Thanks Giving Day by Doc

“Well, I hope you had a good Thanksgiving Day, Freddie,” she said.   “Yes, I did, Miss.  Thank you for asking.”  She was now going to lapse into silence; I knew this because it was her pattern.  Sure enough, she was quiet – probably doing something important.  My evil mind jumped around, thinking of her filing her nails, or leaving the computer to go make a pot of coffee.  Important stuff.  Ha, ha.

She came back in about five minutes.  (I’d used the time to read – actually skim – an article in Science Magazine.  Why waste time?)  “Oh, I forgot you’re still here,” she said.  “What did you do on Thursday?”  She was being polite.  I was OK with that, but still decided not to kill the conversation with some stupid comment like, ‘Nothing in particular’ or worse.

“I spent a good bit of the day online, Miss.  Mostly.  Some studying, too .   I went out with a couple of friends to eat at a cafeteria, too.  No reservations required.”  I refrained from saying aloud ‘I poured myself a Scotch and water to get through the annual cafeteria ritual.”  She would have considered that highly ungrateful – since the folks I went out with had gone out of their way to include me.  She would have been totally correct to call me an ingrate.
 
I knew I should be grateful when Gloria and Dianne invite me along.  I really should.  They’re good people and their hearts are in the right place.

At least this year I kept my mouth (mostly) shut and didn't put a damper on their fun.
“You’re quiet, Freddie.  Thinking about something?”
 
“Oh, just about Thanksgiving, Miss.” I paused.  “I guess the next big event is Christmas, huh?”

I knew she didn’t want to hear about my opinions on shopping.  Ughhhhhhhhh.  I left that off the conversational table.

“You are a very fortunate person, Freddie.  Do you know that?”

I knew that.  For one thing, I liked her.  More important, she liked me (or seemed to anyway).

“Yes, Miss.  I am.  I’m in good health.  I have a house full of books – and that means hundreds of interesting people lining my walls. I eat well.”  By this last comment I meant that I eat every day.  I remembered the time, in my 20's, when I ran out of money and had to borrow five dollars from a college chaplain.  Two days without eating was my only experience of hunger.  An image from my past flashed before my eyes.  I’d been stationed in Thailand.  It was a gorgeous Sunday morning and – as I walked down the street under the blue skies – I heard a rustling in a dumpster a few yards away.  Then I saw what I will always remember: a grimy kid, no more than four years old, climbing out of the dumpster with a scrap of discarded food in his filthy hands.

“I remember, too, Miss, people who have had far less than I do.”  I chose not to explain.
“Miss, I know you have had a rough life, too….”.  I paused.  She had shared some real horrors from her childhood with me.  Things no woman should ever have to experience.   She was silent.  I didn't really expect or want her to dwell on those things today.  It had been a mistake to even say what I had said.  I decided to try to fix things up a bit.

“Miss, I want to say something now – just because we’re between Thanksgiving and Christmas. “

“Yes?”

“I just want to thank you for being part of my life, for being open with me and letting me be open with you….”  I thought a bit.  “It isn’t mostly the sex thing, though I really appreciate that, Miss.  It’s more – well – just being allowed to be myself.  You don’t judge me.  I like that.  A lot.”

She then said, “That cuts both ways.  I feel the same way.”

“Is there anything I can say to express my feelings for having you in my life, Miss?”

“Yes,” she replied.  “You can simply say to me, ‘Thank you!’

I did.

I meant it with all of my heart.

We both knew that a world where few could be trusted, she was my boss, my friend, my advisor, my guide, and my lover.  She in turn knew I was not going to betray, misuse, or manipulate her.
I think we are both very lucky.

For us every day is Thanks Giving Day.