Thanksgiving

It was three days before Thanksgiving and I was moving into my new apartment. The room was impressive, though it didn’t seem to receive much light. I looked around and immediately knew that I would be comfortable.

The bathroom, however, was another story. It looked like it belonged in an abandoned prison, and was literally rotting away on all sides. Shards of rusted metal stuck out from the wall, the ceiling was caving in with mold, and everything was caked in a thick layer of dirt. Not only that, but there was also a dead body lying in the bathtub. I sighed when I saw it.

“How am I going to dispose of that?” I asked myself, and ran through the possibilities in my head. I was flying home to California the next day, and taking him with me seemed like the only option. Everyone knows that it’s much easier to get rid of a body there than in New York.

The man was dressed as if he had just been golfing. I tried to suppress my curiosity about his death, as it was really none of my business.

I slept poorly that night, the body’s presence adding to my existing nervousness over another encounter with my extended family. Surprisingly, there was no smell, and with enough focus I could almost forget about it entirely.

When I awoke, I did some last-minute chores, packed my bag and braced myself for the trip. After taking a deep breath, I pulled the man’s body out of the bathtub and threw it over my shoulder.

I had called a taxi the night before and when I looked out the window I saw it waiting for me. I descended the staircase and emerged onto the street, signaling the driver. I considered loading the body into the trunk, but decided it unwise and propped him up on the back seat instead.

“He had a long night,” I told the driver. “Could you take us to the airport?”

The drive went smoothly, but upon arriving I realized that I would have to purchase another ticket for my friend. After entertaining the notion of stuffing him into a garbage can (he was too large, and anyway my fingerprints were probably all over him), I made my way to the check-in counter.

“He’s had too much to drink, but he’s a good fellow,” I said to the man.

He eyed my friend skeptically. “At two in the afternoon?”

“Well, he’s a golfer,” I answered. “You know how that goes.”

He nodded reluctantly and checked us in. The extra ticket was a severe blow to my bank account, but I was never one to complain about my lot in life. I had my own good health to be thankful for, after all.

As I approached the security checkpoint, I noticed the guard watching me.

“He’s very tired,” I explained.

The guard shook his head gruffly. “He has to go through by himself.”

I nudged the body in a feigned attempt at waking it. “Look,” I said, “the man’s exhausted. He’s a professional golfer and he’s just finished a lengthy tour without rest. Now, you’re going to wake him up?” As I spoke, a clump of hair fell from the head of the deceased. “Oh, great,” I said, growing slightly annoyed.

The guard nodded. “Alright, go ahead.”

I checked his pockets for loose change before proceeding.

On the other side, I found the gate and sat down to wait for boarding to begin. With nothing to occupy me, I slowly fell asleep in my chair and was awakened with a jolt some time later by the loudspeaker.

I boarded without incident, although a few stares were cast in my direction. I sat by the window and set my friend next to me. A small, bearded man sat in the aisle seat. I nodded at him as he sat down, and he didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

The plane took off smoothly and the beverage service began. I generally don’t order drinks on airplanes as a rule, since it necessitates my getting up and going to the bathroom. This didn’t stop me, however, from ordering a Sprite for the dead man and drinking it myself. Needless to say, given an hour I was shifting in my seat to appease my bladder. I was unsure of how I could get past my companion, since I knew he wouldn’t stand up for me. Ultimately I decided upon a risky gymnastic maneuver over both of them, resulting in my falling on top of the old man across the aisle.

I slept through the rest of the flight and remained in a sleepy daze as I disembarked. I barely felt the weight of the body on my shoulder, but my own body was on the verge of collapse. I sat down outside of the terminal and waited for my mother to pick me up.

After several minutes she arrived. I piled into the car with the corpse.

“Who’s your friend?” she asked, pulling back into traffic.

I squinted at her in confusion, failing to register her question. “Oh,” I said after a moment. “He’s dead.”

The car slammed to a halt and she turned around in her seat. “He’s what?”

“Look, Mom, can we not talk about it?” I said.

She shook her head and turned back to the road. “Amazing, what I have to be thankful for. Was he a golfer?”

I glanced at his already-familiar golf clothes. “I’m not sure,” I said. “Probably.” My back ached. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the window.