Bloody Turkey dinner

It’s my first thanksgiving away from home and I am spending it with my girlfriend. Lucy; the sweetest girl I have ever loved. We had been dating for three months. Lots of sex. Great. She is a good Midwest girl. Big tits. Bad teeth. Her hair is big and curly. Sex hair. Open the door. Kiss on the cheek.

“Sit down on that couch” she says. “I put the game on for you.”

The Giants are playing and I’m as happy as a clamshell in butter. She brings me an opened beer. Drinking now. The smell of the turkey is making my stomach growl. She has been cooking all day. She looks stressed out.

“We have to leave for my brothers’ house soon,” she says. Fuck.

“We are going to bring all this food over there? Wow.” I say as a slug more beer. She glances over and smiles at me. I know that smile. I swoop in for a kiss. 1 second. 2 seconds. 30. We are on the bed now. Push the panties to the left. Back and to the left. I’m laughing now for reasons only known to a select few (mostly JFK or Kevin Costner fans). She stops for a moment until I stop laughing then pulls me inside of her. I’m still thinking of JFK and his pink mist. She bits my lip as she comes.

“It’s time to go,” she says as she gets up and fixes her dress. I lay in bed for a moment. She smells like berries and sex. Love it. Load the car. Burn my hands. Fucking turkey. Driving now. At her brothers best friends house. Seven people in their late thirties. Awkward introductions. One friend is a DEA agent. He shows me his badge. Narc.

I boldly challenge her brother, Erick, to a game of ping-pong.

“I’m one of the best pong players in the world,” I say laughing. Liar. He kicks my ass. I’m mad but having fun. Lucy looks worried. I kiss her and telling her it’s all in good fun. Lies. I’m a competitive motherfucker and if I weren’t trapped in a 12 year olds body I would have been a professional athlete. Bullshit candy corn.

It’s time to eat. The seven friends bring out paper plates and plastic silverware. Are you fucking kidding me? I glance Lucy’s way. She is on the verge of tears. I agree. Who wants to cook all day and then eat off of paper plates? Disaster. Fuck it. I gorge myself.

It’s bathroom time. I take a long piss. Looking around I snoop into the cabinets. Suddenly the seat of the toilet slams shut. A loud shout emanates from my lips. More like a screech. Too girly for a man. I hear them laughing. Her brother calls out to see if I’m ok. There is piss everywhere. I start to clean it up. Leaning over the toilet bowl with some paper.

Drip.

Something falls from my nose and lands in the toilet bowl. Blood. Fuck. I quickly grab more toilet paper and hold it to my nose. Bleeding like a stuck pig now. Please stop. Please. I’m praying. I’ve already been in the bathroom for 15 minutes. The blood is not stopping. Some of it gets on my shirt. Fuck. Shit. Balls. She knocks on the door.

“What are you doing in there?”

“Nothing. Be out soon.”

The blood simply refuses to stop. I lean over the sink and begin blowing it out my nostrils. Like a snipers “pink mist” the blood sprays the entire sink. I’m so smart. Panic. What do I do? I’m trapped in some fucking Narcs bathroom and there is literally blood everywhere. Oh and piss. I think about jumping out the window and just bouncing out. The smell of berries and sex enters my mind. Can’t do that. Stop bleeding. Stop bleeding this very fucking instant! Repeat. Concentrate. And repeat. The blood is slowing now. I stuff some paper up my nose and then get to work re-cleaning the toilet. Great thanksgiving. At the table now.

“What happened in there?” her brother asks me. “Is that blood on your shirt? Dick head.

“Yes”

“Are you hurt?” some stupid person asks from down the table.

“No I just had a bloody nose is all.”

“From all the coke you have been doing?” her brother jokes. I make eye contact with the DEA agent. Gulp. Smile. Casual. Jesus. You’re going to be fine. He doesn’t say anything. They bring out the pies. All is forgotten.

So far the stats for this thanksgiving are as follows: devoured turkey meat, ½ pound. Ping-pong record, 0 and 4. Beers consumed, 8. Gotten laid, once. Made a complete fool out of myself, 3 times. It’s time to play trivial pursuit. I fucking hate trivial pursuit. It makes me feel dumb. Fuck people that know the absurd answers to those questions. Number of questions answered during game. None.

After an awkward series of hugs and handshakes we make our way back to her little one bedroom apartment in the mission. We fall asleep on the couch with I love Lucy on the Tele.

Three months later, Lucy moves to North Dakota.

She never speaks to me again.

I miss berries and sex.