9
The food was wonderful. A huge turkey sat in the middle of the table, with dozens of tender slices carved from its bronzed skin. Cornbread stuffing, garnished liberally with sweet baby onions, spilled out between the drumsticks. Great bowls of vegetables filled every available space – green beans cooked with smoked chunks of ham, creamed corn sweet and thick on the spoon, emerald-green broccoli dribbled with melting butter – and a ruby ring of jello held a thousand cranberries suspended within.
The adults sat and talked, and drank their iced tea. Brian had his head down, and doodled on a paper napkin. Davey, who had to sit atop several phone books to reach the table, held court with his imaginary friends.
He had torn up his dinner roll into a hundred squished little balls of dough, and shredded his turkey meat into thin, moist strands. The broccoli had been divided into a small pile of tiny green buds, and a couple of cranberries lay sectioned into eighths.
As he started picking the seeds out of the green bean pods, he looked around his plate like a college professor inspecting his class. A very small class. Where none of the pupils were taller than 2 inches high.
“An’ the food goes down into the stomach, and little men hit it with shovels and sticks an’ knock it into teeny eeny weeny little pieces.”
Granny Jobson smiled at Davey’s lecture on digestion. Grandmother Tanner regarded it with something a few degrees shy of horror.
Grandfather Tanner was talking to Jeff. “So, son, how is work?”
“Fine, fine…we’re hearing pitches for next year’s Christmas line. I’m working on my presentation, which is coming up pretty soon.”
“Speaking of Christmas,” Granny Jobson said, “what did you ask Santa for, boys?”
Brian shrugged.
Davey leapt to his feet on top of the phonebooks, squatted, and bellowed, “I WANNA BUBBLE BABY!”
Every adult in the room jumped in their chairs. Grandmother Tanner looked like someone had mistakenly used heart attack shock paddles on her. Even her hair was frayed.
It took all the self-control Jeff possessed to calmly turn to his son and say, “Davey, use your inside voice.”
“But that’s how I told Santa at the mall, Dad!”
“Yes, well, you told him once and I doubt he can hear you from here, so please don’t try again.”
Davey turned to Granny Jobson. “We saw Santa two times, but he got skinnier the second time!”
Grandfather Tanner gestured with his fork. “That’s because it was two different people, David. Santa Claus is primarily just a symbol used by corporations for seasonal marketing purposes, that’s all.”
Davey slowly turned around and stared at Grandfather Tanner.
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Copyright © 2008 Darren Pillsbury. All rights reserved.
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