Short Fiction: The Thanksgiving Girl THE SIREN COMBINED with the vehicle’s high beams lit up the moonless night, exposing not only the corn fields on both sides of the road but also the motorcycle just ahead—along with Rudi. She didn’t even know where she was or whether those after her were the local police or the FBI. Nor did she much care, with her mind so focused on escaping. Which only intensified when she heard another siren—this one approaching in front of her, and she knew she had to do something drastic and do it fast. So, the moment she saw a path to her right she swerved off the road and into the corn. The car couldn’t follow, and came to a halt at the mouth of the path—and, while continuing to drive at full speed, Rudi heard its siren get softer and softer until she could hear it no more. At the same time she drove farther into the endless field. She drove for hours, only stopping at dawn when she came upon a lonely country road, where she saw a small town in the near distance. And, needing both gas and food, she headed for it. As she did, something occurred to her: it was Thanksgiving—a Thanksgiving in which she was not only a fugitive but also alone. This made her sullen, which only got worse when she reached the town and found it empty—empty of people and any signs of life, even though all the stores seemed open. Hello? she called out after parking at a gas station. There was no reply, so she yelled louder—and louder still. But the only response was silence. Lots of it. She cursed at this and at her life—and kicked a nearby garbage can onto the ground. She also knocked over her bike as she sank into her self-pity. Then, she heard it: the sound of crying not far away—and, forgetting everything else, she rushed toward it. She rushed through a handful of blocks until she saw a little girl of five sitting on the edge of the sidewalk weeping into her hands—a girl with filthy brown hair, as well as a sweatshirt and jeans that were just as filthy. On instinct alone, Rudi ran up to the child, and she sat beside her, before asking what was wrong. The girl wouldn’t answer. She just kept crying. Were you in an accident? Rudi went on. Where are your parents? My mom, the girl finally spoke through her tears—she was supposed to be here! These words caused Rudi to remember her own childhood, and her lack of a mother—and she rested her hand on the girl’s. Leave me alone! the girl barked. I’m just trying to help! Rudi barked back. Suddenly, the girl looked up at Rudi—in shock. Rudi couldn’t help smile at this, and she said, I guess you’ve never seen a punk before. The girl didn’t exactly reply. She just wiped her eyes and continued staring. What’s your name? continued Rudi. Vicki, the girl mumbled. I actually have a good friend named Vicki. She’s the best, actually. Vicki seemed unsure how to respond, and eventually she just uttered, Happy Thanksgiving. You, too. Do, do you live around here? Vicki shook her head, so Rudi looked around the town and—not knowing what else to do—she said, We better get you cleaned up. She also lifted the girl to her feet and the two started wandering through the vacant streets. Where is everyone? Rudi inquired. I don’t know, Vicki answered, just as they saw a motel down the block. They afterward walked up to one of the rooms at random and Rudi tried a door, and surprisingly found it open. I’ll start a bath, she told the girl as she entered the room and dropped both her small backpack and her jacket by the door. I don’t need a bath, insisted Vicki. You need one. ——— IN THE BUBBLY water, as Rudi scrubbed the layers of dirt off Vicki, she began feeling an odd sensation. She always thought such chores would be mundane and joyless, but she now realized they were anything but. Bathing the child made her feel warm and human—and strangely alive. So alive that she didn’t want these feelings to end. Though Vicki didn’t feel quite the same. I’m all wrinkly, she growled, while showing Rudi her tiny fingers. All right, Rudi murmured with a grin, prior to drying the girl off with a towel, which she also wrapped around her. Rudi then picked up the dirty clothes and said, I’m gonna see if I can find a washing machine. ——— RUDI FOUND A laundry room in the back of the motel. But that wasn’t the only thing she found. She also found a set of clean clothes in the drier—clothes that matched the ones Vicki was wearing. This confused Rudi, and frightened her as well—but she shook both off and returned to the room with the clothes, where she saw something that made her forget everything else. She saw Vicki putting on makeup—makeup she had gotten from Rudi’s backpack and was using to make herself look much like Rudi. She