You know that picture Norman Rockwell drew, of the insanely
perfect family at an insanely perfect Thanksgiving? Well, if you don’t here it
is:
Sometimes I’ve looked at it and wondered what the real story is. Which of the adults recently went through a bad
divorce? Which kid is a shoplifter? Who is missing at their table, and why? I
know, that’s kind of dark, but things are never as perfect as they seem—not even
during the holidays.
Dad and
Eliza refused to come down—to be reduced to guests at Charlie’s parents in
their own home town would be too great an embarrassment. I wasn’t invited up to
join them, either, though I’m sure I would have been fine with letting me come.
It just felt weird going without the invitation.
So I tagged
along with Marie to her in-laws’ for Thanksgiving, as I was given an invitation
there. Might as well, since my roommates were going there, too, right?
When over
at Charlie’s parents’ house, things were normal, I suppose. I mean, it wasn’t
like one of the holiday episodes of a 90s sitcom where the turkey burns and the
toddler gets into the pies and the annoying extended family comes and messes up
the house. The food was all delicious, we had some nice conversation, I played
the piano (no Elvis or Sara Bareilles, thank you), and overall it would have
made a horrible TV show.
But after a
few glasses of wine, Charlie’s mom got some tears in her eyes. She looked at
Charlie, Hannah, and Lucy, saying that it was their first Thanksgiving all
together in six years. Then the tears increased, and she said that if only
Ricky were here, it’d all be perfect.
Ricky is a
late son of theirs, he died over in Iraq eight years ago. While the three
others are all very ambitious and smart, Ricky never really found anything he
was good at. Unless you count harassing women a talent—I had the misfortune of
being in the same year as him in school, but was plain enough that he didn’t
bother groping me or making obscene comments about what I was wearing in class.
Ricky barely graduated high school and spent years living off of his parents,
refusing to find work or go to school. Finally, his father kicked him out of
the house. Desperate for a quick way to get money and benefits, he joined the
Navy. And in his first tour out, he died of injuries he got during an explosion.
It’s one of
those awkward situations where he was such an awful person, but nobody wants to
say anything against the dead, especially in front of his mother. And perhaps
I’m being too harsh. He was funny, when he wasn’t being offensive. And he was
an excellent basketball player. I didn’t know him too well, so I’m sure there
was probably something to miss.
Anyway, while Charlie’s mom began
to cry, Hannah and Lucy tried to comfort her and tell her that Ricky died
protecting our nation, but she wasn’t allowing herself to be comforted.
She ran
back into her room and came stumbling out with a dirty, torn letter. It was the
only one Ricky wrote during the six months he was in Iraq, just two weeks
before his death. She pushed it to Charlie and asked him to read it out loud,
which he did. We didn’t get past the first line, though, because Ricky
mentioned he was writing with encouragement from a certain Fred everyone had
been recently acquainted with.
This sent
their mom into shrieks. She demanded someone call Fred so she could talk to him
right now. But, please understand,
she wouldn’t have done this normally. She would have waited for him to come
around again to talk, but she was tipsy and already sad about Ricky.
Lucy pulled
up his number and her mom called him. I only heard her side of the
conversation, obviously, but whatever he said to her seemed to calm her down.
She brought up her son, and how they served together in Iraq, and how Fred must
have been such a good friend, didn’t he remember encouraging Ricky to write to
his family? Then she asked Fred if he knew if Ricky said anything before he
passed away. I don’t know what Fred said back to her, but she cried all over
again and kept on saying “thank you, thank you, thank you” into the phone.
After that,
her husband insisted she go to bed and rest. Hannah and Lucy seemed a bit
embarrassed by it, they kept on telling me that she never acts like that, this was a one-time thing. They said that I
would understand, wouldn’t I, the grief of losing someone close to me? And I
do. I’ve done some strange things because of losing people. Chopped off my
hair, worn nothing but sweatpants and hoodies for a year, had a diet that
consisted of nothing but coffee and saltines.
And I think
that’s where Norman Rockwell got things wrong. We’re all hurting over
something, even if we’re happy, there’s always going to be something in all our
lives that bring us to call an acquaintance on a major holiday to ask questions
about someone he probably doesn’t remember. And that’s fine, that doesn’t take
away from the joy of a new baby or everyone coming to Thanksgiving. But it
still affects us, and comes back to haunt us, no matter how perfect the outside
may seem.
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