Grandma dipped the ladle in the gravy boat

Stirring the brown, sticky thick sauce 

Voices rose above the swirling dirge of moat

Ignorant to the silent loss

Empty chair where grandpa sat last Thanksgiving Day

Echoes of a broken heat beat

Pouring out and over turkey, gravy's spray

People dive in and start to eat

Mom and dad deliver puns; kids around fight 

Aunts and uncles laughing at this 

Grandma passes the potatoes, then stands right 

Speaks to the table, "Don't you miss

Grandpa's stories filling your hearts and minds at all?

Well, just hear the one I will tell.

Forty-two years ago, this time in the fall

Someone else came; filled up my pail-

Yes, he had his way with me, and eldest son, know

You were not grandpa's; not by birth.

I was raped, but kept you still; I didn't let go.

Yet he loved you and all your worth

Summed up in one word: family, and yours today

Love and laugh and live for all here."

Shocked to hear what grandma said, the chairs didn't sway

Leaning in, waiting in new fear

Dad gulped down his bite and longed for clarity 

Mom brushed back her hair, all wavy

Grandma smiled and looked around for all to see

Asking, "Who would like more Gravy?"

Sara clung to my arm as we walked through the door. The same photos were on the wall, but Mom didn’t usher us in, pulling off our coats and pinching cheeks. It hit me, all those ways she was gone.

We were late, so I shoveled turkey and stuffing onto my plate, while giving out one-handed hugs. I squished in next to Dad, on his second overflowing plate already. Sara sat in the only other open seat next to Aunt Mona, who would be after those gums with a toothpick mid-meal flicking bits of food onto everyone in the vicinity. When I introduced Sara, her smile too bright, her auburn hair shining in the mid-afternoon light, Dad dropped his fork, splashing gravy on his sweater and gaped.

We were used to some level of eccentricity out of him, especially since mom passed, but his slack jaw was weird enough that all conversation died and my cousin Tara giggled in the silence. I elbowed him under the table and he mumbled a nicety. Sara blushed and took tiny bites of sweet potatoes while feigning interest at Aunt Mona’s hatred of the Yankees lineup. Her large eyes darted sideways, finding mine. It killed me that he hadn’t saved us seats together. Mom would’ve remembered.

“Dad,” I whispered. “What’s with you?”

He didn’t answer. Just continued to squirrel mountains of mashed potatoes into his cheeks. Every few seconds his eyes would find Sara and stare for a moment, before pretending to look out the window behind her and then down at his food. It was nuts.

“Dad! You’re making her uncomfortable!”

“She looks…” he started to explain, then stopped. The words spun out over our plates for a minute.

“Dad?”

“Peggy, she…” he started again.

“Sara looks nothing like Mom, Dad.” I said, annoyed. Where was he going with this?

“No, no, not her...” He answered, then stopped again. I thought for a second that he was going to push back from the table, unzip his khakis and retire to the living room, but instead he blurted this out.

I started recording after the first few minutes when I realized he was unburdening himself of some old cancerous memory. I decided to post it because, well, I feel like other people should know what happened, but I’m not ready to talk to the family. I just can’t face it. Not yet anyway.

---------------------------------------------------------

… too fast, I slid my new ride off the cobblestone drive, mowing over a row of tulips, almost clipping Maggie’s hip. I gave Maggie’s older sister Tempe a quick kiss as Phoebe, my best friend, moved silently into the back. Window down in the cool autumn air, I slapped the door with my palm, too cool by half.

“We gotta run by Buck’s right quick.” I said, catching Phoebe’s emerald eyes in the rearview. Phoebe froze. She was anorexically thin now. Her thick red waves were matted too. Her skin was normally milky, but in that moment translucent. Blue veins shown at either temple. I felt her shrinking, melting into the leather. I had a sense of impermanence, of foreboding. That was my first missed opportunity to save her.

Buck lived by himself in a patchwork one-story behind the school. He wouldn’t talk about it, but everyone on the team had seen the scars. I figured whatever had happened was likely why he was so damn good on the field. He feared no-one and hit like a guy three times his size. I wasn’t friends with him exactly, but I tried. Because of Phoebe.

He was sitting on his broken porch swing in a T-shirt as if it wasn’t thirty degrees out, shading his eyes against the glare. He was searching for Phoebe so I purposely stood in his line of sight to box him out. Still, I took the bag when he asked and gave him the Ram handshake on my way out.

We pulled up to the field as the treasure hunt was kicking off. The first clue was written in sloping letters on a sandwich board hanging from the mascot’s horns. He looks warm at least, I thought.

It read, “Pipes through which no water flows.” I pulled the girls into a huddle. “Alright, Red team,” I began. Maggie was picking at her fingernails, slumped onto her back foot. 

“This one’s obvious, but I don’t want to lead the other teams in. Tempe and I will cut through the woods.” Tempe flicked her eyelashes at me, sexy smile peeking from one corner of her mouth. “You two loop around the front and meet us at Jason Park.”

We chased each other across the field. She was damn fast. Two juniors stood just inside the treeline rolling a joint. Once we were safely past, I stopped and took out the hunting knife Buck had given me, turning it over and over in my hands, making a spark dance on Tempe’s chin from the autumn sunlight that filtered through the maples. She gave me doe eyes and kissed me hard, grinding on my jeans and giggling self-consciously. Then, with her warm breath still caught in my ear, she took off, swerving between the trees and faux screaming. I followed at a jog, adjusting my jeans and cursing her under my breath.

Maggie and Phoebe were cresting the top of the half pipe as we arrived. Orange team came in at a jog from the bottom of the pipe. Both teams leaned in, our shadows darkening the curve, making the chalk inscription easier to read.

“An unwritten message of great importance,” it said. Maggie sighed and walked in a little circle, shoving the white rubber tip of her sneaker against the rising concrete.

“This blows,” she said, shivering.

Tempe shot back quickly, “God, Maggie! You’re always so bitchy! Your bullshit is pissing me off lately.” Phoebe frowned at Tempe and gently rubbed Maggie’s back.

Maggie wrinkled her forehead, but held her tongue. “Fine,” she whispered, “It’s the highway sign at the onramp to fift...” Before she could finish, Tempe shoved Maggie’s chest, too hard to be playful. Maggie stumbled back a step and looked down at her sneakers, pissed.

“Of course!” Tempe exclaimed. “The chick with her baby in one hand and the chemistry book in the other right? Don’t have sex, sex equals babies, duh!” Tempe smiled up at me and learned in for a kiss. I bent down to catch it, but she bit my bottom lip instead and laughed. Man, I wanted to hit her sometimes.

The onramp was empty when we got there. Phoebe picked up a rock that had been painted Ram orange, wiping dirt from the folded paper that had been hidden underneath. I snatched it away from her.

“Hey, what the hell C!” she complained.

“I read faster,” I said and laughed, holding the slip above her head. When she jumped for it, I saw the bruising under her chin. Her scarf had rubbed away the makeup she’d so carefully applied that morning. Blue fingerprints were visible on both sides of her thin throat. I wanted to say something, wanted to touch her face, make her look at me. But Tempe was hugging me from the side, her arms wrapped protectively around my waist. That was my second missed chance.

“What’s found but not lost.” I read.

