Writer’s Challenge, November 2007: Thanksgiving Story

FRIENDS FOR DINNER
copyright NOV 2007
It's safe to assume certain liberties were taken with this story, after all, I had to have been all of four or so when it happened...and I probably didn't even have Keds at that point in my life. Still having format issues...sorry about the color scheme.

I crouched in cobwebs, holding my breath. while I listened to the muffled voices beyond the walls of my hiding place. The air was hot, sticky, and every accidental movement on my part made me that much easier to find. I was alone in the dark...well, almost. Crouched beside me, in the farthest corner, was my new friend. He was better at holding his breath than I was... and he seemed to be completely unaffected by the stifling temperature. His skin was perfectly cool to the touch. He might be calm, but I wasn't, and I had vowed to protect him.

The voices grew closer, and I could hear the shuffle of metal pots on the counter... the drawers opening and closing. I could see the lights dimming and brightening under the door as each shadowy person walked past.

"Shh!" I told my friend, though he hadn't actually said anything. I pulled back against him, cuddling in the dark, swinging my little red Keds back onto the shelf. The voices grew louder, as I had known they would. The eruption came from my uncle, as I had also known it would.

"Well, where the hell is it?!"

"It can't have gone far. It was just here."

And then, of course:

"Where's Kimberly?

The search was all too short... They didn't need blood hounds...They didn't need helicopters...They homed in on us as though the Pentagon had a hand in it. My struggle was equally brief, but fierce, and I succeeded in knocking down all of the suitcases and all of the coats and one ancient hairdryer, as well as completely tripping over eight pairs of mismatched shoes.

"NO! You can't have him! He's my friend!!!"

They didn't listen, and my friend was torn from my arms. The recriminations from my family were nothing. The scoffs and gasps of dismay rolled off me unnoticed. I had betrayed my friend.

As we sat down to our Thanksgiving feast, I couldn't bring myself to eat. The guilt was a knot in my throat, and I could only think of my friend. Inevitably, my mother said those fatal words:

"You have to eat three bites and you can get up from the table."

I took my fork and placed a bite in my mouth. The meat was tasted dry and reproachful...and it was with great effort that I swallowed the remains of my lost friend, Turkey.