had thick mascara and dark menacing eye shadow—not to mention deep-red lipstick and a powder-white face. I’m just glad I didn’t have any peroxide with me, Rudi quipped. Or scissors. Vicki ignored this, and continued with the makeup. Your mother is gonna kill you when she sees you like that, Rudi went on, through a huge smile. Me, too, probably. Vicki’s only response was to turn from the mirror and say, I’m hungry. Me, too. ——— THE TWO WALKED down the street hand-in-hand until they found a restaurant, which they entered, before stopping at the threshold. Anyone here? Rudi called out, even though she knew the answer—and when it came she looked down at Vicki and said, Sorry. Vicki, though, was undeterred, and she let go of Rudi’s hand and rushed off toward the kitchen. Where you going? Rudi yelled. I’m hungry! the girl yelled back. You can’t just walk into someone’s kitchen! Sure I can! Rudi chuckled at this, and followed the girl into the kitchen—and she saw her staring into a big steel refrigerator. She stared into it as well, before saying, No turkey. That’s okay, Vicki replied. I don’t eat meat. Me, neither, Rudi mumbled, with a little surprise. We can make an omelet. Just don’t make a big mess. How else can you make an omelet? Vicki then grabbed two handfuls of eggs, and Rudi picked up some cheese along with onions and peppers—and the two headed over to a grill. And we can bake a cake, too, Vicki insisted. I don’t know how to bake a cake, Rudi insisted back, with a bit of a sigh. I’m not exactly Betty Crocker. There’s a cookbook over there, Vicki remarked, while pointing to a big blue book across the room. You can read? Rudi exclaimed, with more than just a little surprise. My mom taught me years ago. Said she wanted to give me a leg up, and a couple of arms, too. Your mom sounds wonderful. She’s the best in the whole world! ——— THE CAKE MAKING was slow going, especially with the two making mistake after mistake—while becoming covered in flour and eggs and just about everything else. What’s more, Vicki was becoming irritable. I’m bored, she uttered. Me, too, Rudi uttered back. Let’s sing something. I don’t sing very well. Me, neither. But who cares? All right, Rudi relented, with some trepidation, having never cared for children’s songs even when she was a child. What do you want to sing? How about ‘Gabba Gabba Hey’? You know the Ramones? Rudi gasped, with so much shock that she almost swooned. They’re my favorite, Vicki declared, prior to belting out the song way off-key. She also wildly danced, including on the walls. Rudi happily joined in, and, when the song reached its climax, Vicki splashed some flour into Rudi’s face. And it wasn’t long before a food fight ensued between the two—with their laughter overwhelming everything else. ——— THE TWO SAT in the dining room with their omelet and some juice, with the cake now baking in the oven. Do you say prayers before you eat? Rudi asked, wanting to make the girl feel comfortable. My mom says, Vicki replied, she says the only prayer you have to say is ‘Thank you.’ And she says you don’t even have to say it. You just have to feel it. Your mom’s smart, too. The smartest. Rudi and Vicki soon began to eat, with Rudi unable to hide her smile—something Vicki couldn’t help notice. Why are you smiling? she inquired. This has been the best Thanksgiving I can remember, Rudi answered, while choking on her words a little. Me, too. ——— AFTER RUDI AND Vicki finished the omelet and a big chunk of the cake, they cleaned up everything—including both themselves and the kitchen—and Rudi left some money on the table. Then, the two left the restaurant, with the sun beginning to set. Strange, Rudi said, it seems like it was dawn not that long ago. Suddenly, Vicki started yawning. You wanna go back to the motel? Rudi asked. Nah, Vicki replied, prior to sitting on the edge of the sidewalk. Rudi joined her, before realizing something that caused her the same confusion and fright she felt in the laundry room. She realized they were sitting in the same exact spot where they met. We, we really need to find your mother, Rudi muttered, while staring blankly into the darkening skies. We don’t have to, Vicki insisted, with another yawn. What do you mean? You’re my mother. Or will be. Instantly, Rudi spun her head toward the girl. But she was gone, along with the town—and Rudi was sitting in the corn field, with her motorcycle a short distance away. And she might’ve thought the whole thing had been a dream if not for the remnants of food on her shirt—and her thankfulness. Thankfulness not for who she was or what she had, but for what she knew she’d become.
Posted on: Sun, 16 Nov 2014 17:42:48 +0000