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Jack's Meal of Thanksgiving
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Jack's Meal of Thanksgiving |
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Romy Senior Member
since 2000-05-28
Posts 1170Plantation, Florida |
This is the entire short story that I have been working on, revised. With Thanksgiving Day arriving soon, I wanted to show a stark contrast of this happy, thankful, day by portraying the life of one abused, neglected child. Though It is unsettling and probably a little crude, I wanted to write it as a reminder of all the people who may go hungry during the holidays. It is the children who will suffer without our help. Jack watched the people, as they walked back and forth along the sidewalk outside his front window. He saw a man in a black suit, hurry by, his hands stuffed into his pockets, head tucked down against the wind. A couple of kids on skates, a woman pushing a baby stroller. To Jack they were like fish, swimming by with blank, unseeing eyes, occasionally pausing for a moment near the window, before floating away. He felt no curiosity about these strangers, didn’t care where they came from or where they were headed. He only watched them to pass the time, to try to distract the beast, that bit and tore at his insides, pacing and banging against his rib cage. He hears movement, rustling noises coming from the dark hole across the room. It is the mother. She is hiding there, afraid of Jack and the beast, knowing that it grows larger and more demanding everyday. She doesn’t like to see the distended belly and paper-thin bones. She doesn’t want to come out. Only when the soothing liquid in her bottle cannot silence his agonized roars. Only then will she come. He waits quiet and patiently, but every muscle in his young body is tightly wound, poised, ready to pounce. Behind his eyes, there is a flicker of something wild and desperate. Finally, she wanders into the room, a gray, diseased silhouette cast against the bare wall. When she glances over at Jack, her face is a mixture of fear and disgust for the pale boy sitting there. With a sigh of resignation, she turns away and heads for the kitchen. He is her unwanted obligation, but the beast must fed. The mother ladled thin soup into his bowl and placed it before him. She stared hard at him for a moment, as if she were trying to remember who he was. There was a tiny spark of recognition for the small, filthy child, who stared back at her beneath a tangle of matted blonde hair. Then it was gone, lost behind puffed, cloudy eyes. Without another word, she shuffled out of the kitchen and down the hall to her hideaway. Away from Jack, Away from the world. He knew that sometime later, she would emerge again, dressed in too-tight clothes and red lipstick. Going out. He didn’t know where she went when she slammed the door behind her most nights, but he never tried to stop her. Sometimes when he woke in the morning, there was a Styrofoam container on the counter, a piece of cold chicken, part of a cheeseburger, bits of rice or noodles. Once when he was little, he tried to go out the door too. But her steps were to long and quick, to fast for his little legs. And before he could catch up, she had already faded away around a corner of the busy street outside. Jack had cried, standing alone out in the cold under the neon lights flashing all around him. He did the only thing he knew to do. He turned and ran back up the stairs, littered with trash and broken bottles, to wait for the mother to return. He is thankful for the soup that he eats slowly, with the care of one who knows that there will be no seconds. He swirls each spoonful around his tongue, holding on to it, letting it rest against the inside of his checks. It feels warm on the back of his teeth, the roof of his mouth. He wants to remember the taste, the feel of it, until regretfully, almost painfully, he is forced to swallow it away. He is thankful for the meals, which are never taken for granted. They are a sacrament, an offering to the animal that prowls restlessly within him. Today is a good day. There is a slice of bread too, and Jack can break it into tiny segments, before nibbling deliberately at each bite. He sips water from his cup, empties it and goes to the sink for more. Water is his only friend, giving every last drop of itself to Jack, filling his belly until it sloshes around inside of him, saving him. He is thankful for the water. In the quiet of the house, there is only the faint sound of a clock ticking in the other room and his own choked, ragged breath, slowing with each rise and fall of his chest. He looks wistfully toward the bare cupboards in the kitchen before settling down into the welcoming arms of his chair by the window. This meal is over, for a while there will be peace, and for that Jack is again, very thankful. He’s grateful that the beast has been calmed back into a fitful sleep. But it will not rest long. It waits deep inside him, vicious and unmerciful, always hungry, always growing, always wanting more. Each day, it will take a little more from him, gnawing and sucking on his bones, expanding ever deeper into his belly, until there is finally, nothing left of Jack but stagnant air. Jack has never been able to remember a time in his nine years on earth, that the beast was ever, truly satisfied. |
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| © Copyright 2000 Deborah L. Carter - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612Hurricane Alley |
Debbie, this is a touching story. I know there are kids out there that go through their young lives like Jack. You did a great job with a difficult subject!!  |
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Alicat Member Elite
since 1999-05-23
Posts 4094Coastal Texas |
Debbie, it shames me to think this, but I was thankful for the small distractions I had while reading this story. It was so rough that I needed a small breather from time to time...time to digest what I had read. The suffering of Jack only shows all the more starkly the blessings I experience. I guess, from time to time, we all need our Jacks and Little Matchstick Girls to remind us of that, that there are far too many out there without the simple pleasures of physical/mental/emotional sustenance. As PdV said, you handled this difficult topic with poise, dignity, and compassion. On that count, and for stirring the deepest emotions within me, thank you. It is a reminder we all need. Alicat |
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Romy Senior Member
since 2000-05-28
Posts 1170Plantation, Florida |
Thanks to both of you for your replies. We should not forget to share our good fortune with those that are in need, not just during the holidays, but all through the year. Somewhere, out there, somebody is calling for help... |
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