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Chapter 13: Kevin

Today is Thanksgiving, a national holiday.

Thanksgiving is supposed to be a time for family… you know, the loving warm fuzzy picture that everyone has in their minds where there are lots of happy people sitting around, eagerly awaiting to share good food and camaraderie. It’s a time to give thanks for what you have, a time of reflection on all the blessings in your life.

I hate Thanksgiving.

It was okay when I was younger; back then, when Thomas was still living with us, we’d all pack up and go to one of the relative’s houses to celebrate. I can remember good times with Harry and Brian, long before their family fell apart, when we were all sure that life would just go on happily forever.

That was before we understood what reality was all about. Before Thomas tried his escape through drugs, before Mom began drifting away in her make-believe world, before my father began taking out his unhappiness on whatever was convenient. Which, usually, meant me.

Thomas left when he was 18; he hasn’t been back for seven years. Not once. Mom… well, my father might hate the world, but he’s not stupid. She’s his bread butter; without her money, he’d have nothing. Even in his most drunken rages, he’d never gone after her. No, there wasn’t a reason, not when there was a better target.


This year, our little Thanksgiving celebration had started one day early. Yesterday my father had come home, already half drunk as usual, not happy that he’d lost another sales account with a fairly important client. Mom, of course, tried to soothe things over, springing the supposedly good news on him that we had all been invited to a friend’s house for the traditional turkey dinner. He went ballistic.

First he went on a long rant about pride and how a man ought to be able to provide food for his own; he babbled on about not accepting charity or something and how unfair it was that a hardworking man couldn’t get a break. He told my mother that under no circumstances would we be going anywhere but home on Thanksgiving. Then, after spending some productive time busting up some dishes in the kitchen, he screamed at her to clean up the mess. Next, of course, he proceeded to get totally and completely drunk.

I went upstairs and locked my bedroom door… standard operating procedure… and tried to figure out what to do. I called Brian, and talked to him for a while; the kid always makes me feel better. He was totally wound up about Precious, who’d arrived in the States the day before. Excitedly, he told me that he, along with Julia, would be spending Thanksgiving with her and her family. I almost laughed at his enthusiasm. Casually I asked what Harry was doing for the holiday, and he told me that he was working… getting double time pay, something that he was really keyed about. Well, there went my escape plans in just a few short sentences.

I let him go fairly quickly, he sounded like he’d had about ten cups of coffee in a row. Precious always did that to him, and I had to envy that a bit. I called Camille next. Her greeting was somewhat less than enthusiastic; things had been pretty icy between us ever since Brian’s visit. We’d said some harsh things to one another, and neither one of us wanted to make the first move. Still, even Camille’s aloof company would be better than my silent mother and sullen father. I wanted to be anywhere but home come tomorrow.

When I told her that I’d like to spend the day with her, she rather coldly told me that she had other plans. Her parents were going to her Uncle’s house, a couple of cities away. She then said that if I had wanted to spend some time with her, I should have apologized earlier. Funny, but she seemed to miss the fact I hadn’t apologized at any point in the current conversation. A few clipped words later, she said her good-byes.

I hung up, feeling utterly alone. I made a couple more phone calls, all unproductive. Texas was having a huge family get-together… of course, Precious was his cousin, so that’s where Brian would be as well. I wished them a good holiday, and tried Howie. Now, Howie’s family was even larger than Texas’, and I could barely hear him speaking over the clamor. Apparently the relatives had come early, and he was immersed in what seemed like a happy, joyful chaos. I wished him well also, and hung up feeling even lonelier than before.

As a last resort, I called Lance. We’d known each other for years, and I considered him a casual friend. I probably was overstepping the boundaries, but he was the kind of guy that would help you out if he could, no matter what.

He was surprised to hear from me, but seemed fairly happy about the call. We chatted a bit about Brian, and he ended up asking me what I was doing for Thanksgiving. When I told him I really had no plans, other than wanting to not be at home, a kind of long pause came over the phone. Just when I was about to say something, he spoke.

“Well,” he said, “Stacy and her husband are taking the kids over to his parent’s house for the day. I was planning on staying here and studying. I know it sounds terminally boring, but… if you want to come and hang out, that’d be cool.”

And just that fast, my dilemma was solved. I accepted, told him I’d be over around noon, and promised to bring something to eat besides chips and pretzels. He seemed really pleased that I agreed to come, and for the first time that day I felt good about something.

I waited until I was pretty sure my father had passed out, then snuck downstairs to see what we had that I could stash away for my trip. My mother was sitting there at the kitchen table, staring into space with a horribly blank look on her face. I spoke to her, but didn’t get much of a response, so I went about my business. I was surprised when, just as I was about to leave, she told me that she would be going over to her friend’s house tomorrow.

Then she shocked me completely by saying that she had filed for divorce two days earlier.

I sat down, kind of numb. For the first time in… well, I don’t know how long… she looked right into my eyes.

“Kevin,” she said, “I just can’t be here any longer. I’m sorry. I’m going away tomorrow and not coming back.”

“What… what about me?”

“I can’t… can’t handle anything else right now,” she said, looking away. “I’m leaving everything, the house, the furniture… he should be happy with that.”

I looked at her in horror. She was also leaving me… didn’t she know what that would mean?

“But-“

“You have the money in your savings,” she said. “And the trust fund next year for your schooling.” She stood up and refused to meet my eye. “You’re grown now. You don’t need this… me… any more.”

