Marshall Ramsey

Someone asked me on my Facebook page if a particular story was true. My answer? Simple: Yes and no.

No, no, I’m not trying to sound like a fence-sitting politician. Every story I write is like gumbo. The ingredients and seasoning are scraps of things I’ve experienced. I throw them into the pot and allow them to simmer.  I stir and then serve.

So no story is 100% “the truth.”  But they have enough truth in them to make them real. They’re just observations I’ve made while stumbling around this crazy world where we live.

Mark Twain said, “Truth is stranger than fiction.” I couldn’t agree more.

It was 10:59 p.m. on Thanksgiving and the scene outside of the MegaMart Superstore looked like a kicked over fire ant nest.  Hundreds of impatient shoppers pressed anxiously against the doors. They were eagerly awaiting their chance to get a MacroSoft U-Box video game system (for the amazingly low price of $199.)

Little did they know, there were only five of them. The Security Guard knew it. That’s why there was fear in his eyes.

Just hours before, these dark angels of greed gathered around their respective dinner tables giving thanks for what they had.  It was now Black Friday. And they wanted MORE.

Thelma East knew the Pilgrims had probably done the same thing.  They had a nice meal with the Indians and then went and raided their food stores the very next day.   The crisp cold air nipped at her nose as moon danced in and out of the clouds.  An assistant manager walked toward the front doors with the look of terror.  Black Friday shoppers, like dogs, smelled fear.  The assistant manager would have been safer wearing a red cape while running with the bulls.

A rather loud lady tried to cut in line.  Another woman, still committed to the last thread of civilization that could possibly exist on Black Friday, quickly set her straight. The rest of the crowd offered support and the line-busting woman slinked to the back of the crowd in shame.  Black Friday turned average Americans into a scene from Lord of the Flies.  Thelma East expected to see a pig head and hear a conch shell blow at any moment.

As the key unlocked the door, the bloodlust for the U-Box reached a fever pitch.

“U-BOX, U-BOX, U-BOX, U-BOX!” the crowd began to chant.

The assistant manager, using the same technique he would use to escape an oncoming tornado, ran at a ninety-degree angle.  “God have mercy on your souls,” he muttered as he ran back toward his duty station.

Like water pouring through a failed dam, the mass of humanity poured through the MegaMart entrance.  The greeter ducked behind a Dark Knight Rises display. But even Batman couldn’t save her.  A 68-year-old woman with a cane body-checked her into a pile of Twinkie boxes. Twinkies and the greeter were both history.  One shopper shoved another in the back, getting a purse aimed at her head.

If Christmas represented Peace on Earth, Goodwill to men, it had taken the night off.  There was none of that. And there was no Thankgiving, either. This was all about the prize.

The cashier in the electronics department heard the rumbling coming toward her.  Dust rose in the front of the store as the hoard crashed like a tsunami toward the helpless teenager. Hundreds of shoppers were about to fight over five U-boxes.

Civil Wars have started over less.

Thelma East looked older, but was remarkably agile.  She outpaced the man on oxygen and reached the front of the pack.  Thelma thought of the joke, “Can you outrun a bear? No, I just have to be able to outrun you.”  She could see the U-Box. She could taste the U-Box. She would soon possess the U-Box.

Her hands gripped the cardboard box as she hustled past the display. If she had stopped, she would have been mobbed and probably had her prize stripped from her fingers.  But she never broke stride.  In the Black Friday Olympics, she had just won the gold in record time.  She quickly ducked behind a Honey Boo Boo video display to catch her breath.  Her eyes admired lovingly the cardboard box.  The U-Box. The finest of all game systems.

She. Had. Won.

Epiphanies hit at the strangest times and in the strangest places.

As she looked at her hard-won prize, Thelma East thought, “Why do I need a U-Box?”  Thelma had no children. She had no grandchildren.  She realized it was just about wanting, not needing.

The Pilgrims would have puked.

She looked over at the still large crowd. They were shoving not loving. They were spiteful not thankful.

In the back of the crowd was a slender woman. She looked to be about 35 and had dark circles under her eyes.  By the looks of her clothes, she probably wasn’t particularly wealthy, either.  The look of disappointment on her face told Thelma that the slender woman had come here for a purpose.  Thelma made eye contact with her and quietly gestured for her to come over to the video section.

“What’s your name? Mine’s Thelma.”

“Sandy.”

“You have kids, Sandy?”

“Yes, ma’am. Two boys.  This has been a tough year for us.  They lost their dad in a car accident.  I’m trying to give them what they really wanted from Santa.  I thought I could get a U-Box tonight, but I guess I was kidding myself.”

