Fiction

31 Ghosts 2020 – October 4: Zoom

It’s very Sunday tonight. I thought we were supposed to get a reprieve from the 2020 dumpster fire over the weekend?! Guess not. *sigh* This is a little story. Nothing big was coming today. Tomorrow I may do a Selfie post (remember those?!) in addition to tomorrow’s ghost story talking about the challenge of being creative during this time. Until then, keep your Zoom friends close…

A still image of a middle-aged balding man joins the animated squares on the computer screen.

“Looks like Dave is here,” one of the small video feeds says.

“Dave!” says another video box as Dave’s image is replaced by Dave taking a pull from a tall can of Lagunitas IPA.

“Ralphie!” Dave replies. “Jake! Tim! What’s up gang?”

“Not much,” Jake says as he runs his hand through his thinning black hair. “Just hanging out on Zoom on Friday night. The new normal, right?”

“No joke!” Tim nods in agreement.

“Dave,” Ralphie squints at the screen, “Where are you? It looks dark in there.”

Dave looks around him, “No, all the lights are on…”

“Huh,” Ralphie returns. “Must be my connection…”

“Did you guys see the latest James Bond trailer?”

“Dude, that was sick, right? Seriously thinking I might have to brave the theaters in December when that drops,” Jake says.

“I heard that scene where he jumps the motorcycle into the courtyard is a practical effect – I mean it wasn’t Daniel Craig, but it was still a real jump.”

“Jake,” Dave says, “I hate to burst your bubble but they announced yesterday that they’re pushing it to April 2021.”

“Damnit!” Jake exclaims.

“Dave, you’re in your office, yeah? Is Julie over there?” Ralphie asks

“Yeah and no, she’s at her place,” Dave replies. “What’s up, Ralphie?”

“I thought I saw movement behind you. It’s still really dark – am I the only one seeing this?”

“No,” Tim agrees, “I see it too. Really dark. Is your camera working okay, Dave?”

“There it is again, Dave,” Tim points at the screen.

“Guys. Stop. Seriously,” Dave looks around his dark space, “I’m in my office. Overhead light on, desk light is on. Camera was fine Friday for a work meeting… It’s really well lit here…”

“That’s weird,” Jake says then changes the subject. “April 2021? Seriously? So, can we just say it’s not worth going to the movies until then?”

“Oh shit, Dave, I saw a face behind you. I swear I did!” Ralphie points at the screen.

“Guys…” Dave starts to say, then halts as if he listening for something.

“Dave?” Jake asks. “You okay?”

“I thought I heard something….”

Dave’s screen goes completely black.

“Dave?!” Tim yells, eyes wide.

“Dave, what’s up?!” Ralphie yells, throwing his hands in the air.

“It’s cool. It’s cool. My monitor and camera look like they’ve gone out. I’m still here…” Dave says.

“Jesus, Dave, you’re giving us a heart attack,” Jake leans back heavily in his desk chair.

“I’m fine, guys. Really… wait, that’s weird,” Dave’s voice sounds suspicious.

“Dave?” Tim asks side-eye, “What’s weird?”

“OH MY GOD!” Dave screams.

A message scrolls across Tim, Jake, and Ralphie’s screen: “Dave has left the meeting.”

The Five Days of Thanksgiving, Day 2: Cooking – Kids Cook

I admit, this is a little sappier (and shorter) than the running of the birds. But, come on, it’s a holiday to be sappy. And to eat. So, let’s get to the food!

“Are you sure, Jim?”

“Laura, we’ve been over this a million times. Today. That’s a million times just today.”

“Ha ha,” she mocked as she put on the oven mitts and pulled the two trays of crisp white bread bits and set them on a cooling rack on the kitchen island. She broke two eggs into a bowl and started to whisk. “Seriously, Jim, aren’t we putting a lot of… pressure on them? I mean, we could still make dinner.”

“We literally couldn’t,” he said handing her the bag of dried stuffing bread cubes which she added to the bowl with the eggs and then added a cup and a half of milk. “Besides,” Jim added, “this’ll be fun! Beyond the fact that Taylor and Jenny are bringing the bird–”

“And gravy! Did you check that they remembered the gravy before they left San Francisco?” Laura interrupted as she took giblets out of a separate bowl of milk and began dicing them.

“…Beyond the fact that Taylor and Jenny are bringing the bird, we don’t know what else we’re going to have. Taylor, Laurie, and Ryan worked it out who was bringing what among themselves. We promised not to meddle,” he put extra emphasis on that word, “or offer unsolicited advice.”

“Jim,” she stopped chopping and looked at him seriously, “This might be a terrible Thanksgiving.”