Phoebe frowned a minute, tapping the top of her thigh lightly with her long white fingers and then answered. “It’s the lost and found at school I bet,” she said softly. It says FOUND on the outside of the bin, but that’s it.” She smiled crookedly. It made her look younger than seventeen. Her freckles burst across both cheeks and her green eyes sparkled in the sun. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. But the aura, that swirl of dark was still there just under the surface. I felt sick with it. I held her gaze for as long as I dared.

“I’m out,” Maggie said, ruining the moment. She looked tired and nervous. Phoebe slung her arm across Maggie’s shoulders.

“I’ll walk you,” she said softly. That’s when everything went wrong. In hindsight, I should have seen it coming because I was closest to Tempe.

In an instant, Tempe’s hand snaked into my backpack and she came up with the knife, thrusting the air in front of her. “You’re not going fucking anywhere!” she yelled, only half kidding.

“Woah,” I yelled, trying to grab Tempe’s arm. She whirled away from me and closed in on them. Phoebe froze, but Maggie had the sense to pick up the orange rock and chuck it at Tempe. She ducked in time and rushed Maggie, grabbing her ponytail and holding the knife point up to her cheek just under her eye. I still don’t know why she choose Maggie. Maybe because she was a little afraid of Phoebe, just like I was a little afraid of Buck.

“Listen kiddos,” she said, her voice chipped and cracking. Her blue eyes were glassy as if tears were starting, but she was laughing.  “I just want to get this done and win the prize!” Her eyes cut to the still deserted onramp. “No other team is even close! Just SHUT UP and LET’S DO THIS!” she screamed and pumped the air with her free hand as if leading a cheer. Tears were rolling down Maggie’s face and Phoebe’s lips were squeezed in a bloodless line.

“Alright, alright Tempe,” I said, keeping my voice low and soft. “Gimmie the knife and we are all…” I looked quickly to Maggie and Phoebs for support and they nodded slowly “we’re ALL gonna get this done.” She sighed dramatically and then tossed the knife in the dirt in front of my feet. When I stooped down to pick it up, Maggie turned into Phoebe’s arms for a hug, sobbing. Tempe swatted my ass and giggled. I picked her up and threw her over one shoulder, smacking her ass hard enough to leave a bruise. She gasped and then giggled again. I wanted to hit her harder. Hit her hard enough to get through to her. But I didn’t.

When we crossed back over Old T Bridge, Buck was sitting on the top trestle facing the river. Tempe saw him first and rolled her eyes at me. “Wackadoo is after Phoebes again, C.” she said. “Maybe you should talk to him?” It chafed that Tempe used Phoebe’s nickname for me. And she was trying so hard to be sweet that it was cloying, false as if she hadn’t been holding a knife on her little sister twenty minutes ago.

I sighed. “Yeah, I guess. Go back and apologize to Maggie and Phoebes too. I’ll try to do this quick so we don’t blow our lead.”

Tempe grinned her perfect teeth smile and kissed me on the cheek before trotting back to the girls. I watched her go, thinking suddenly that I hated her. She was really an empty wasteland.

I hopped the fence, swinging both legs over to straddle the trestle next to Buck. I saw the half-empty bottle of J.D. in his right hand. He held it low and swung it back and forth, matching the rhythm of his legs.

“Little early for the sauce yeah?” I said to the side of Buck’s face. He still hadn’t acknowledged I was there. When he finally turned, it was crazy what I saw. I’d seen Buck an hour earlier, but this Buck wore a totally different face. This Buck had two black eyes, a shattered nose (it lay against his left cheek) and his bottom lip was ripped open and hanging in two pieces. It must have hurt like hell to swig from the bottle.

“Who?” I asked. Buck didn’t answer, but of course I knew. I reached into my backpack and returned the knife. I wasn’t sure how Buck knew that his dad was coming for a visit, but he had. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked me to take the knife and each time he looked tuned up when I gave it back to him. I wondered whether he didn’t trust himself or was it that he thought his dad might kill him with it? I glanced over my shoulder and saw the girls were close.

Phoebe separated from the other girls once she got a good look at Buck. She took a couple of steps, hesitant at first and then ran hard for him, scrambling up over the fence and grabbing Buck from behind. I got one good look at her before she and he traded places on the trestle. That was my third chance to save her. I didn’t.

The last thing I saw before I turned back to Tempe was Phoebe place her hands gently on either side of Buck’s face, slowly letting her head fall forward until their foreheads were touching. I saw her lips moving as she whispered something lovely to Buck. It was an intimate moment, so I turned away, gritting my teeth.

Turning back, I missed what Tempe said, but I knew by the self-satisfied look on her face that it had been shitty. Maggie’s face cracked wide open. As I watched, her gloom dissolved and fury bloomed in its place. Maggie whipped her hair back as if summoning courage from the autumn wind and shoved Tempe hard. Tempe stumbled, falling to the pavement and Maggie climbed on top of her. She got one slap in, but Tempe was stronger. She rolled Maggie over one hip and pinned her underneath expertly, grinding her skull into the pavement and throwing handfuls of pebbles into her face and open mouth, drawing outraged tears and painful coughing from Maggie.

I was bending down to pull them apart when I heard Phoebe scream. I froze. Later I thought I had been absorbed in the spectacle in front of me. But that wasn’t true. Really, I had been waiting for this to happen. That’s why I didn’t move. I had known. Had in fact handed Buck the knife.

When I finally turned around, it was too late. The ruined face that stared out at me was void, dead already. He forced Phoebe to stand on the trestle, leaning into the vertical strut. Tears ran down her face and she was whimpering. Her large eyes were locked on mine. There was the girl I’d seen in the rearview. She’d been begging me silently all day, this Phoebe, to save her. And I’d done nothing. Nothing but hand him the knife.

It was only five steps from the Maggie-Tempe tangle to the railing where Buck and Phoebe stood. As I watched, he held her face out, making sure I had a good clear view. Then he brought out the still glinting knife and stabbed her in wide sweeping arcs once, twice, three times. Blood poured from her stomach, her chest, her neck. I was two steps out, my hands just touching the rail when Buck pushed off. She howled as she fell, screaming my name. The echoing cry found me, ringing up from under the bridge, hitting me over and over again.

I was still looking over the side, still scanning the water for any sign of her when I felt Tempe behind me. She ran her arms through mine, coiling into me like a snake.

“Oh, I’m so sorry…” she whispered, cooing into my ear. Then she giggled. It was the giggle that killed her. Not me.

Maggie was there for me after. She helped me tell my story, our story, to the police. She saved me, she loved me. She had always hated the nickname Tempe gave her. So she used Peggy instead.

---------------------------------------------------------

Deeply secluded within

feathered point of view,

Thanksgiving dinner threatens

all I hold dear.

I had big plans -

I wanted to be a baker

but I’m combustible you see.

Don’t want to be roasted

golden brown and succulent.

I don’t deserve to be eaten -

I’m involved in worthy causes -

Turkey Anti- Defamation League

the Uncle Tom Underground

and Kentucky Fried protest.

I have to admit -

I was a normal poult,

I pierced my snood and wattle

swaggered my bod in front of

sensuous juicy buxom hens

but now…

I’m in the prime of my life

organizing turkey Olympics

games of throw the egg,

bobble heading and

biggest turkey feet.

