By ten o’clock in the morning there is a line wrapped around the neighborhood. Many diners have walked here from nearby areas, but some families or groups of neighbors have pooled their resources to take the Metro or a cab ride here from a distant part of the city. When I go outside to make an initial count, two local shelters pull up with their refurbished school buses and unload passengers.
“Is it my bad memory, or did Mom increase her marketing efforts this year?” I nudge my dad, who is karate chopping a head of lettuce with the vigor I recall. This visit has helped me understand one thing…my folks are extroverts, thriving under the pressure of being surrounded by people who need something from them. I am, however, an introvert…longing to pull up a chair in a corner with one of the guests or shelter kids, strike up a heart-to-heart, and observe the rest from a safe distance.
“Your mom, my dear, has at least half the city’s politicians in her pocket these days.”
I scrunch my face. “Isn’t that a bad term? It sounds like she is making payoffs.”
“It’s the opposite. They are making the payoffs. Much of this food has come from organizations that boast having a politician or wealthy patron on their board.” He looks up from his kung fu cabbage moves to look fondly at Mom. She is rerouting a new group of people to the covered outdoor porch, which we enclosed with particle board yesterday. “That woman wears the leaders down. At this point I think she could run for office and they’d all offer support just to keep her out of their hair.”
Mom turns around and hollers at me. She can sniff an idle person from a mile away. “Mari! I need your help.”
I trot over in obedient fashion. I know to not get smart with her on a day like this.
“Here are the van keys. Do you still have your fifteen-passenger-vehicle license?”
“Yep. From…Golden.”
“That’s my girl. I need you to go to this address and pick up a group of folks. They have no way to get here.” Her eyes focus on the ceiling as she reaches for a thought. “The Morenos! They have been coming for years. Remember them? Robert Moreno wears that hunter’s cap; he used to call you…what was that?”
“Mari Christmas,” I offer, amazed that my memory is returning in full force.
“Yes! Well, they cannot get here, and we cannot do Thanksgiving without them. Go quickly. It’s a ways. Don’t get lost.” I’m only a few feet away when she adds, “Take Marcus…Roberta is in a wheelchair now. You will need help.”
It only takes us twenty minutes to get lost.
“I know we are close. There’s the old arcade. Remember, we used to go there all the time.”
“No. You went there. I was busy studying, remember?” Marcus smirks at me from the passenger seat.
“Oh yeah. I do remember…that you were the one who had to study.” Chuckle. Chuckle. “Same ol’ Marcus.”
I grip the steering wheel and strain my neck to read the next street sign. I don’t know if I really want to follow this conversational detour. But I take the bait anyway. “How am I different?” I give him a look. “Other than the hair. Or extra weight. No obvious statements.”
“You seem comfortable here now. Maybe you are more so with yourself and that translates into handling this place better. You always belonged; don’t get me wrong. You just resisted it.”
“Can you blame me? Who would want to grow up that way…” I stop cold, realizing that I am being insensitive. This is the way we both grew up. At least I had parents. Sometimes my self-focus makes me ill.
“I would, Mari. You and I both grew up surrounded by love. Maybe we both had reasons to resent why we were there or why we had to share everything with everybody at a time in life when we were trying to be individuals. Or a couple…” he says this last part softly and doesn’t look at me.
I’m growing more frustrated with my inability to decide whether to turn left or right. But more than that, I’m sorry for how I left things with him.
“What? Have you been taking psychology courses or something?”
“I’m here to work on my PhD at Georgetown, as a matter of fact.”
“I’m impressed. With the degree…but even more with your coming back to the shelter to help Mom and Dad.”
“Mari, I owe them my life. You do in a physical way, but I do in a spiritual and emotional way. I know you struggled, but what you didn’t see was how jealous we were of you. All of us. We had families who couldn’t or wouldn’t take care of their own kin. You had a family that would take us all in…and never act like they were doing us a favor. I don’t know how many times your mom came up to me and said, ‘Marcus, you make our family so much richer.’” His strong voice wavers. He coughs and I do a quick wipe of my eye with my mitten.
“I do get it, Marcus. I do now, anyway.”
“Your mom told me you have a beau…literally.” He laughs at his obvious joke, but I’m not laughing with him.
“Why do I bother saying anything in private to them? I told her about him last night, in confidence. I don’t miss that part of home. There are no secrets,” I rant and slam my hand against the steering wheel in defiance.
“Maybe there is no need for secrets.” He does a “huh” shrug. “Beside, she was probably telling me so I wouldn’t get any ideas after all these years. But I am happy you have a good guy. You deserve it, Mari.”
I stall at a stoplight so I can look into his eyes. “Thanks, Marcus. And…you deserve it too. A significant other,” I say sincerely. “You deserved me to be a better person. I left without any closure…and you meant the world to me. You did.” I look away shamed but glad to finally give him the overdue apology.
Marcus says with a bit of urgency, “Can’t you stay longer? Why leave tomorrow? You just got here.”
“I told you, I have an unexpected stop in New York to make tomorrow and then I fly immediately back to Tucson. I don’t even have vacation benefits yet. My boss just gave me a couple extra days because of the holiday, which happens to be a busy time of year at the resort.”
“All that busyness is pretty convenient, if you want to ask me.”
“I don’t. But thanks for your input,” I say, acting very much like a bratty sibling to this man I apologized to just seconds before. “Hey, that’s the house. I remember it.” By divine direction we have pulled up directly in front of the old brick house. Robert pushes open the screen door for Roberta in her wheelchair and motions for the others to follow. Soon we are barreling down the freeway singing “Over the River and Through the Woods” in notes and harmonies that don’t exist except in a vehicle filled with people who have never sung together but feel the urge to try.
The sound of forks banging against the tables greets us when we return to the house. This is the shelter tradition to bring any latecomers to a meal so everyone can begin.
A big cheer is let out as we cross the threshold and get the Morenos to their special table near Mom and Dad.
“Hush. Hush,” say a few older folks as Dad approaches the makeshift podium with a small microphone.
“A little respect!” Shouts one of the older kids from the shelter, which makes everyone laugh.
“Well, we all know that being thankful is a year-round part of our lives. But it is a pleasure to take time on this day to really celebrate all that we are grateful for. I see…what? At least seventy people right here that top my list. I know you are hungry, but let’s give one more moment to thank the Giver.” All heads bow and a few hats come off as Dad leads us in a short but sincere prayer of thanksgiving. When he is done, he holds up his hand to motion that there is one more thing. “And for me and Sarah, we are especially thankful that we have our beautiful daughter here with us today. She is the pride and joy of our lives and has always been the spark that keeps our spirits lifted.”
He points to me and I am, by now, crying. Marcus joins the others as they clap in celebration of my presence. I know how undeserved it is, but I am grateful just the same.
“So, Mari,” continues Dad. “Will you do the honors?” He steps aside to reveal the dinner bell. With little grace or discretion, I wipe my nose with my sleeve and go forward thinking a million thoughts and feeling as many emotions. I realize that I always thought I could never be special if everyone was included. But now I feel it; I get it that love has room for everyone.
And that is what makes our lives special…not fancy jobs, apartments with full kitchens, vehicles with leather interior, blond hair, the perfect boyfriend, or even deadlines to “have it all” by thirty.
As I clang the bell in front of those people in my real family, adopted family, and those who will be family by dessert, a bell goes off in my mind, spirit, and heart. It reverberates with one pure thought.
I want my old life back.