And what are you thankful for? – A short FICTIONAL story

Wednesday Dec 1, 2004

As we went around a table already aching from much laughter I couldn’t help but plan my words. Nervous with anticipation of having all those eyes and ears aimed at me I couldn’t find a single thing I felt gratitude for. My brother was about to speak but hesitated for just the briefest of moments and someone burst out, “And what are you thankful for?”

Before he could reply I left the room. Not physically of course, but my mind, it just drifted. My brother, we’ll call him Joe (Joe is not his real name but then again he’s not my real brother – that is if you go by the American definition of siblinghood, “those sharing at least one parent.”), moved to Manhattan just weeks before the September 11th attacks. In fact September 11th was his first scheduled day of work and if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was taking a tour of the World Trade Center complex, he may very well have been stuck inside one of the towers at the moment of collision. Collision is a curious word choice in this context. When I think of collision I think of two parties sharing in contact that occurs while both bodies are in motion. I suppose this was less of a collision and more of a crash. Anyway, words aside, Joe was at the foot of one of the Twin Towers at the moment of impact. Shocked and wishing to help he stuck around for about a quarter of an hour or so. People trapped in the building began to jump to their deaths choosing to fling themselves like rocks into the ocean instead of facing the flames of the burning structure. Splish, splash. Joe, of course, was sickened, saddened, and was being told to evacuate the area to allow for the authorities to do the best job they could saving those trapped inside. Joe began to walk home. Joe could hear the towers collapse with his own ears. Joe could see the faces of those who took their own lives. Welcome to NY Joe.

As I said I left the room. I was bathed in thoughts. Not only of how grateful I was that Joe had been okay on that horrible day but also of how grateful he must be to finally get away from that negative energy that must have plagued the two years he spent in NYC after that moment. But then my thoughts drifted to my other brothers. I tried to count how many people consider me a brother. See my mother never had any other children. But my dad, well he’s a different story. I never knew him but I’ve come to understand that all told he’s had over 731 children. Now I only know 4 others besides myself, three of which are boys (brothers). But as for the other 726 kids? Well, one of my best friends on earth looks exactly like me. He doesn’t know his father. It’s possible that we are really brothers. But even if we aren’t REALLY brothers, we were in the same fraternity at Clemson – so we’re brothers.

From here my thoughts moved back to what I was thankful for. Hmmm. Health I suppose but that’s so, well it’s not me to toast to those sorts of fuddy duddy things. Besides Lana had already said she was thankful for our collective health. Oh that Lana always taking the easy road and leaving me with squat when it gets to my turn. Bitch.

I remembered one of those other 4 children. A brother right around my age who had joined the armed forces. We correspond every now and again and his most recent voice mail (its so much easier than handwritten letters, don’t you think?) said that he was headed to that big crazy war in the Middle East. Now he’s in the Navy and I’m not really familiar with the geography over there but in my mind’s eye I see those countries as not having a lot of the old water around ‘em. When we last spoke, Bryan and I, he said that he would go and probably just be there to lend an extra hand, out of harms way. As he said that I couldn’t help but envision those poor people flinging themselves like rocks into the ocean. Splish, splash.

And what are you thankful for? I was next to speak and I actually felt like I was on the verge of something honest to say. Something that would explain my gratitude to the core. But it still wasn’t quite there. As Samantha spoke on I once again left the table. This time I wasn’t in my own memory or in the memory of one of my brothers. I was trapped in a metaphor. I was tied down in the very chair that I was enjoying my turkey in only I was no longer in my suburban Atlanta home with a fire rumbling and the dogs nestling at my feet. I was on the transcontinental railroad tracks and there was no budging. I thought I was dreaming but I could still hear Samantha speaking and knew that if I refocused the fantasy would be gone. I didn’t want to let it go. Droning out her high-pitched commentary on the election results was a stronger medium tone. It was that of the freight engine guiding a very long, large, and fast train directly at me. It was warning me to get off the tracks. As it inched closer I began to not be as enamored with my hallucination. I was beginning to feel uneasy, and I began to shake and try to break myself free. I wanted nothing more than to escape, to fling myself out of the way and into something soft and inviting like the ocean. Splish, splash.

But before it could hurt me and before I could fling Lana asked loudly, “And what are you thankful for?” What am I thankful for? Couldn’t she see I was on the verge of understanding it all? Bitch.

I began, “In the past few minutes I’ve thought a lot about my brothers and the sacrifices they’ve made and the horrible things they’ve seen.” And then it clicked. “I am thankful that I haven’t had to make those sacrifices, grateful that I haven’t seen those horrible things, and above all thrilled to not be a rock.”

Joe then asked, “Who are all these brothers?”

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And what are you thankful for? – A short FICTIONAL story

Wednesday Dec 1, 2004