Jim laughed at his wife. “And you might be a control freak, dear.” He came around and kissed her on the forehead.

…

“The gravy! We forgot the gravy!” Taylor said as Jenny piloted their Tesla Model X north across the Golden Gate bridge.

“In the back to the left, err, driver-side of the bird,” Jenny said calmly.

“How do you know? I know we forgot it. We can turn off at the vista point…”

“Taylor, you asked me a dozen times already. If you crane your neck you can probably see the Tupperware. You don’t think your parents will flip that we used that blackened creole rub, do you?”

“No,” Taylor craned his neck to peer into the back, saw the gravy, then straightened up. “Well… maybe. But they’ll like it. Dad will. It’ll push mom out of her comfort zone.”

“Is that a good thing on Thanksgiving?”

“Sure! Laurie and Ryan are on board. Besides, blackened turkey, red beans and rice, and pecan pie won’t seem nearly as strange as Laurie and Lisa’s dishes…”

…

“How’s it going over there, Lis?” Laurie asked as she drained her pot into the stainless steel sink.

“Good,” Lisa replied as she pulled the steamer basket off the boiling pan of water. “This is the last batch of the steamed mahimahi laulau.”

“You’re sure that’ll travel?”

I’m loading it into the Cambro where these little ti leaf wrapped darlings will finish steaming. In fact, once you get those Okinawan sweet potatoes done we’ll put them in with the mahimahi.”

“I loaded the bottom of the Cambro with the pineapple chutney and honeyed yogurt pumpkin pie with pistachio-coconut streusel and the chill slabs.”

“Oh my god, are you sure I can’t sample that before we go?”

“Heh, you’ll wait like everyone,” Laurie smiled as she smashed the purple sweet potatoes. “Aren’t you glad we closed the restaurant now?”

Lisa threw a crumpled wad of ti leaf at Laurie. “You were right, sweetie,” she said snapping closed the top of the brown wheeled Cambro. “I’ll bring the van around.”

…

“Hey Bro, where are you guys at?” Ryan asked as gingerly touched the bread pan to tell if it was cool enough to pack. “Navato? Cool, cool… Oh, I’m packing my monkey bread. I’ve got like twenty minutes left on my chipotle and bacon mac and cheese and then I’m gonna head over to mom and dad’s.”

Ryan’s roommate came into the kitchen with a backpack slung over his shoulder. “Coming home tonight?” he mouthed to Ryan. Ryan shrugged indeterminately then decided and shook his head, no. His roommate nodded and mouthed “See you Sunday,” fist-bumped Ryan and then left.

“I’m just worried that I’m not making enough,” he spoke into the phone. “I mean you guys made that New Orleans feast and, Jesus, it sounds like Lisa and Laurie are doing everything Hawaiian except bringing lava… Yeah, I know they have the restaurant… Yeah, school’s good,” he looked over at the half-full bottle of Fireball cinnamon whiskey. “Yeah, one of my housemates left Tuesday and the other just left.

“Yeah, I can pick up 12-pack on my way over. IPA? Seasonal? Yeah, I’ll surprise you. Okay, I’ll see you guys there.”

…

Jim was glad for the crowd around the oval table crowded to the point of bursting with food, dishes, and silverware. Even with the leaf expanding the table they still had to sit so that no one was at the “head” of the table. That was okay with him.

The walls of the dining room rang with the conversations of the seven people smiling and laughing. He cleared his throat loud enough to be heard over the din and everyone quieted down and turned their attention to him. He motioned to Laurie who stood and picked up her glass of wine.

“I’m going to make Jim say grace in a sec, but I wanted to first say how happy I am to have you all here. And I wanted to thank you for the new ulcer I have because of this meal.” Her kids laughed; their significant others laughed nervously. “Jim will attest that, Yes, I’m not yet completely comfortable ceding control of Thanksgiving cooking. But seeing so many dishes I wouldn’t have even thought of… I couldn’t be happier. I made Nana’s stuffing,” she gestured to the steaming bowl of stuffing, “but that’s all of our traditional dishes we have here. Everything else is testament to this being a meal where we celebrate everything you brought with your life experiences outside this house. Thank you all. And, Jim, make grace quick because this all looks amazing.”

She sat down. Jim said a heartfelt and grateful grace, and then they ate an amazing, unconventional Thanksgiving.