Thelma smiled. Like the Grinch, her heart grew two sizes that night. (But it probably had more to do with the fat-laden meal she had eaten earlier in the day.)

She bent over and picked up the box off the shelf next to her. She handed it to the shocked woman and said, “Sandy, Happy Thanksgiving and Merry Christmas.”

The tired mother’s eyes lit up at the sight of the precious U-Box. “Um.”

Thelma waived her hand and said, “Don’t say another word. Let’s go to the cashier.  My treat.”

And at that moment in the middle of a suburban MegaMart, Thelma East had a glorious Black Friday rebellion.

Atticus looked up, swished his tail in disgust, spun around and settled back down in the middle of the sunbeam.

Twenty pounds, striped and slightly cranky, Atticus was the only family Joseph Jordan had.  And while the cat wasn’t much when it came to conversation, he was a good listener.

“Happy Thanksgiving, you lazy fat cat.”

Atticus swished his tail again.  Someone would find pee in his shoe in the morning.

Joseph Jordan lived in a one-bedroom efficiency apartment in the wrong part of town. He didn’t care, though.  The rent was cheap and for the most part, no one bothered him.

He flipped through the cable channels and watched a few moments of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.  He remembered watching the parade on his grandparent’s old cabinet television.  He’d lie there, on the floor and watch all the colorful floats and balloons pass thorugh the cold New York streets. Those were more innocent times.  Now if he tried to get down on the floor, it would take EMTs and a crane to get him back up.

His grandparents were now gone.  And so were his parents. His wife left him years ago.  And his kids lived out in Seattle near her.  So it was just him and Atticus.  “You’re a good cat, Atticus.”  Atticus, his best friend, rolled over in approval.

He had a hot date with Marie Callender.  Sure, she was kind of cold at first, but she warmed up quickly.  He liked that joke — and his frozen dinner that was awaiting him.  Dust floated around in the sunbeam like dancing fairies as Atticus began to snore. A fat cat will do that.

Thanksgiving was a challenge for Joseph.  He had so much to be thankful for — but an equally long list of disappointments.

Being alone on Thanksgiving was number one on his list.

He had seen too much death in Vietnam to take his own life, but he understood why people committed suicide. The pain of loneliness taunted him nightly.  Atticus acted as his guardian angel, driving the demons away.

Joseph had retired from the Post Office in August.  Now his life involved going to the grocery, the bank and a handful of other chores.  But he always loved going to the grocery. There he liked to talk to the cashier in lane number six.  Her name was Emily Rose and could be a clone of his daughter Becky.  “Hi there Mr. Joseph!” His heart raced when he thought of her voice.

Emily Rose was young, married and struggled to make ends meet.  Studying architecture at night, she had her dreams.  Her husband Bobby worked on an oil rig. He noticed that she looked older than her years. She had lines on her forehead that came from long nights of studying and worrying. Where would the money come from? Would Bobby be OK on the rig? She was still paying the hospital for emergency surgery in April. Emily Rose was also a cancer survivor.

“Atticus, what will it be?  Fish sticks or beef tips?”  The cat, of course, wanted fish. “Beef tips it is.”

Atticus was not happy with his two-legged friend.

Joseph hobbled over to the freezer, pulled the dinner out and put in the microwave.  Four minutes on high, stir and then two more minutes. Let it cool for two minutes.  And then Thanksgiving dinner would be ready.

Knock knock knock.

Someone stood at the door.

Joseph grabbed his pistol and walked over to the peephole.

Knock knock knock.  “Mr. Joseph?”

Joseph’s heart skipped a beat.

He unchained the doors and threw it open. There stood Emily Rose and her husband. Both were dressed warmly to fight the evening’s chill.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Joseph!  Emily Rose and I want you to come have Thanksgiving dinner with us.” Bobby smiled as he put his arm around the old man. “And Atticus is invited, too.”

Within moments, the old man, the fat cat and the young couple were headed across town to a small house in a small neighborhood.  Cars lined the streets in front of it.

The front door swung open, revealed a wild scene.  Smells of turkey and dressing wafted through the room. Small children played chase around the table. An elderly lady in an apron smiled and scolded them half heartedly as she held a pumpkin pie.  Four men cheered as the Redskins quarterback threw yet another touchdown.  A fire blazed in the living room, glowing almost as brightly as the love that radiated from people in the room.

“Meet your new family, Mr. Joseph. Happy Thanksgiving!”

The family sat at a huge table, prayed and began to eat.

As he listened to all the family’s stories, Joseph decided the first on his list of things to be thankful for was the borrowed family.  He took a bite of turkey and dropped a piece onto the floor.

Atticus swished his tail in complete approval.