I’m furious at this family

holding your forks

waiting to stuff faces

with particles of me.

Why don’t you think

of turkey’s point of view?

You think we just eat grubs

and gobble all day?

I’m running for President

plenty of turkeys there

and most of them plump.

Why don’t you roast Trump?

"Is that a bit of lipstick on your collar, bro?" I couldn't help but snicker. Obviously he'd made a stop in town before arriving at Mom's for dinner. Someone's pink lips had managed to stain the underside of his chin, as well. My squeaky clean, thirty-four year old jock of a brother made a booty call on Thanksgiving day and the evidence was all over the collar of his baby blue polo. This was wonderful.

"Oh shit." Brian grabbed Mom's folded white cloth napkin that she reserved only for formal dinners and toppled his water glass trying to soak it. He didn't seem to notice cold drenching his khakis; he was too busy scrubbing his neck raw in an attempt to erase the evidence of his sluttiness.

Jess's eyes turned to wide green saucers and her eyebrows molded to her blonde hairline simultaneously. "Get it off before she notices, Brian!" She whispered harshly, shrieking through her teeth into his ear. Why the hell did she care? She should be taunting him with me.

What was I kidding? She was only younger than him by eighteen months, and they'd always been partners in crime.  They may as well have been twins.

Being the youngest of three children by twelve years should have been a religious experience according to textbooks. I should have been spoiled rotten, doted on, and swelled with the vocabulary of a literary genius by the time I was three years old. Not only did that fate escape me, here I was a total fucking mess and disappointment to my entire Stepford family.

The thought of my adult brother trying to hide his pre-dinner romp from our Martha Steward clone of a mother made my toes curl.  

"Don't smudge the napkins, Brian," I was now being sarcastic, "she'll burn you at the stake and eat your liver for dessert."

"Shut up, Dee!"  I'm pretty sure the look on Jess's face as she whipped the smile from mine with her demand was a mixture of hatred and fear.  She knew as well as I did that imperfection didn't sit well on Mother's stomach.  

"Here they come," Brian spoke so quickly I had to double take.  He shoved the dripping wet napkin into the puddle that was now his lap.  

Mom was stunning, which was a given due to her zero tolerance for ugliness, and the smell of Tide and Elizabeth Arden burned my nostrils as the wind gingerly floated towards us through her catwalk calves.  Her below-the-knee, pressed pink A-line dress and large brunette coils were her Thanksgiving staple, and somehow she managed to keep four-inch heels from sinking into the grass below her.  It always took me a few moments to adjust to her cleanliness.

My fanatic evangelist Nana and demented Pop-Pop followed slowly behind her, paying no mind to her self-deluded extravagance.

"Oh Brian, honey," Mom's sweet Alabama swag was so thick I almost gagged, "you've spilt your water!  Lemme getcha a disposable napkin, baby."

Brian inconspicuously tucked the "special occasion" napkin further into his crotch. 

"Yeah, uh, thanks, Mom," he was so bad at being nervous, "sorry about that."

"Oh, that's all right, Darlin'," as usual, she couldn't manage to end a sentence without a pet name meant to highlight her Southern charm and stamp her role as head of household, "I'll be right back."

The air loosened with her departure from the back yard through the sliding glass doors of her white kitchen, and Brian let out a deep sigh of relief.  

Nana and Pop-Pop had managed to make it to the table we had set up under the old Magnolia tree.  That was where we always ate our Thanksgiving dinner if the weather would allow.  She pulled a chair for him and set his walker aside.

"Now Melvin, I hope you remembered to empty yourself before we left the house," she was referring to his colostomy bag.  No one ever said "colostomy bag" aloud because this might imply that my grandfather was wearing a plastic sac full of his own shit under his pants, which, of course, was exactly the case.

"Goddammit, Janet, I don't need you remindin' me of everythin' to do, you know.  I'm not a child, for god's sake!"  I loved my crazy Pop-Pop.  He was the best part of Thanksgiving dinner each year and the only person sitting around the table who didn't filter every word that came out of his mouth.

We all drew silence with the sound of the sliding doors opening to let Mom make her second debut into the backyard.  This time, Mom's eighty pound Goldendoodle, Gregory, came bounding through behind her, completely ignoring our party, and straight to back fence to hike his leg. Another very annoying fact about my mother is that she insisted on giving animals human names - and very pretentious ones at that.

Everyone stopped to watch her glide in our direction, not because we enjoyed the view, just because we were accustomed to her silent expectations.

"Here ya go, baby boy," she handed my brother a handful of paper napkins imprinted with little turkeys sporting cartoon human eyes, muskets, and over-sized Pilgrim top hats.  Whoever dreamed up that little gem must have had a few cannibalistic tendencies.

"Okay, everyone," Mother announced in her customary hostess voice, "lets all stand and bow our heads for the family prayer so we can get this show on the road!"  

This was my Nana's invention.  Being the Christian she was, she thought it best we all gave praise individually, working in a circle around the table as we held hands, blessing our food before we were allowed to touch it.  I'm positive no one but her and mother enjoyed this part, but I had a plan today.  This was my chance to drop my bomb as comically as possible.  I'd already been what Southern families refer to as the "black sheep" for the majority of my life, so I felt it was only characteristic and appropriate to disrupt my family's facade and shatter their illusions while saying thanks to our good Lord in heaven.

Nana generally started the prayer, Pop-Pop finished it with an Amen, which made me last in line this year and would work out perfectly.  He was sitting directly to my left, and would remain that way through the show.  He always ignored Nana's request that he stand.  There was a good chance he was either a closet atheist or convinced he was going to hell regardless, so he was not too keen to put forth any extra effort.  

We stood and gathered hands, everyone dutifully sealing their eyelids shut and lowering their chins to their chests.  Nana began.

"Our dear Lord and Savior in Heaven, Jesus Christ, I ask that you gather with us today on this most blessed of occasions.  I ask that you stand before this meal and grace it with your light and everlasting love so that we may dine here with you in your eternal gift of salvation."

Jess's turn went smoothly, "Thank you Lord for bringing us all together today, and thank you for this beautiful meal Mother has prepared for us.  I ask that you bring peace to our family."

Now Brian with his usual idiocy, "God, thanks for the turkey and the stuffing and especially the sweet potato pie.  Thank you for blessing me with such a great family, and I ask that you continue to make our lives so awesome."

I had to grind my teeth through Mom's honey-sweet show, "Dear Lord in Heaven, we are so thankful to your presence here with us on this fine Thanksgiving day.  Thank you, Lord, for blessing us with such a beautiful afternoon to enjoy our dinner together.  Thank you for gracing our family with an abundance of not only material wealth but love and joy, as we are wicked sinners who do not deserve such things.  I ask that you allow my darling Charles, my dear husband and father to our three perfect children, to be with us in spirit today.  Father, I also ask that we feel Charles' love and kindness with us as we celebrate you and our most devoted family and nourish our bodies with the feast before us.   Please, Lord, I ask that you continue to work through me to do your will, and show my child, um, children your way and light."

I had almost decided to back out, but that last little dig seared my intention.  Still, as I gathered my guts, the silence continued on for what felt like a year, and my mother intervened my procrastination.