The Five Days of Thanksgiving, Day 1: Shopping – Fresh Turkey

I blame my Aunt Jean who suggested maybe I should write stories for holidays other than Halloween. I thought, “huh, maybe for Christmas, but November is for NaNoWriMo!” Yeah, that hasn’t panned out. Like last year and the year before that 31 Ghosts left me creatively winded. But in the last few days I’ve been thinking, “Well… maybe a little commitment might be fun…” And so I bring you the Five Days of Thanksgiving, a new theme each day. Today is Day 1, which is for Shopping (for Thanksgiving).

Julie volunteered to host Thanksgiving this year for her parents and inlaws. While the thought initially overwhelmed her, she patted herself on the back by breaking down the daunting tasks involved into smaller, more manageable steps she could take care of while still maintaining her full-time job, marriage, and, hopefully, her sanity.

Her husband Alex volunteered for whipping their small house into guest-shape and said something about “setting a tablescape” that tacitly answered where her Martha Stewart Living magazines had disappeared to. She’d made sides that she doubly verified could freeze ahead of time without loss of flavor and marked their completion down on the extensive Excel spreadsheet she compiled with all the steps. She followed the rows down to the first task today:

11/25/2019 Purchase FRESH Turkey

She had nothing against frozen turkeys. She’d had frozen turkeys in the past that were delicious. But she’d never had a fresh turkey and, initially, it looked that it wouldn’t be an option this year either. She crossed off the local organic turkey farm when she checked prices and then verified that, no, the “per pound” prices weren’t, as she had first hoped, the price for the whole bird. Or two birds. Fine, maybe the organic grocery store would be better. And they were! Incrementally better, that is. She resigned herself to another Butterball when she stopped by her local supermarket and saw the sign: “Fresh Organic Turkeys! Reserve yours today!”

She did.

Oh, yes, she did! She could pick up her 20-25lb bird on Monday, November 25 after noon. On her way home after work she found a parking space and took her life in her hands as she crossed the busy parking lot. Once inside the store the dangers hadn’t diminished as Julie dodged shopping carts driven wantonly by manic, bleary eyed men and women. Thanksgiving zombies.

Doesn’t anyone have any Thanksgiving cheer? She thought.

At the meat counter in the back of the store she waited patiently for the young man to finish stickering lamb shanks plastic wrapped to pink cellophane planks. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“I’m here to pick up a fresh turkey for Julie Sykes.”

“Oh,” he said as the color drained from his face. He stared at her in silence for a moment that stretched uncomfortably on.

“Is there…” she started, “…a problem?”

“Uh…” he stammered. “You said fresh turkey, didn’t you?”

Oh crap, she thought mentally wondering whether she could thaw a Butterball before Thursday. “Yes,” she said. “Fresh turkey. 20-25 pounds–“

“Oh god,” he said as he turned from ashen to green. “That’s a big one.”

“Well,” Julie said, “I suppose so. Look, is there some kind of problem? Do I need to get a frozen bird?”

“No, no…” his eyes locked onto another meat department employee who had been restocking the store-brand frozen birds. “T.J!” he called over Julie’s shoulder.

“Yeah?” T.J. came over to the counter next to her.

“I..uh… I need you to get this woman’s fresh turkey from the fridge.”

His response was immediate and utterly unwavering. “Hell no. I got the last one. This is you.”

“But…” the man behind the counter began.

“But nothing. This is all you Alan.”

“Oh god,” he swallowed hard and turned with the same demeanor as a condemned inmate having received word his last appeal had been denied by the governor. Stoically, he walked to the walk-in cooler, opened the door with a whoosh of frost, stepped inside and let the door close behind him.

Julie waited patiently for several minutes. She thought she heard thuds and bangs coming from the walk-in, but chalked it up to someone manhandling stock elsewhere in the back. After five minutes she started to grow impatient. After ten minutes she grew concerned.

“T.J. is it?” she tapped the man stocking the generic birds. “Sorry to bug you, but I’m a little worried. It’s been more than ten minutes since the clerk went to get my fresh turkey. Is everything okay?”

“More than ten minutes?” his eyes grew wide with panic. “Jesus Christ!” he yelled and bolted for the swinging door separating store from meat department. He threw the cooler door open and Julie heard a scream, high and desperate escape from the walk-in. J.T. ran in and the door hung ajar as now Julie absolutely heard what sounded like a fight – thuds, certainly, but also slaps, groans, another shriek, a louder thud.

Then silence.

Julie stared at the open walk-in with genuine fear. Should she go in herself? Find someone else? See if that sale on Butterballs over at Raley’s was still going on…

Then she saw a pink nub appear around the edge of the door. What the hell? She thought.

