Chapter 11: Thanksgiving at the Y

I sat backwards on the back seat of Dan’s car and watched our house get smaller as we drove away. Then we swung around a corner and our house disappeared completely. It seemed symbolic, somehow – watching my house disappear. Maybe I was watching the past disappearing behind me. My past, I mean. It represented a time when I thought all adults were like my parents – kind and loving, even if they occasionally made mistakes and sometimes did mean things.

I spun around and sat properly on the seat and adjusted the seat belt around me. Now I was looking forward – looking towards the future. My future came rushing towards me at an average speed of forty miles per hour, not counting times we stopped for traffic lights and slowed down for corners. My future now involved a place where adults deliberately hurt and abused children. Of course, I’d already known that it happened. The thing was that, before today, I never had to think about it personally. Before today, I never had to think about it happening to someone I knew. I mean not just people I’d met but people I really knew.

Despite my new understanding, there were some things about it that still really confused me and some things that I flat out didn’t know. I still didn’t know why we changed our names and fled from England. It might have something to do with what I now knew about Dad but it might not. One possibility that I had to seriously think about was that Dad might have lost that every-day battle that he fought in his head and that he did something terrible to someone. That could explain everything. I didn’t want to believe that, though. It didn’t fit with what I knew about my father. It didn’t fit with Dad at all.

One thing that confused me about what must have happened to Dad when he was young was that it didn’t match up with what little I knew about his family.

“Dan?”

“Yup?”

“You’d remember Grandma Stone better than me. What did you think she was like?”

“Huh? Now there’s a question out of left field. Why do you want to know?”

“No reason.”

“Uh huh.”

“So, what was she like? Was she nice to you?”

“Sure, she was nice to me. She was nice to everyone. If you look up the word ‘nice’ in the dictionary, you’ll see her picture.”

“I remember she was always knitting,” added Tara. “She always smelled of wool.”

“She made little hats and gloves for you two when you were babies. She was always knitting clothes for her foster-kids,” explained Dan.

“Was she much like Nana?”

“She didn’t have a temper like Nana does. She was much more patient. I liked staying with her. We used to stay with her for days at a time when Mum was having a bad episode.”

“Was she ever mean or nasty to you, or to anyone?”

“Never. What’s this about?”

“What about Grandpa Stone?”

“What?”

“What about Grandpa Stone? There must have been a Grandpa Stone. That’s just basic logic, isn’t it? I don’t remember anything about him. I don’t remember anybody ever saying anything about him. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen a picture of him. As far as I can tell, he may as well have never existed.”

Dan pulled into the side of the road and put the parking brake on. He turned around in the seat and looked at me. I could see that he was thinking hard. Then he shrugged.

“I don’t remember anything either. Maybe he died a long time ago. I don’t know. Why is this suddenly so important? Is this connected to the fight you had with Mum and Dad this morning? Maybe you should leave it alone.”

“I can’t.”

Dan gave me a sort of exasperated glare.

I looked back at him. I guess I was wishing I could explain to him why it mattered so much. Maybe if I understood that myself then it would be easier to explain it to him.

I think all that Dan saw on my face was stubborn. He spun around and sat facing forward, drumming his fingers on the wheel. I looked down at my hands where they sat resting on my thighs. I felt bad. I felt bad because Dan was angry with me. I felt bad because I’d fought with Mum. I felt especially bad because I’d fought with Dad. Most of all I felt bad because all of those things were my fault. And the worst thing was that I couldn’t help any of it.

I looked down at my hands. They hadn’t moved. We hadn’t moved.

“Why aren’t we moving? Are you waiting for me to say something?”

Dan snorted and twisted his head around to look at me.

“We’re supposed to pick up Liz, remember? We’re waiting for her. Maybe you should go and knock on the door or something.”

I felt my eyes go really wide and I spun around to look out the window. Sure enough, we were right outside Liz’s house. I felt my face burn with embarrassment. How stupid am I?