"Dee," her voice still directed toward the ground, "Delilah, honey, aren't you going to join us?"

I didn't answer her, as I knew this question was more of a demand than a request. I simply just started spilling.

"Dear baby Jesus," my grandfather firmly pinched my knee and let out an amused snort, "thank you so much for Mom making dinner, and, uh, thank you so much for everyone who showed up to eat it. I have a special request today, which I hope you'll grant me since I never ask you for anything. Ever."  I stopped for a millisecond to catch a breath. "Today I ask that you allow my family to accept everything I'm about to tell them, and I hope that you allow them the strength and grace to treat me kindly and help me out a little here."

Everyone was now silent other than my grandfather's heavy breathing beside me and the sound of Gregory under the table licking his testicles.

"So the thing is, Jesus, I'm gay.  Like really gay.  I'm sorry I never told anyone.  But that's not all.  Three days ago my girlfriend kicked me out because I accidentally caught the sofa on fire - again.  I accidentally caught the sofa on fire because I fell asleep with a cigarette in my mouth - again, and I fell asleep like that because I was a little drunk - well, I was really drunk because I have a tiny alcohol dependency problem.  I also lost my job because I was late - again.  Cass burned all of my things except for my vinyl record collection, which was only safe because it was in my car, so I have nothing - no clothes, no birth certificate, no curtains, nothing - and I need to live here with Mom indefinitely until I can get my shit together.  Please let her not kick me out.  I also have a warrant out for my arrest because I have three unpaid traffic tickets, and ask that you allow Mother to be generous enough to help me pay those so I don't go to jail."

The air was palpable. I could feel eyes searing into me although mine were still closed tightly and my face turned to the ground.  My cheeks were undoubtedly now the same color of Mom's crimson front door.

Cue Pop-Pop, "Amen."  

Still no sound.  I decided to open my eyes and face the wrath of the Cleaver family standing before me, their hands still wrapped around one another in a circle of unity.  I had just severed their tie to perfection.  I had just tainted their golden and holy goblet of Christ's water-wine, and they probably all hated my guts.  

My mother seemed unable to blink or shut her mouth.  She was just - staring at me.  My brother and sister's eyes were fixed on her, waiting for the volcanic eruption that was sure to come.

"She burned your birth certificate?"  Mom was shocked, but this was not the response I was expecting.

"What?  I mean, yeah, but," I needed to finish this sentence, but Jess chimed in.

"What! Why would you give it to her? Why would you do that, Mother! You know how she is!  How the hell are we gonna get another one!"

Jess was being incredibly dramatic considering this was my birth certificate we were discussing, none of which made any sense to me at all. Had they not heard anything else I said?

"Don't you dare start with me, Jessica Lynn," Mom was turning bright red and blotchy with anger now, "this wouldn't be an issue at all if it weren't for you two." 

I leaned toward my mother, not because I couldn't hear from my position, but because I wanted to make sure I was at an optimum distance to witness her reaming my siblings - this was something I'd never, ever been privy to be part of, and I wanted to soak in every second.

I would have preferred to remain sucked into their odd battle of the birth certificate, but what I would soon learn was to my misfortune, Pop-Pop decided that moment would be a good time to introduce some of his unwanted wisdom.

"Oh, Dee, we already all know you're a bean flicker," he actually laughed as he was saying these words to me, "you know, I had my own fair share of homo encounters in the Navy, and I gotta tell ya, Dee, it ain't as unusual as ya think. So get off your damn high horse."

And oh my god, he even continued, "from a man's point of view, the back door is a lot more obligin' to his sensibilities, if ya know what I mean. Once ya go up the rear, you don't never-"

"Melvin Wayne Roberts!" Nana intercepted his lesson with his full name, which was a certain indication of trouble. My mind was beginning to fold into itself with the thought of my grandpa mounting a blue-eyed sailor on the poop deck. But then, she insisted on vomiting more horrendous details of their past.

"You horrible old coot! You promised you'd never tell anyone! I can't believe this - after all these years of covering up for you, and you just blurt it out in front of the children! At Thanksgiving! You gonna tell 'em about your little boy nurse, too? Like you can do a thing anyway with that floppy old pecker. Oh you! Just let it all out, you ignorant, wrinkly old Nancy boy, just tell 'em and get it over with!"

Pop-Pop was howling with laughter at this point, and I'm quite certain the look on my face was egging him on nicely. I'm not sure if it was defined horror or a mixture of intrigue and 'please don't say these things to me,' but he found it hilarious.

The feeling of warm turkey gravy splattering my right temple gave me a legitimate reason to excuse myself from Nana and Pop-Pop's two-man circus, but it only dragged me into the one on the other side of the table. Apparently, I was more of a contributor to this one than I was previously aware.

Jessica and Mom must have wrapped up their initial cat fight by means of gravy boat because the same mess that was filling my ear hole was dripping from Jess's long blonde hair.  She sat slumped and defeated, in tears, watching Mother and Brian go at it nose-to-nose.

I'd never once seen Brian challenge Mom for any reason.  They'd always been like peas and carrots, those two, which was even a bit unnerving at times.  I questioned on many occasions whether or not he had some kind of Oedipus complex or something.

But not on this day, oh no.  I wished I could turn the action down to slow motion and watch the spit fly from face to face.  They were really going at it.

"How can you refuse to take any responsibility, Mother?"  Brian was actually - crying - and this unfortunately pulled the humor down a few notches, but not completely.  "You knew!  You can't say you didn't.  You refused to do anything until it was going to taint your little white picked fence, and you can't deny that, Mother!"

Mom's lips were curled completely back, and I swear she was drooling.

"Brian, how dare you say that!  I got rid of him, didn't I?  You think that was easy?  What did you expect me to do?  Did you want the entire neighborhood to find out?  They would have thought we were - "

At this moment, my attention was diverted by a violent thumping coming from my grandparents' end of the table.  This actually turned out to be a violent humping of my grandmother's left leg by Gregory, which Nana didn't even seem to notice due to the tantrum she was still absorbed in.  

Nana wasn't just sobbing, she was whaling and praying at the same time.  My grandfather, however, did take note of Gregory, which nearly made him slide right out of his chair in a fit of laughter.

"Take a look at him, will ya," his voice had become so high pitched from lack of air, I could barely understand him, "he's really goin' at it!  Ha ha!  He fancies you, Janet, you outta take him home and maybe you can get a little sumthin' sumthin', too!  Maybe that'll loosen ya up a little - take ya back to Jesus!  Hallelujah, hallelujah!  Amen! Ha ha ha!"

"Oh dear Lord," Nana was on the verge of speaking in tongues, "Please, Jesus, release this man of his evil!"  She leaned in an nearly licked his tongue with her venomous request.  "He is possessed by the Devil and it has demented his mind!"

Pop-Pop was now raving mad, and his chair began to buckle under pressure of his belly's momentum.  He started waving his hands in the air, still bellowing in a fit of laughter, "Arrrgh, ooooh, I'm possessed!  Ha ha!"

Red faced and tears streaming down his cheeks, he looked straight at me and stated much more plainly that I'd like to have heard, "You know, she calls me demented?  She must have forgotten the only reason I married her was because she was knocked up with your mother!  Ha ha!  I'd never even touched that nasty ole snatch!  Didn't want her little church friends to find out, now did she? Ha ha ha - "

His maniacal chuckles were abruptly cut off by an ear-cracking slap to his jaw.  Nana screeched at a decibel that must have been high enough to scare Gregory away, because he ceased the raping of her leg, "You son of a bitch!"