As if in answer, the nub resolved into the pink, plucked wingtip of a turkey. Then the rest of the bird – completely plucked of feathers and utterly headless – emerged around the door of the walk-in moving on feet-less drumsticks. It turned its chest towards the walk-it it just emerged from and then used its wingtip to slam the door closed with a force that belied its twenty-to-twenty-five-pound stature. Julie watched in spellbound horror as it turned its body towards her. It locked its neck-hole on her eyes and she felt it was sightlessly staring into her very soul.

Without eyes, without a head, hell without even most of its neck, you would think it difficult for the turkey to convey emotion or intention. Not so. Julie knew two things immediately: one, the turkey was pissed. Two, she needed to run. Now.

She turned run, starting down the long back aisle towards the bakery. She heard the swinging door of the meat department flung open and the wet tapping of drumsticks on tile as the turkey chased after her with furious speed. Julie cast a quick glance back and saw it closing on her breasts canted forward, wings pumping hard.

She juked left around the last horizontal freezer in the aisle, putting the freezer between them. After all, she thought, maybe it can’t see well without… I don’t know A HEAD! She stopped when the turkey stopped opposite her with a skittering slide, the open freezer between them                obscuring the bird. She listened, trying to catch her breath. She heard the tap-tapping of its drumsticks as it started for one side of the freezer; Julie moved to the opposite side. The turkey stopped. Tap tap tap to the other side. Julie moved back to the other corner. Without warning, the naked headless pink turkey leapt up onto the edge of the freezer, its wings outstretched. Julie started to take a few steps backwards before the beheaded bird crouched and launched itself towards her. Julie skittered out of the way as the bird crashed into an endcap display of Pennsylvania Dutch Egg Nog. Bottles crashed, shattering with impact. Julie ran for the bakery as the turkey shook off its rum-soaked dairy bath, regained its footing and started pursuing its quarry.

Julie turned to see if the bird had gotten up and let out a little cry when she saw the pink beast closing on her. She drew a day-old baguette from a table, whipped off the paper wrapper and held it en garde. The turkey sensing danger, skid to a stop just outside baguette range. They faced each other, plucked bird to plucky human. They circled each other, the turkey feinting with a wing which Julie batted with the baguette, Julie taking a step forward with the hard loaf, the bird dodging nimbly. The rounded halfway around and Julie’s foot slipped in a puddle of egg nog. She cursed herself for not changing from her kitten heels into her gym shoes before leaving work as she went to a knee. The turkey lunged at the opening. But Julie hadn’t forgotten everything from those fencing classes in college and she antagonized the attacking bird with the rock-hard baguette, keeping its wings back but still getting spattered with egg nog or turkey slime – she hoped the former. She slashed at its drumsticks and hope blossomed as if fell onto its stub tail with a wet splut. She regained her feet, kicked her shoes off and sprinted back down the aisle. 

As she approached the meat department the door swung open again. She momentarily hoped it might be T.J. or that other guy. Instead she stared in horror as half a dozen pink, plucked, headless Cornish game hens hopped out into the main aisle, turned towards her and ran en masse towards her. Julie’s sprint brought her quickly towards the charging tiny headless hens. At the last moment, she dropped letting her momentum and the poly/rayon blend of her DKNY slacks carry her into a slide worthy of the shortstop of her state champion high school fast-pitch softball that she had been more years ago than she cared to admit. She slid into the puckered game hens more wrecking ball than bowling ball, as the tiny carcasses careened hither and thither.

Back on her feet she stole a glance behind her and saw the turkey back on its drumsticks and gaining momentum with each furious pump of its featherless wings. Her sprint carried her past the frozen section, passed the canned goods. As she started past the paper towels and toilet paper and cleaning supplies, she saw a display of store-branded cloth shopping bags. She hurried around the corner into the aisle and grabbed a bag.

The turkey, seeing her turn down the aisle, adjusted its path to make a full-speed arcing turn into the aisle Julie had disappeared down. It immediately regretted the decision as Julie crouched with the shopping bag wide open and waiting. The bird tried to halt itself, but the bone of its drumsticks skidded easily over the tile as it disappeared into the canvas sack. Julie closed bag as soon as the beast disappeared inside, hurriedly tying the carrying handles down securing her catch. The turkey flailed hard in the sack and Julie held tight. When she heard the bag start to tear she reached for the first thing she could close her hand around – in this case a toilet plunger – and used to mercilessly beat the lurching bag with everything she had.

She kept wailing on the bag after it stopped moving just to be sure. As her blows slowed she looked up to see a crowd of open-mouthed shoppers gathered around her in the aisle, several with cell phones out and recording.

Julie stopped hitting the bag and set the toilet plunger back on the shelf as she nervously climbed back to her feet. She picked up the now-still grocery bag and held it aloft. “Fresh turkey!” she said.