Carl poured the gravy down the sink. The chunky brown liquid dribbled slowly down the drain. It wasn’t as thick as the gravy last year but no one but him would know that. For the second year in a row, he cooked a full turkey dinner for one. As he placed the mashed potatoes in a Tupperware container, he began to feel that the house was too quiet.
He wandered into the den and put on the Buddy Guy album he bought earlier that week. Carl moved back to the kitchen as Buddy Guy’s Fender Stratocaster began to squeal through the speakers of his stereo. He began to sing along to the music in an effort to fight back tears.
After the dinner was packed into plastic containers and placed in the fridge, Carl thought he would try and give Helen another call.
“Helen, its- Hey, its Dad. I’m hoping that you’re having… I made turkey again this year. Well, uh, I hope, um, that you are having a good time with- with, uh, school. Give me a call back if you get a chance. Goodnight.”
He doubted she would call him back if she hadn’t called him back after his first twenty messages this past year. He sighed heavily to himself as he ran his hand through his hair.
What did I do to make my kids hate me like this, he thought. He knew the answer but always asked himself the question.
The answer was simple enough. He had an extramarital affair and when his wife found out she killed herself. Margret had been mentally unstable for some time. Naturally, the kids blamed him. Once they were old enough to go to university, the both of them moved away for school. Scott chose to go west to Calgary and Helen decided to head north to Quebec. He doesn’t blame them; he would have done the same. He would have run from himself if it were possible. Hell, he drank to run from himself.
He moved back into the den for his bottle of whiskey. As he passed, he noticed the birthday card on the desk in the hall. Scott’s birthday was in two weeks. In three weeks, Carl could look forward to a letter with the words “return to sender” on the envelope. He retrieved the whiskey the bar and went to the living room. He sat in the dark room, drinking his whiskey as Buddy Guy continued to sing about his cheating woman.
Another successful Thanksgiving, Carl thought to himself. Well at least I have my health to be thankful for.
He continued to drink in his dark living room until he passed out. Ten minutes later, his phone rang. It went to the machine.
this is good; I don't think you should tell us what he did though; make your audience do some of the work.
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