With that, my mother walked out of the kitchen.

I don’t know how long I sat there. I guess I shouldn’t have been so stunned; I’d been wondering for years why she hadn’t left him. But never, in all my imaginings, did I ever think that she’d leave me too.

Sure, I was twenty… and I’d been pretty self-sufficient for years… but it still was a hard blow. I’ll never admit I cried like a baby, sitting there in the kitchen last night. Grown, self-sufficient men just don’t do that kind of thing. Right?

I realized I had nowhere to go. I sure couldn’t stay in the house with him; the minute he found out about the divorce, all hell would break loose and quite frankly I didn’t want to be anywhere near that. After I started thinking clear, I tried to figure out where I’d go.

I was packing my bags an hour later and still hadn’t found an answer. But, I had a plan. I’d take everything I could, and when I went over to Lance’s house on Thanksgiving, I’d ask his help in finding a place. Surely I could make do in some motel for a couple of days until I got an apartment lined up.

I knew that my father would be passed out the rest of the night; he usually slept off a drunken binge until the next afternoon. I’d get up early, sneak out with my stuff, and be long gone before he ever had a clue. My mother… well, I didn’t know what to think about that. If she was smart, she’d leave first and then call the bastard to give him the good news over the phone. As far as the two of us…

It was too soon to figure that out. She knew Harry’s number, she would be able to track me down when she got her act together. If she got it together.

I actually fell asleep fairly quickly, if you can believe it. I guess it was all the stress catching up, I don’t know. But when I woke up this morning, it was to a deathly quiet house. Perfect.

I showered and dressed, then sorted through a few more things. I was surprised at how easy it was to leave most of it behind; I guess that emotionally, I’d left the house long ago. With me went my photo album, my camera, a couple of yearbooks, and a bunch of CDs. The rest was clothes and my good boots; I eyed off my stereo system, but since it wouldn’t fit in my suitcases, decided to ditch it. I heard a car door slam, and went to the window just in time to see my mother’s departure. No fanfare, no apology, no good-byes. Just a cloud of dust and a rumble of rubber on gravel.

I glanced at the clock, and saw that it was just after nine thirty. I looked around, snapped my suitcases shut, and hauled them to the door. As a precaution, I listened for any sounds, but heard only silence. Carefully I crept out into the hallway, down the stairs, and out to the garage. Perfect.

I had my stuff in the car, and was about ready to go, when I remembered my lockbox. In it were the trust papers, my birth certificate, keys to my safety deposit box, and the wedding ring set my grandmother had wanted me to have and pass on to my someday-wife. I wanted to curse, to yell… how could I have forgotten it?

I debated for a long minute, then realized that once I left, I didn’t ever want to come back. Not for anything. I had to go get the box. I silently went up the stairs, not hearing a sound anywhere. I slid the box from the top of my closet, checked the contents, and tucked it under my arm. A sense of liberation, of freedom, took hold of me and I knew my life was about to change.

I didn’t see the shadow by the back door.

My hand was reaching for the knob when the first blow came. Something hard hit the side of my head… could have been a fist, or a bottle, or a brick for all I could tell. The pain erupted, and I saw stars. I fell to the floor, the box flying out of my grasp, and felt another brutal hit to my ribs. I heard a snap right before the blinding flash of white.

The details that followed are still fuzzy. I remember the smell of alcohol, a few angry, acid words yelled in my ear, and blow after blow to every part of my body. Everything washed into a long blur of pain; I don’t know which was the final shot that sent me into oblivion some time later.

Happy Thanksgiving, Kevin.

I woke up about half an hour ago, surprised to find myself able to move and see. There was complete silence in the house, and I cautiously rolled over and sat up. It took me three minutes, according to the clock on the wall, but I did it. I’m sure he had thought me dead, but he’d failed even in that. For once, I was grateful for his ineptitude.

The lockbox was still there; it had a dent on one side, but it was intact. I gathered it up, then half walked, half crawled to the door. I made it down the three short steps, and navigated my way to the car in the garage.

I had no idea where he was, nor did I care. I sat in the seat for a couple of minutes, until most of the dizziness passed. Then, I started the car and backed it out.

The traffic is pretty light, which is good. I keep having these moments of blackness; just a few seconds, but they are scaring the hell out of me. I can’t be doing more than thirty miles an hour. But my only thought is to get to Lance’s… I’ll be safe there. He’ll know what to do. Lance always helps.

A car horn is blowing… the guy behind me looks impatient. I must have spaced out at the stop sign. I ease forward, realizing that this is the last street before Lance’s. The numbers on the houses are blurry, so I go slow. It’s been a while, but I remember his house is light blue. Such a happy color. I wonder if Lance is happy.

I think this is his house. I hope it is, anyway, because I don’t think I can make it any further. I lean back and close my eyes for a moment, waiting for the weirdness to pass. Someone is calling my name, and I force my eyes open.

Lance is saying something through the window. Behind him I see the blue house. Such a happy color… but he doesn’t look very happy. He looks scared. That’s not right.

The door opens, and I go with it. I am looking at gravel, Lance’s gravel.

He wants me to come with him, to go inside. Oh! Maybe that will make him happy.

I try my best to walk, but the ground keeps tipping.

Somehow, I’m inside his house. Such a happy house.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Lance,” I say.

He’s such a good friend, because he reaches out to hug me just before I hit the floor.