I pushed the door open and tried to climb out of the car but didn’t get very far because I still had my seat belt on. I tried to undo it but the catch jammed. I struggled with it for a moment and then suddenly the catch flew open, banging me on the knuckles of my right hand. I cried out “Ow” because of that, and then I went “Eek” because the seat belt had been physically stopping me from falling out of the car and with it suddenly going loose, I found myself falling. I scrambled around and managed to get myself upright, but my arm was still tangled in the shoulder strap. By this time, I was getting pretty frustrated – and even more embarrassed. I fought my way free of the shoulder strap and spun away from the car, only to trip on the curb and fall flat on my face.

I heard a burst of giggling from the front seat where Tara apparently found my situation far too entertaining for her own good. I swore and slammed my hand down onto the ground. I scrambled back to my feet and glared at Tara.

“Shut your face!” I hissed.

Apparently, Tara suddenly remembered that I held her future in my hands because she immediately cut off her laughter and turned back around to stare forward out of the front window of the car. I snorted in satisfaction at her silence and turned my back on her. Right at that moment if a big hole had appeared in the ground in front of me, I would have cheerfully jumped into it and pulled it closed over the top of me.

I sucked on my injured knuckle and looked down in dismay at the bits of grass and dirt and stuff all over my new jeans and my clean shirt. I frantically brushed down my front, trying to clean myself up. Suddenly Liz was next to me, helping me to brush the grass off my jeans.

“Are you okay? I looked out the window to check if you had come yet and I saw you fall. Are you hurt?”

I tried to let her know that I wasn’t hurt, but my tongue was all tied up in knots. It took two failed attempts before I managed to mutter, “Only my pride!”

Most of the grass and dirt brushed off, but there was an annoying little grass stain on my left knee. Liz tried to tell me that nobody would notice it, but I was still upset about it.

I crawled into the car and slid over to make room for Liz beside me. Soon we were hurtling once more towards my future, only this time we had Liz chattering away to supply the sound track. I listened to her enough so that I could nod and go “uhuh” at the appropriate times but mostly I poked at the green stain on my knee and worried about how noticeable it would be.

One piece of news that Liz had was that her father had surprised her with a cell phone the night before. It’s too much of a coincidence that we both got our first cell on the same evening. Our fathers have been conspiring again. There should be rules about that. Conspiring fathers are a little bit creepy. I pulled out my new cell and we spent some time comparing features and putting each other’s number into auto-dial.

Then Liz was carrying on about how she’d be stuck at the Y all day because of her father.

I invited her to come back with us, but she said that she should probably stay with her father. She pouted and moaned but I figured out that she didn’t mind that much.

“At least,” she said, “you get to go home and spend time in your own house. And your family is really nice to each other. What you foreigners don’t seem to get is that you’re doing it all wrong. The proper American tradition is to fight with your family at Thanksgiving.”

Dan laughed. “I think Bec has started adopting that tradition. She’s turning into an American before our eyes.”

“Huh?” said Liz.

“I, um, had a bit of a fight with The Parents this morning,” I said quietly.

“Way to go,” cheered Liz. “Now you’re getting the idea.”

I scowled at her. “It’s not funny. It wasn’t a good thing.”

Liz winked at me. “Oh, come on, it’s a little bit funny. Fighting with your parents makes you a real American.”

I scowled at her some more but she kept on smiling at me. In the end, I couldn’t help smiling too. I got annoyed with myself because she’d made me smile when I was trying to be cross, but in the end I had to give up.

“I suppose it’s a tiny bit funny,” I admitted.

“That’s right. All we need to do now is get you sounding like an American and your transformation will be complete,” said Liz.

I snorted at her. “What tha harpin’ on aboot? Ah alretty spayk layk ‘Murikans.” I exaggerated my Lancashire accent when I said that and she grinned in response.

Liz spent the next ten minutes talking about different Americans she’d met or seen on TV or whatever, who had accents from all over the world. Typical Liz, she sounded all muddled and jumped to the next thought before she was half-way through saying the last thing. She never got around to saying it but I knew that in her head, Liz was trying to tell me that it didn’t matter about my accent and that I could be an American no matter what I sounded like.

I felt a little smile warm up my face as I let myself be swept away by Liz’s non-stop chatter.

