Howdy!
By this time next week, we’ll all have tighter pants and probably lighter wallets to be thankful for — ‘tis the season to overeat and buy gifts, after all!
Oh, and also to tell silly little stories. I hope you’ll enjoy the one below.
Happy Thanksgiving!
—Hugh
Everyone knew in the back of their minds that it was a possibility. A hundred-year-old man is a ticking time bomb just waiting for a wayward belch to stop his heart or a sniffly sneeze to pop an aneurysm.
But no one really expected Great Grandpa Stanley to face plant into his pumpkin pie at the Thanksgiving table. They all sat wide-eyed as they finished chewing whatever mouthful of food they were working on.
Ronald was sitting next to his grandfather and took a moment to wipe a spot of mash potatoes from the corner of his own mouth before he checked the old man’s neck for a pulse.
“Yeah, he’s dead,” Ronald pronounced before turning back to his plate and taking a forkful of noodles.
“Shouldn’t we do something?” Nancy asked. She was the widow of Stanley’s third son, dead for some thirty years himself. Not even a blood relative, they had inherited her, like some lost puppy. Just not as cute.
“Nothing to be done right now,” Thomas said from the head of the table. “Once we’re all finished with our meal, I’ll call someone.”
“But shouldn’t somebody at least go tell Nana?” Lacy was someone’s cousin, some number of times removed. “Say, where is Nana?”
A few people shrugged. Others took another bite or a swig of milk or Coke or wine. Some did nothing.
“I’m right here!” a craggy voice called from down the hall. “Just had to lie down for a while. Eating all this food is hard work.”
The family members looked sideways at each other, no one really sure what to do.
“Is it over yet?” Nana asked as she came into the light of the dining room.
“No, Nana. We’re still eating,” Ronald said.
“Not that!” Nana said. “I mean...oh!”
The old woman stopped in her tracks and looked at her dead husband.
“Well, I didn’t think he’d end up exactly like that when I swapped out his nitro for sugar pills.”
She smiled and kept shuffling toward the table.
“At least it’s over, though. A hundred years is too long, if you ask me.”