It took me a moment, but once I was able to wrap my head around the fact that my purist grandmother just called her husband a son of a bitch, it sunk in.  Oh dear baby Jesus, he wasn't my mother's father!

My jaw dropped open, as to be expected in this type of situation, and my eyes diverted straight to my mother, who luckily was paying no attention to my grandparents and managed to steer clear of having her warped history revealed to her.  

No, she was too busy picking up handfuls of stuffing and throwing them at my brother's face while simultaneously avoiding his cannon fire of cranberry sauce, which had now added a magenta hue to her perfectly pink attire.

"And do you think I didn't notice it," the fear of what was about to come out of her mouth was not enough to cause me to cover my ears, "huh?  You think I didn't see that balm all over your collar?"

I managed a sigh of relief after that one.  Surely this couldn't have been as bad as whatever was so bad before, all of which I was still completely clueless to.

"Stop it, Mom," Jess was trying to calm her down, but Mom's top had already blown "stop, please!"

"Oh no I won't!" Mom's words were electric, and I could feel the current from where I was.  "I told you two to keep your filthy hands away from each other in my house!"

What?  Wait, what was I hearing?  Even Gregory realized that now was the time to pay attention.  He sat at a safe distance and studied Mother, intently waiting for the cue to run for his life, while the rest of us went completely silent.  Or perhaps we were in shock.

"Isn't one incestuous little freak enough for you two, or would you like another?"  

Just then, her left arm shot out as if it had a lever attached to fire it, and a perfectly manicured pointer finger aimed straight for my face.  Her words were still blasting away at my brother and sister, but it was obvious she was referring to me.

"She wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me!"

I shot out of my chair, nearly tipping the table with the weight of my fists pounding into it.  I felt I had the right to speak now.

"Holy fucking what?  What do you mean?  What did you just say!  Somebody tell me what the hell is going on here, or I'm going to shove that turkey up your dysfunctional fucking asses!"

Everyone stopped.  Jess and Brian's heads both sunk into their shoulders as if they were searching for some lost dignity deep inside their souls, and Mother slowly turned her entire body towards me, looking straight into my eyes.  

For the first time in my life, my mother was offering me what appeared to be some amount of remorse.  I could tell she was searching for the appropriate words to say, which must have been difficult for a person who had never had to find these type before, much less express them.

"Dee, honey," she spoke softly to me, her eyes beginning to tremble, "I think it's time we tell you the truth about who you are."

I remained still, quiet.  There was nothing for me to say until she was finished.

"Your father - well, Jess and Brian's father - he was a sick man," I knew what she had to say was not going to revolve around health problems, "he had a little hobby.  Please, honey, I didn't know until -"

"Tell her, Mother," Brian spoke softly, not angry any longer, "she deserves to know."

"Well," Mom continued, "I didn't know about it until - until we found out you were coming.  Delilah..."

"What, Mom!  Tell me!"  I don't remember if I whispered or screamed, but what followed was enough to put anyone in a nuthouse.

"Dee, the ashes buried to left of that sycamore tree," she glanced over the spot almost center in the backyard, under the old sycamore tree that had been there for at least one hundred years.  The swing Brian hung from the branch above was creaking with the breeze, "those are the ashes of a child molester, not a saint, and not your father.  When I figured out what was happening, we staged his death.  We had to get rid of him.  The world couldn't know.  We closed the garage door while he was passed out drunk in the front seat of the car, Dee.  It wasn't an accident like I said, like I always told you.  I sent Jess away until you were born.  Delilah, sweetheart, Jess and Brian are your real parents.  Not me and Dad."

The world around me began to spin as the reality of the words she just spoke set in.  I had to force myself to breathe, and dizziness took over.  There is nausea, which we've all experienced, but then there's the kind of vomit-inducing feeling that takes over when you find out your brother and sister are your parents.  

My knees buckled and I hit the ground.  I didn't know what to say or even how to blink.  I was frozen for what seemed to be a year.  The yard was quiet, no one was praying, my grandfather was not laughing.

After a while, my brain began to function again.  I noticed that the wind was blowing just hard enough to move the tulips blooming around the sycamore tree.  I stood up, brushed the dirt from the backside of my trousers, and spoke.

"May I please be excused, Mom - uh."  Right then it hit me.  

I had spent my whole life feeling as if I were the failure in this family.  I was the person they all had to be ashamed of.  I had planned my coming out for weeks, and having the added self-destruction of alcoholism causing the rest of my life to fall apart in the interim didn't make it any easier.

I was so afraid to let them down.  This was eating me from the inside out for years, and I was so afraid to have a heart to heart with them, that I'd chosen to do it in a way that would make me look like an even bigger village idiot.

But now, I stand here, my mother my grandmother, my grandfather not my mother's father, my grandmother covering up a secret conception by marrying a gay man who also needed a cover up, and my brother and sister not only my biological mother and father, but still apparently had the hots for one another and were making out before Thanksgiving dinner.  To top it off, my father - or grandfather, rather - was a freaking pedophile, and my mother murdered him.

I couldn't hold it back.  Laughter erupted from my throat so hard that I'm pretty sure it damaged my vocal chords.  With my diaphragm aching, and what I'm sure was urine leaking into my underwear, I had to say it.

"You know what?  All this time!  All this time I thought I was the freak!  Ha ha ha!  I'm the most normal person standing at this table!  You people are a bunch of whackos!"

I wasn't sure what would happen for the rest of my life, but the only thing I could think to do was grab Pop-Pop.  I gathered his walker, took his hand and pulled him up.  He was not only the only person here apparently not related to me in anyway, but he was the only person I liked, and definitely the only one I had anything in common with.

"Come on Pops,"  I declared loud enough for everyone behind me to hear, "let's get outta here.  We'll come back when they clean themselves up."

I glanced behind me for one last look, only to catch the sight of Gregory taking a steaming dump on the mound of dirt below the swing hanging from the Sycamore tree.  I had to smile.  I liked that dog.

"Well, don't hold your breath, girl," Pop-Pop snorted, "did you catch all that?  Those people are a hot fuckin' mess."

Leanne poked the lumps in her mashed potatoes with a fork. She didn’t understand how Aunt Patty could never manage to remove them even though she used a hand-held mixer to mash potatoes. Leanne grabbed a forkful of potatoes sans lumps and swallowed the creamy starch. She glanced around the table. Aunt Patty ignored her food and kept refilling her glass, which was strange. She usually never shut up about how good her food was during dinner. Uncle Roger was concentrating on eating everything on his plate. Leanne’s four cousins whispered to each other and giggled at Leanne when they thought she couldn’t see them. She was used to being made fun of by them by now. Leanne’s mom was fixing her blouse for the thousandth time since sitting down, trying to get the worn out material to stop sliding off her shoulders.

