On a brisk November day in upstate Maine, the Harrington family worked in quiet happy synchronicity to prepare their Thanksgiving day meal. Tammy and Susan worked over the stove, putting the final touches on plating a perfect golden brown turkey. Tammy’s husband, Patrick, worked on a bowl of spiked apple cider like a mad scientist. Even Grandma Joan, who had been slipping mentally in her later years, was helping to set the table. Each place setting got two spoons and no knives, but if that was the price for old Joan to be included, so be it. Susan’s kitchen was spacious and immaculate--high tech gas burning stove, tasteful blue backsplash against white tiles, and several hidden compartments in which guns of various calibers were stored, in case the war broke out.
On top of the general pleasantness of family bonding, there was another reason everyone was so cheerful, and moving with a bouncing glee like elves in a workshop. Robert had not shown up. It was tense for a moment when everyone arrived, but Tammy sat everyone down and told them all not to engage with Robert if he started spouting his wacky ideas, especially Abby, who was on winter break from university.
“Listen, I love you all, and I love our Robert, but I just do not want a repeat of last Thanksgiving. I can’t take it. If Robert starts sharing his...opinions, just don’t engage. There is no need to make this holiday ugly.”
“Why do we do this?” Abby protested. “Why do we let him hold us hostage like this? What, just because he’s brainwashed we have to walk on eggshells?”
There was a heavy silence that emanated throughout the living room. It was shared even by Tammy’s three young children, who didn’t fully understand what the grownups were talking about, but knew it was no good. Tammy had a feeling Abby would dissent--university was good for a young woman, but in a circumstance like this, she knew Abby’s opinionated nature may be a problem.
“Listen, I understand what you mean. I’ve lived with him longer than you, but we’re family. Family is important. It’s the fundamental building block of society, and we will need family with what’s going to come in the next few years.”
The family nodded in agreement. Even Abby was compelled by her plea.
Now, dinner was set, and the chances of Robert showing up were dwindling by the moment. Maybe he was deterred by last Thanksgiving. Maybe arguing with the whole lot of the Harringtons made him weary of family gatherings. As they all sat and began to bow their heads, the front door opened, and a familiar voice pierced their tranquility like an arrow through chainmail.
“Hey! Sorry I’m late!”
The grace was postponed--everyone got up and immediately performed their duty of small talk and pleasantry with Robert. “How’ve you been?” and “how’s the city?” were greeted with “Great!” and “Hectic, but you know.” Everything seemed to be ok. Robert was pleasant, amicable, even extending an olive branch to Abby by asking her how university was treating her, to which she responded a terse, “Fine.”
Robert grabbed a cup of the spiked cider and sat down. Now the real test was upon him, and Tammy cautiously resumed her call to grace.
“Okay everyone, bow your heads...if you want to, that is. If you don’t, it’s ok. Just keep looking forward...quietly.”
Abby rolled her eyes in disgust at the accommodations to Robert, but to everyone’s surprise, Robert was the first to close his eyes and bow his head. Tammy was startled at the gesture, and it took her a moment to gather herself and begin.
“Um, okay. We are gathered here today to share a meal, as a family. May this meal nourish our bodies, like the stream nourishes the land. May we use the powerful energy to do good on this earth--this flat, flat earth. May the Jewish overlords who control the weather allow us to play outside today, and may the robots pretending to be human beings, like Bernie Sanders and Pedro Pascal, be sent into the fiery pits of the scrap yard. This is a day for family.” She looked up to see if Robert would mount a protest, but his head was still bowed and his face was serene. She smiled and went on. “Not the fake families of crisis actors who pretend to be victims of staged mass shootings perpetrated by the government to try and take away our rights as American citizens. I mean real families, like ours…amen.”
“Amen,” the family chorused, none louder than Robert. Tammy was almost crying tears of joy as she said, “Okay, let’s eat.”
The meal carried on wonderfully. Patrick talked about his new truck, Susan announced they she was trying for another kid--”we’re naming this one Adolf, let’s see what the government has to say about that”--and the kids finished eating quickly to play their favorite game, Ruby Ridge.
“Come out with your hands up!” One of them shouted from behind a sofa in the living room.
“No! My sovereignty is more important than your arbitrary misinterpretation of the Constitution,” another shouted in the living room.
Through all of this, Robert sat quietly, nodding and smiling. But something was off. Tammy noticed he had stolen away six times for more cider, staggering back to the table after the last trip. She braced herself as Patrick continued his story.
“So, I told the principal, so what if he brought a gun to school? We teach our kids about guns, they know how to handle them. Maybe a properly-armed student body is the best deterrent for a mass shooting,” he said, taking a bite of turkey so the rest of the table could nod in agreement. Tammy noticed that only Robert sat still.
“I mean, we convinced them our boys didn’t need the stupid measles vaccine, so this should be no problem,” Patrick continued.
“Vaccines,” Grandma Joan said, rolling her eyes. “I never got them, and neither did my second husband, or first husband. When they told me they both died of polio, I knew instantly it was a simple government operation to make sure I didn’t breed. Well, look who got the last laugh,” she said, winking at Patrick.
“Well,” Robert started, and the table fell silent. “I think some vaccines work.” Robert’s tone, soaked in alcohol, still had the tinges of apprehension, as if he didn’t even really want to say what he said, but he had to.
“Yeah, they work when it comes to putting nanobots in our bloodstream and tracking our location,” Patrick retorted. His tone was playful, but had an undertone of malice.
“I don’t think they put nanobots in us,” Robert declared.
“And I don’t think we should be talking about this right now!” Tammy pleaded.
Abby leaned forward. “Uncle Robert, what do you think about public roads?”
“Abby!” Tammy shouted. “There is no need to instigate at the dinner table.”
“Come on--we’re all grownups, we can have a civil conversation,” Abby said.
Robert looked at her, his vision clearly blurring and refocusing, before he said, “I think they’re good.”
“You son of a bitch!” Patrick yelled. He needed to be restrained by Susan to stop him from lunging at Robert. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Patrick said, settling back in his seat.
The children were looking now. Tammy shot a glance at Abby. “Why did you do that?” she hissed.
“At university, they teach us it’s important to have uncomfortable conversations with our small minded family members,” Abby replied.
“Small minded? That’s not even a real university, it’s a militia in the woods,” Robert said haughtily.
Now it was Abby’s turn to stand up. “College accreditation is communism!”
“You don’t even know what communism is! Last year you said public tap water was communist,” Robert said.
“And I bet you love that fluoride, don’t you, Commie?”
“Stop it! Stop it!”
All eyes turned to look at the speaker. This time, it wasn’t Tammy trying to keep the peace--it was Susan’s six-year-old son, Stevebannon. “I don’t want you to fight, it makes me sad. I don’t want to be sad, I want to be happy. We should be happy, and together, for when the wolves come.”
Everyone sat down. There were tears in Tammy’s eyes, and Robert’s too. They went over to the boy. His father picked him up, and Robert tussled his hair.
“Youre right” Abby said. “I’m sorry, we should be getting along. Thanksgiving is about togetherness.”
“Thanksgiving is about family,” Robert added.
“Exactly, Thanksgiving is about acknowledging that the United States government planned and executed 9/11,” Stevebannon added.
“Yeah,” Robert said. “And we can all agree on that.”
The End
