Prose Challenge of the Week #50: Thanksgiving Dinner

      “And was it big?” the little girl inquired, mouth full of mashed potato. Her cheeks were round and fat, flushed to the point of redness. Her silverware clanged against the fragile edge of her porcelain plate, to the dismay of her dainty mother.

     “Gloria, dear—” her mother started meekly.

     “Of course it was big! Enormous!” a booming voice rang out. Gloria’s mother shrank back in her flimsy wooden chair.

     Gloria’s uncle was the only person that could speak loud enough to shake the earth and the eardrums, a towering voice to match a towering frame. He was so tall that his black hair grazed the ceiling and so lean that he was often mistaken for a shadow. With a stoic face drawn with harsh lines and painted with a colorless palette, Uncle Kit was understandably intimidating.

     “Uncle Kit, tell us more,” Gloria’s twin brother piped up from behind her.

     Despite his appearance, Uncle Kit was very personable. And entertaining, judging from the looks of rapt interest in the children’s faces.

     “Well, I don’t think Uncle Kit’s stories will fare well with you once bedtime comes,” the mother of the children warned quietly. Her caution was ignored.

     “Where did I leave off?” Uncle Kit paused expertly.

     “Oh, the bears!” Gloria shrieked. “Tell us more about the bears!”

     “Of course, the bears…” Uncle Kit began, in a suspenseful tone. “They were chasing me down, pelting after me as if their lives depended on it.”

     “Why were they chasing you?” Gloria’s brother, Rupert, asked.

     “He already said that,” Gloria snapped haughtily.

     “Children, please,” their mother uttered. Gloria regarded her for a split second, uninterested, before turning her attention back onto Uncle Kit, his eyes screwed shut in what seemed to be fierce concentration. Gloria shoveled a forkful of turkey into her mouth, “Uncle Kit, what are you doing?”

     “Shh,” Uncle Kit whispered, placing his lanky fingers on his temples. Gloria leaned towards him, still chewing obnoxiously on her turkey. She grew impatient, “Then what happened?”

     “I’m imagining it right now, Gloria. It’s almost as if I’m reliving the entire adventure! Over there, I can see the bears,” he spoke in a tone just louder than a whisper. “And behind me,” he paused for dramatic effect, “I hear rustling.”

     “Rustling!” Gloria cried with delight. “Uncle Kit, go on!”

     Uncle Kit hadn’t the chance to go on, or even to remove his fingers from his head before a tremendous crash shook the kitchen. Gloria screamed and clutched onto her dinner plate in terror, tears beginning to well up in her beady eyes. Rupert sat still in the corner, petrified to the point of immobility. Meanwhile, the mother of the children had stayed calmly at her place at the table, seemingly unfazed by the abrupt interruption.

     Uncle Kit yelled, with renewed energy, “What the hell?”

     The mother of the children shot him a warning glance, “Kit, the children.”

     Gloria smiled, her tears still shining on her chubby cheeks, “Ha, he said—”

     “Who cares what I said!” Uncle Kit roared, “I just want to know what just happened!”

     The kitchen seemed back as it had been before. A few pots and pans had noisily clanged to the floor, but it remained, for the most part, unscathed. Gloria had begun to wail again, discouraged by her uncle’s harsh tone and frightened of what may have caused the loud crash. She popped a few roasted potatoes into her mouth and gnawed on them as she clinged onto her mother, wiping her tears on her pink sleeve.

     After a moment, Gloria lifted up her head hopefully. “Uncle Kit,” she began, “Uncle Kit, you can check and see what caused the noise! Uncle Kit, you are the bravest explorer in the entire world.”

     Uncle Kit looked uncomfortable, scratching his face absentmindedly. “Well, I suppose I could,” he stated slowly, “But what if it’s dangerous?”

     “Dangerous!” Gloria exclaimed. “You live for danger, Uncle Kit!”

     “Live for danger?” Uncle Kit inquired, beads of perspiration forming on his broad forehead.

     “Yes! You run from bears while escaping to secret islands! And you steal back lost emeralds from ruthless pirates,” Gloria’s voice was quieter now, “You even captured a wild tiger and taught it to tear your enemies to shreds.”

     Gloria’s face was dry. Kit’s was very red, his usual pale complexion concealed by a layer of pink embarrassment. “Well, of course, but this is different.”

     His argument was weak, and Gloria was determined. “Uncle Kit, how is this different?”

     Gloria’s pudgy face, once harmless, looked cruel. Her shining eyes were shining maliciously and her uneven teeth were bared in an ugly snarl.

     At least that’s how they appeared to Kit.

     Uncle Kit rose, extremely slowly, from his chair. He hunched over slightly, to avoid hitting the ceiling, and then stepped towards the door. With rattling footsteps, he left the room.

     Silence followed his departure, seeping into the very corners of the kitchen, stretching up past the windows to the ceiling. For a half minute, though it felt longer, nobody said a word. Gloria, for all of her complaining and greediness, was not dumb. And neither was Rupert, still stiff in his rickety chair, eyes still wide open.

     “Mom,” Gloria addressed her mother for the first time that evening.

     Her mother looked tired. “Yes, Gloria?” she sighed.

     “Mom, why is Uncle Kit so afraid?” Gloria asked, bushy eyebrows furrowed.

     Gloria’s mother sighed once more. “Your Uncle Kit is a brilliant storyteller.”

     There was a pause as Gloria looked around. “You mean that he hasn’t run away from bears? Or stolen a pirate’s treasure?”

     The look on her mother’s face told her enough. The tears welled up once again as Gloria stomped her fat feet on the ground. “Well, Uncle Kit is a liar!” she shrieked.

     In the corner, Rupert blinked slowly.