By Tanya Pike
Her stomach growled loudly. She pressed her arms closer to try and hide the sounds. Since her father had given up his steady job and paycheck to start a new church that had no members and no money, the family had cut back drastically. Her new winter coat had come from the Dollar General store.
She sat on the school bus with her feet pushed violently under the seat in front of her. Maybe if she couldn't see the ugly tennis shoes that the popular kids had worn three years ago, no one else could either.
"Nice shoes, loser."
She chewed the inside of her cheek and stared at the floor until she could taste metal.
"Didn't you used to live in town? What happen? Your daddy die or somethin'?" She refused to look up.
"Just hold on," she told herself. "One more day and we'll be on Thanksgiving vacation. One more day. . ."
Thanksgiving morning dawned, cold and bright. The house was freezing. But at least she didn't have to go to school.
Over a bowl of oatmeal her mother broke the news. "We don't have money for a turkey dinner this year. I'm going to fix some of the vegetables that we put up from this summer's garden and make some cornbread."
The girl was silent. Just last year they had hosted so many family and friends for Thanksgiving dinner that table upon table had been placed end to end. Each had been covered with white tablecloths and shining crystal glasses. The feast had stretched through the dining room and out into the living room with the kids parked at smaller tables in the foyer. The tables had groaned under the burden of so much food and laughter.
Being able to remember just made it worse.
She remembered taking turkeys and bags of groceries to people who were "poor" while she was in church youth group. Showing up at someone's house with Thanksgiving dinner made her feel confused. She knew she was supposed to feel sorry for them. However they had ended up needing food wasn't supposed to be any of her business. But she always wondered. Even worse, taking around food baskets secretly made her feel superior. And that, in turn, made her feel guilty.
Their gratitude had made her embarrassed. So had their tears.
As she finished up her oatmeal she watched out the window, over the pond and across the long driveway. She saw a car creeping along, as though they were lost. It happened a lot out here in the country and she wondered who it might be.
As the girl rinsed her bowl in the sink she picked at the dried oats along the rim. There was laughter coming from the front door but she didn't feel like going out to see.
Snippets of conversation floated her way - "God is so good!" "I knew that if I prayed hard enough that God would just have to provide!" "The Lord just laid it on my heart. . ."
Her stomach lurched. She didn't believe any of that stuff anymore. Talk like that made her angry and confused.
Her mother appeared around the corner - laughing and shouting - a turkey in one hand and a box of food in the other.
"Praise the Lord. . .God brought us Thanksgiving dinner!"
Quietly the girl slipped out. Her own feelings of gratitude made her embarrassed. So did her tears.