Every Thanksgiving was celebrated the same way. Leanne and her mom went to Aunt Patty’s house. Aunt Patty bossed Leanne’s mom around and Leanne’s mom never complained. Without Aunt Patty and Uncle Roger, instead of a Thanksgiving feast, Leanne and her mom would be eating TV dinners they bought on sale from Wal-Mart. Leanne knew nothing about her dad and her mom changed the subject if she asked about him. Aunt Patty always gave Leanne a present when she came over on Thanksgiving as if to make up for his absence. Last year it had been a rosary. This year it was a cross necklace. Leanne gave these presents to her mom when Aunt Patty’s back was turned. Leanne’s mom rolled her eyes at the gifts and donated them to Goodwill.

Leanne started sawing the slice of turkey on her plate. The plate was cleared enough that she could read the words, Blessed Day, that had been painted on the plate. Leanne’s cousin, Mary, had decorated the plate at a youth group event at church. Leanne had been staying with Aunt Patty at the time, because her mom was at a work conference, and had been forced to go with Mary. Leanne accidentally-on-purpose broke her own plate. Leanne was still sawing at the same slice of Turkey and her fingers were starting to cramp from the effort.

“Leanne, stop messing around with that turkey!” Aunt Patty yelled.

The room grew silent. Leanne had never heard Aunt Patty yell. Her cousins tried to hide their grins by hurriedly stuffing their mouths with mashed potatoes. Uncle Roger was frozen in place. A forkful of turkey drowned in gravy had halted halfway to his mouth. Leanne’s mom looked nervous and she was gripping her fork so tight Leanne could see the outline of the bones in her knuckles. Aunt Patty’s face was red and she took a deep gulp from her glass that Leanne guessed wasn’t cranberry juice. Leanne had been born after Aunt Patty became sober and had never seen her drunk. Leanne’s mom rose halfway up from her seat, still gripping onto her fork, before Aunt Patty yelled at her to sit down.

“Don’t you dare try to calm me down, Stacy!” Aunt Patty yelled at her. She pointed her glass to Leanne and red liquid swished dangerously from side to side. “I saw you give the necklace to your mom!” Red liquid sloshed around as the glass was pointed to Leanne’s mom, who now looked like a deer caught in headlights. “I saw you roll your eyes at me, Stacy! How dare you? I’m trying to help your daughter! She needs as much help as she can get to get into heaven after being born in prison!”

Leanne’s cousins stared at their mom. Mashed potato brew dripped from their mouths that were open from shock. Uncle Roger’s fork slipped from his grasp and fell on his plate. Gravy splashed all over his shirt. Leanne’s mom cradled her head in her hands and her blouse slipped halfway off her shoulders. Aunt Patty took another gulp from her drink and let out a giant burp.

Leanne stared at her plate. She wished she hadn’t eaten the mashed potatoes. The words, Blessed Day, looked up at her. They were soon covered up as Leanne threw up on her plate. That was the last time she was invited to celebrate Thanksgiving at Aunt Patty’s house.

#itslit #getlit #prosechallenge

Everyone lives for that Thanksgiving meal

Where life grinds by on a crumbling wheel

Tradition is safe, tradition is sound

Distract from the secret buried underground

No one notices the odd heap of earth

In the backyard, like the dirt giving birth

"Pass the potatoes" or "Pass the peas"

Ignore your cousin's dirt-caked knees

Reach for the knife, he offers it to you

Remain calm, slowly swallow then chew

A red hue is layered under each of his nails

Aunt Judy recounts her childhood tales

Laughing, the forced hollow kind, fills the crowded room

I can't help peering out the window at the earth's wound

My cousin waves at me, "Earth to Emma.", and grins

Proudly he wears the deed on his sleeve, cowardly sins

I feel sick and stand, "He killed her! You all saw!"

All my family members turn to stare at me in awe

Aunt Judy jumps up, "You know we don't discuss this!"

My cousin grabs me, "You're one I'll never even miss."

The whole family joins in removing me from the table

Dragging me to the yard,I try to escape but am unable

That was my last Thanksgiving spent in this world

The Thanksgiving the family secret was unfurled.

My whole family sits around my cheap table

Turning their noses up the best that they are able

Naturally I should have more than this...right?

If I weren't in debt, than I "naturally" might

But times are tough, food's expensive too

"I'm doing my best! Look what I've made for you!"

I want to scream at the top of my lungs

But they already know that I'm precariously high strung

However, with this opportunity, I will speak my mind

They have no choice but to listen, they're too damn kind

"Attention, please!" I say, quite loud

Heads turn in my direction, I continue, voice proud

"I know that these accommodations aren't quite up to par;

I also know that most of you have traveled utterly far.

But trust me, dear family, your experience will be fine!"

And then we say grace, and commence to dine.

My smile grows as the meat disappears

The multiplying compliments quell my previous fears

"Your attention once more." I command, standing tall

My hands shake as my family's faces start to fall

They can tell that something isn't right

Maybe it's my smile, maybe it's the light

That gleams in my eyes. "That wasn't turkey or ham.

That wasn't even pork, or beef, or lamb.

Do you remember my fiance? How you said she was sweet?

Well, she left me for someone else-no please, stay in your seat-

I was so hungry, and she had come here

To get her things, I suppose, and let me say, it's queer

How easy it is to break somebody's neck."

They're all quite pale now, my family is a wreck

Laughter mixes with my voice, my mouth begins to secrete

"You were absolutely right, family! She WAS very sweet!"

'It's Thanksgiving' I told myself. Images of turkey, stuffing, potatoes and gravy swam through my mind, causing my mouth to water. It happened to be my favorite holiday; no one needs to worry about buying presents and most of the time, in my family, everyone leaves before 11pm.

With my room above the kitchen I hear Dorothy shuffling around; an occasional bing, bang or Oops! When she's been clumsy can be heard alongside Bruce's "Hey, hey hey – don't burn the bird" jokes because of that one time, when Dorothy got drunk and just didn't care to do all the cooking like usual. It's the same this year, everyone just wants to come for the food. I don't think Dorothy actually cares, it's more about wanting the appreciation she should get. I wake up off and on from six in the morning until the time I get up because I can hear her moving around down there. I do my best to help, cooking just isn't my strong suit. Cleaning, that's my job. Sometimes Bruce will leave his ratted lazy boy and pick up some of the garbage left lying around from the kids after everyone's gone.

The clock shines 10:31 am, burning my half-opened eyes. Bruce's hearty chuckle fills the whole house, the sound of his television show muffled, too low for me to know what he's watching. As I get up my whole body aches from sleeping too long. Stretching is the only way I am able to stand up straight. The top of my head brushes the slanted part of the ceiling, causing my hair to fill with static – the short strands sticking up until I leave the attic and make my way downstairs.

The kitchen and living room are straight across from each other, the front door in between and facing the stairs I come down. Bruce turns my way without actually facing me, eyes stuck on the television screen, waiting for some exciting moment to happen. We wave at each other with less enthusiasm than someone eating a cheesy puffed rice cake.

Coffee. The robust smell is always an invitation to sit down, visit with Dorothy– hopefully make her giggle – and drink down the warmth of the atmosphere.

"Hey Maynard, try this tart" she swayed over to me, her large hips bumping into the chair, torso dangling over the table as she holds out a pumpkin tart. "Let me know what you think, I might have added too much clove" her eyes close, she gives herself a little disappointed head shake and returns to preparing the next dish for the oven.

