesterday and didn’t even bother to call so you could scramble to get some last minute people in.” The only saving grace was that he sounded so genuine, instead of angry like most little hippies were. She raised an eyebrow at him, which felt funny, what with her pilgrim hair covering. It was a close cap, like a bonnet. All in black, so she seemed dour and not her normally bubbly self. She thought she was bubbly anyway. Most people that knew her tended to go more with the idea that she had some kind of borderline personality disorder. Aspergers, or if you talked to the right members of her staff, full blown psychopathic symptoms. Neither was true, she just didn’t get that close to people most of the time. She had Blake, and the kids, and it was enough for her.

  Jen looked at the boy, who was only a bit taller than she was and gave him a conspiratorial smile. It was enough that he smiled in return, and close enough to flirting that she nearly cleared her throat at them. He was way too young for a married woman.

  If he was going to do stupid thing like that he needed to wait until he was at least eighteen.

  The blonde woman looked over her shoulder and leaned in to whisper, though it was a false thing that carried to the whole, still empty, room.

  “Benefit of the doubt. You aren’t wrong, but you get the idea, it makes everyone’s life better if we pretend that the three reminder calls they got just went to voice mail.” Then she straightened and turned to the adult again. “Butter! We need to get that out here, along with the little paper serving cups. Benny! How’s the-”

  The Marine came out carrying a tray, a large thing made of brown plastic with a cork surface for texture. There were fifty little cups filled with yellow butter that looked to have been whipped.

  “Got it! Butter coming through!”

  The man wasn’t all that old, and Allison smiled at him, which got him to look away quickly, and pretend he didn’t see it happen. That said a lot about him. He wasn’t so old that smiling at a pretty girl was considered wrong, so for him not to do it… That probably meant that he felt embarrassed about his lost leg still.

  Next to her, Blake looked at the clock, being obvious about it all.

  “Just in time. It looks like people are being told it’s meal time out front, is everybody ready?”

  Allison took a deep breath, being scared of the homeless for some reason. Next to her Lucas just gave a look that was halfway to a sneer for some reason, which wasn’t like him at all. Normally her son was all smiles for the people coming through the line like this. They hadn’t even started in yet, so they couldn’t have bothered him or been upsetting yet.

  When they did, Blake started right in, acting as if they were at the family table.

  “Welcome! Let’s get you a tray. We have a wonderful selection of identical units right over here.” The woman that was coming through had two men behind her, and they seemed to be part of a group. They stood close together, almost as if huddled for warmth or protection. She was probably about forty, and had needle marks going up the inside of her left forearms. Heroin, most likely. That was a problem in the area, and she had the look. Too thin, and with cracked lips.

  The woman’s slow reactions meant that she was probably high right then, and the men behind her had a similar delayed reaction. There was no obvious sign of infection, but they could test positive for Hep C or HIV. It wasn’t a danger to anyone there, as long as no one had sex with them, or shared a needle. Hopefully she’d done her job as a mother well enough that neither of her kids would do that.

  “Happy Thanksgiving!” She said it just a bit too loudly, but no one seemed to notice. That was good, because it was going to be a long day already, and if she had to try and soothe raw nerves too, it was going to be way too much for her to handle.

  The woman looked at Blake and managed a small half smile.

  “Yeah. Um, that looks good.” She was almost polite about it, and slid her tray under the glass guard that was designed to keep people from spewing bacterial and viral infections all over the food. It even worked, a little. You had to be careful about admitting things like that though, or a lot of people would stop eating altogether. As if it wasn’t the same germ laden stuff they always ate?

  Her husband picked up on the subtle clue easily enough and smiled.

  “It does look good, would you like white meat or dark?”

  That was going to be the conversation for the rest of the time there, for him at least. These t
hings were pretty rote, once you got used to it. A few people would come in right at the beginning. Twenty or thirty, then there would be a slow trickle for the next few hours. As volunteers they wouldn’t be expected to really do much. Just serve the food and wipe down their areas, if a mess was made.

  This year was different though, because starting at about four-fifteen, a lot of people came in. Families, mainly, but there were a lot of kids in the mix as well. Daniel came out and looked, then nodded to them. He seemed a bit stressed.

  Leaning toward her and Blake he looked at the arrayed food they were serving.

  “We’ll be fine, unless too many other people come. I knew that a lot of people had it hard lately, but I didn’t think it would be like this.”

  She nodded.

  “Who would?” Then she had to dish up the cranberries, which were a jelly and not a sauce with whole berries. It was like what her mother used to “make” for them back when she was a kid. Fresh from a can. Still in the shape of the thing, with ridges on it and everything.

  To her it epitomized poor people food.

  Worse, it was her favorite part of the traditional meal. That and the green bean casserole. She never served it for her family though. In fact, for years she’d avoided cooking much at all. She was a professional, and too busy most of the time. It also reminded her of growing up poor, every single time she stepped into the kitchen.

  They ate out a lot. Kenzie just didn’t think anyone else in her family really knew why they did.

  There was a new tray in front of her, and when the man spoke, there was a raw cracking to his voice. Looking up she understood it immediately. Sometimes she didn’t get things like that, since she led her own life by being practical, but this once, it made perfect sense.

  He was there, dressed in casual clothing, standing next to a chubby brunette woman, and what seemed to be their three kids. A boy and two girls, who were both younger than Lucas was. They were all clean and had at least taken the time to make themselves presentable, but the man looked away from her, in shame.