Food, so many different ways to make it delicious and for each individual person? That has always seemed impossible to me. Dorothy amazes me every time, everyone finds something they enjoy at these holiday dinners.

The first bite of the tart is delicious, Dorothy turns around after she hears me groan and take a sip of my coffee. "Dorothy, my girl, you've done it again" I love to see her smile, my enthusiasm is always a little exaggerated. "Everyone's gonna be fighting over them" I can't help but grin when she giggles.

"Maynard, you're too much! now go, try to get your uncle off the couch" she sighs, exasperated. "We still haven't gotten the tables from the basement, can you help him with that?" I love the way she asks, always patient and most of the time, kind. No one's perfect, she always reminds me of that. Everyone has a feeling, a thought for everything. Sometimes it isn't so significant, but other times it's passionate and it can even become unbreakable.

"Yes, ma'am" I wiggle a little at her, to get just one more smile. The rest of the day will become hectic, getting Bruce to leave the television can be difficult at times. I finish the tart, take another few gulps of my coffee and head into the living room. "Hey Bruce, you ready to get the tables?"

"Yea, yea. Just give me a minute" he sighs, covering the bottom of his face with his hand as if it's the most difficult task in the world.

"Okay but, people are going to be arriving in a few hours, probably two or three." When I remind him of how much time he's got, it usually helps motivate him to get going. Bruce is a lazy guy but if he promises to do something, he'll do it. Plus he makes a lot more money than Dorothy and I do, they share endlessly. I don't mind doing more to take care of our home.

A year and a half ago. That's when it all started, I overheard someone at school talking about how their cousin came out as transgender. It was the first time I heard that word along with someone talking about it positively. Love, understanding and most of all, respect was a big part of that strangers life. That's what I desperately needed. So I befriended that girl and was introduced into a whole knew understanding of gender. It is still surprising that it didn't take me long to identify with being trans. I have waited to tell people though, especially my parents. They love[d] having a girl, all the family photos there she (me, he) is, wearing a classy pink ensemble that my mom helped me pick out. Approved of. I did look cute, until I got older. I looked how I felt; like a little boy in a pink dress who kind of likes it but would rather look like Papa. Most of the pictures I remember seeing are of me staring right up at him, admiring his prickly chin and strong shoulders. I want, always, to be like him.

Dorothy is the kindest and most understanding person in my whole family, when I talked to her about all of it I knew there was a chance she wouldn't understand it but the drive she has to understand and love unconditionally makes up for it. It didn't take her long to call me back and invite me to stay with them until I figured out what I wanted to do. Our first face to face conversation about me becoming male, becoming me, was intense. 'It all comes back to love,' she had said 'if you love someone, you love all of them. Even if you don't understand them, if it requires a change within yourself to be a better person, you need to try. It's what we all have to do for the ones we have in our lives, we have to do it for humankind.' I told my parents I would be staying with Dorothy and Bruce for the summer after graduation, it turned into finding a college here and living with them while I attend school. It's been a few months, my parents are going to learn the truth about who I am tonight. I hope they understand that I needed space to really figure out if this is who I am.

A commercial comes on the t.v., Bruce pushes himself up and stomps towards the basement door with his hands on his hips. "Let us men go do the heavy lifting" he grunts, opening the door dramatically. Dorothy snorts and giggles, turning to watch him disappear.

I follow Bruce to where the tables are, it takes a few minutes to bring the four of them upstairs. We set them up along the length of the kitchen, find twenty-four chairs and set the table. Dorothy and Bruce renovated their kitchen after their daughter died three years ago. Cooking was something all of them did together, even if Bruce just sat at the table and told them stories while they cooked. The money they had saved for her college was used to create something everyone would remember her by. One of the requirements was to have a big enough kitchen to sit everyone in our family, plus more. It's my favorite space in the house. Even when it is empty, all I have to do is glance in that direction and I remember all of the good times where my family and I bonded. The anxiety I have about telling everyone about my transition creates a doubt in my mind, telling me that I may be rejected, that this will be the last family dinner we will have because of me. Dorothy tells me that isn't true but I think she is scared of that too.

"Maynard, I need your help with the potatoes" she calls out to me just as I am finished with the last table.

When I rush over, she motions to the pot on the stove and I carry it over to the sink, draining it. The steam rushes over my face, it feels good until it starts burning my nostrils. Dorothy shakes her head, pulls me back and I place the pot onto the stove. "There ya go, anything else I can do?"

"Tons, you can mash these and then bring them to the table" she hands me a potato masher and I wait until she's added the rest of the ingredients before fixing them. We give each other silly glances, to keep us smiling.

An hour goes by before everything is done and almost everyone has arrived. Coats cover the banister, closet and floor. A few of the kids slip and fall, get up and start laughing their heads off. I remember being like that. I don't remember what is so funny about falling though. When Papa see's me, he understands that something about me is different. "What happened to your long hair?" He asks, I look up at him and try to smile but the emotions I feel overwhelm me, he embraces me and reminds me "I love you."

"I love you too" I force out, I'm still his child, I'm still loved.

When Mom see's me, it's different. Porcelain wrinkled cheeks grow pink and her eyes go wide. I know she's unhappy when she grabs her napkin and twists it around her dainty fingers. "You look good, I'm happy you've gained some weight" she smiles, trying to keep her worry hidden. I know she will have a harder time understanding than my father, she might cry, she might walk out. The other people in my family, well...it's hard to tell. It's hard to do this, to make people understand that me being who I am is the most important thing in the world.

Everyone takes their seat, Dorothy and Bruce sit across from Mom and Papa, I'm at the head of the table, in between the two. The only ones who know about my transition are Dorothy and Bruce, both of them have accepted me. No one else knows that my voice has gotten a bit lower and I have more confidence. When I was Sammy, I was never heard.

"This year, Maynard is going to carve the turkey" Dorothy blurts out, unaware that she has used my preferred name...Which happens to be my deceased grandfather's name.

Papa looks up at me, I know he has so many questions. When I stand, everyone else understands that Dorothy means me. I reach for the utensils to carve the turkey, "Okay, thanks Dorothy – So, I have been learning about myself the past year and a half" I start, I see my mother grab onto my father's hand underneath the table. "I've been able to meet people who know a lot about being transgender and if you don't know what that means..." I stop, the words are getting jumbled in my head for a moment. Bruce pats my arm, reminding me that no matter what, I still have support. Carving the turkey isn't so difficult, my eyes are locked on the juicy white meat. "I was born female, you all know me as Sammy but the fact is, inside...I'm a male. I've never truly enjoyed being completely feminine." When I look around at the others in our family, I find most of them nodding and hopefully, genuinely understanding me. My mother and some of her brothers don't, the eldest even growing red in the face with anger. "I've always looked up to my father and his dad, I chose Maynard to be the name I use now because grandfather has always been special to me. I hope everyone will understand and love me just like they have been because inside, I'm always going to be who I have been...Just more confident and masculine." The meat is all cut up, everyone is passing food around and I sit back down.

"So...this transition," my Mother starts, "do you understand everything you have to go through? There are surgeries, you won't be able to have children" her bottom lip quivers, I can tell she has more questions.

"I do understand, top surgery is what I will do first" my voice is calm, unlike before where I would have been stuttering and searching for the strength to speak. "I don't want to carry a child, I can adopt and there are other ways" I try to sound sensitive about this topic, I did want children when I was younger but that's because I thought that was normal, I thought it wasn't optional. Of course making a decision like this is difficult but for my health and safety, carrying a child could only feed my gender dysphoria and would likely make postpartum depression significantly more intense.

"So, you're going to be a male who likes males?" My eldest uncle calls out, crudely. "Or does this mean you're still... one'a those bisexual folks?" He chuckles, attempting to make a joke out of the whole situation. No one laughs.

"Sexuality is completely different, everyone knows I'm bisexual, that part doesn't change for me" I say, Dorothy looks up at me, nodding and giving me more strength to continue on. "I'm not here to talk about my sexuality"

Papa stops him from saying anything else "Maynard has been through a lot, we all understand that – it's going to take us a while to figure this out but we can do it. If you can't and refuse to try, my child doesn't need you in his life" his voice is firm, calming anyone whose gotten riled up by my Uncle's comments.

Mother is confused, she looks up to Papa as he speaks and her head shakes. "I don't know how to accept this" she cries out, "Why do you have to choose this?" Her eyes are filled with fear and pain. "Is this my fault?" She looks up at me, struggling to hide her heartache.

"Mom, it's not a choice and it's not your fault. It just..." I sigh, rub my face. I'm not going to cry. "If you want to understand more, I have books and information that can explain much better than I can. I need you and Papa" she doesn't look at my face when I tell her I need her. It feels like my family is slipping away. Will she force Papa to excommunicate me? "Look at me, this isn't something to be afraid of. I understand you might feel like you are losing a daughter but I am still here, I'm right here" I feel like I am begging her to keep me.

"Darling, it will take time to understand but you can't be angry with him" Papa says, stroking her hair so affectionately. I love it when Papa refers to me as male.

"But she was so girly growing up, up until now" she tries to argue but Papa shakes his head.

"Even I understand that he has been doing that for you" he speaks quietly, "It's time for us to do this for him."

Mom is quiet, I understand she doesn't know what to say and my Uncle just shakes his head, infuriated because he is unable to speak his ignorant mind.

Dorothy shakes her head, unbelieving of moms side of the family. "In this house we love! If you can't understand love and respect...you can get out. Maynard will be staying with us while he goes to school, any of you can come visit and learn more about all of this" she huffs, flipping her braid to her back. "I can't believe any of you would act like this. This is our baby right here, our youngest. He is just as important as any of our other children."

I walk around the table to embrace Dorothy, when I catch a glance of my Uncles they all seem to have calmed down. I can't help but wonder if it's just because they're hungry and don't want to leave the food.

When I return to my seat Papa pats my back "I'm proud of you" he whispers, tears collecting at the corners of his eyes. "I understand why you had to come out here, my sister is the best" he nods towards Dorothy and promises me he will stay later to help clean up and talk.

The biggest secret I've ever had has been let go, it's out in the open. I can be myself freely even if a few of them don't understand. My situation is good, it could be better but I'm one of the lucky ones. No one in my family is going to beat me, tell me to die or any of the other horrible things some of my friends have had to go through. Even though the atmosphere feels tense, there is a sense of relief and happiness. I am thankful for all of it.

This year was the first time I didn't have Thanksgiving with my family. This year I had it with my boyfriend Noah's family. Well, ex-boyfriend. Let me explain. His family is extremely religious. I was petrified to attend because Noah and I recently found out that I'm pregnant. We hadn't decided if we wanted it or not yet. Somehow, I thought, his family will be able to just look at me and know. 

As I mingled before dinner, my fears increased. While my boyfriend's parents were acting normally, both his sister Mary and brother Joseph were behaving strangely. I was convinced they knew our secret and just weren't sure what to say. We all sat down to eat and his father said grace. Before eating, we had to complete their family tradition of everybody going about the table and saying something they were grateful for. That's when everything took an unexpected turn. It went something like this.

Noah's mother: I'm very grateful that Noah's girlfriend Elizabeth was able to join us this year. It's great to see him with such a kind, intelligent woman. What are you grateful for this year, Elizabeth?

Me: I'm pregnant! I mean, that's not what I'm grateful for, I'm actually terrified about that. But, um, yeah.

Noah's father: Then I guess we're grateful for the new life that will be coming into our world soon?

Noah: We're so sorry.

Joseph: At least you can give them grandchildren.

Noah: What?

Joseph: I'm gay. There I said it.

Me: I don't think I want to keep it.

Noah: What?

Me: Don't hate me!

Joseph: Nobody's going to hate you. They're all going to hate me!

Mary: I don't hate any of you.

Joseph & Me: Really?

Mary: Well, I'm an Atheist, so being gay or deciding what to do with your own body doesn't break any religious rules for me.

Noah's father: You're Atheist?

Mary: Yeah. Don't hate me.

Noah's mother: We don't hate you, Sweetie. We love all of our children no matter what.

Noah's father: I can't guarantee that the government agrees with us right now, but we support you.

Me: You mean you guys didn't vote for Trump and Pence?

Noah's mother: Well, goodness no. Did you?

Me: Well, yeah. 

Noah's father: Get out of our house.

Me: What?

Noah's father: GET OUT OF OUR HOUSE!

I looked over at my boyfriend who had his head hung.

Noah: Just go.

So now I'm pretty sure that I don't have a boyfriend. I guess I'm thankful that re-election is only four years away?

I bit my nails

I quivered at my uncle presence

He glanced in my direction

he stole glances at the red dress I was in

He pulled my chair

as I slipped into the chair 

he rubbed my leg

my smile turned to a frown

My mom turned to me and asked me what was wrong

He dug his nails into my leg

and made me squirm

he smiled his pearly white smile

and his saliva trickled into my ear as he whispered

if you tell you´ll ruin the family

I  smiled  and I replied ¨ I just wish Aunt kate was here¨

mom replied me too and grabbed my hand

and  I let her just like I let my uncle grab my virginity 

but I couldn't dare open my mouth .

My eyes glazed over the turkey stuffed with stuffing

I almost dropped to tears

it reminds me of my body how it was stuffed with all these secrets

the corn bread pudding reminds me of how I was just a pudding of emotions unable to open my mouth.

The greens remind of how I took showers at night to scrub away the memory of him being in me.

The marshmallows on the sweet potatoes remind me  of what he left on the sheets. 

The apple pie reminds me of how he curled my hair around his finger and said to me your such a sweet girl and because you're a sweet girl you won't tell your mommy and the crinkling sound of  foil paper being torn off sounds like his cackling laugh after time he left me bruised.

I bite into the turkey like I was biting into his brains 

I drunk the juice from the greens like it was his blood

I shoved the pudding into my mouth like I was shoving a poison into his mouth

I grabbed the marshmallows off the sweet potatoes like it was a knife

I took a spoonful of apple pie and glared at him and flung the knife  at his face

and said Who is a little sweet girl now.

I took my way out and killed him

I bit into his brains

and got drunk off his blood 

just like he did mind 

I shoved the same liquor bottle in his mouth that he drugged me with

I grabbed the knife

and flung at his chest.

Mom, you will never understand that the man I have murder 

was not a casualty but a victory to me  

I don ´t think you are brave enough to know why .