The YMCA is a pretty old building – it looks all solid and permanent, but I can’t help thinking it’s a bit sad and crumbly. Around the side, the wall that faces the parking lot is covered with graffiti. Some graffiti is artistic but this stuff is just messy. Most of it is stupid tags and stuff but some of it is about politics. Some of it is pretty old, too. One bit says, “Down with Reagan.” I mean, Reagan is one of those presidents from history class. I can’t remember if he came after the one who resigned or if he was before. He had an interesting face though. It was all long and craggy. His eyes kind of twinkled. I think he must have had a good sense of humor. I think I spent that lesson looking at the faces of the different presidents instead of following what they actually did. I could probably draw the faces of about the last ten presidents and get them in the right order but if you asked me to say their names and dates and tell you something about them I’d be completely lost. I guess I should pay more attention next time we do a history lesson about them.

Another bit says, “Save the world, shoot a Greenie.” I don’t get that. Aren’t the greenies the ones who are trying to save the world? Why would shooting one help? It doesn’t make sense. I think it’s supposed to be funny but I don’t get it.

At the back of the YMCA is a newer section that includes a big meeting room. A bunch of motorcycles were parked outside. I’m sure Mr Davidson’s bike was one of them but I couldn’t tell you which one it was. Liz’s Dad had been there for hours already and we waved at him as we came inside. He was directing traffic and sending people scurrying around like a general in charge of an army. Most of the tables had been set up and we immediately got recruited to put out tablecloths and tableware and stuff.

Dan collected a list of names and addresses from Mr Davidson and then waved at us on his way back out of the room. Almost everybody in the room was wearing the red t-shirt with our logo on the front. One person who didn’t have the shirt was Tara. As soon as she realized that she was the odd one out, Tara grabbed me and asked if we could check if they had a spare shirt for her.

Together, we went and spoke to Mr Davidson. He told us that he’d found a handful of spares in a box and waved us towards a store room. The store room contained piles of boxes and we had to open several before we found the right one. Most of the shirts were super-sized adult shirts but we did find one that was only one size too big. I closed the door and leaned against it so nobody could come in while Tara changed. It hung a little loosely on her but I thought it looked okay. Tara wasn’t so happy with it. She plucked at the shirt and pouted.

“I was hoping for a size more like the one you have on.”

I blinked in surprise and looked down at my shirt. It was too tight. I’d been embarrassed to put it on. Since then, so much else had gone through my head that I had actually not thought about how exposed it made me feel. I know some girls like to wear tight clothes that show off their bodies but I don’t get it. I can’t imagine ever wanting to wear clothes like that.

I looked at Tara. “Swap?”

She smiled at me and then she peeled the shirt off and threw it to me in a single move. It took me more than a single move to peel my t-shirt off. It felt like I was peeling off a layer of skin. It felt good to slip into the new shirt – especially since it hung nice and loose on me which made me feel much more comfortable. In the meantime, Tara was wriggling into the shirt I’d been wearing. It was skin-tight on her and she smoothed it down with a satisfied smirk. We might be more or less the same size, but Tara definitely curves a bit more than I do and the tight shirt certainly showed off those curves.

I waited until Tara was ready and then pulled the door open. Now that we were both happy with the way we were dressed, we went back to setting out the table service.

Over the next hour, people started arriving. Most of them were veterans, but not all of them. That’s how all this had started. Mr Davidson had found out about some old ex-military types who didn’t have any family so they spent every Thanksgiving on their own. So he booked the room at the Y and lined up some local restaurants to donate food. That first year, only a few vets had turned up so he ended up with huge amounts of leftovers. He and his friends spent the rest of Thanksgiving cruising the local streets, handing out the food to homeless people.

The next year more vets turned up, including a couple who had heard about handing out food to the homeless and wanted to get involved with that. They still had excess food and when they finished eating, they looked out the door and a bunch of homeless were waiting in the parking lot. Mr Davidson invited them inside and he and the vets served them a proper sit-down meal.

The next year it all took off. A bunch of vets who were too proud to take charity themselves were quite happy to turn up when it was all about them being charitable to someone else. The fact that they ended up with a nice meal and an afternoon with their friends instead of sitting on their own at home was a nice bonus, but they were really there to support the charity. That’s what they said, anyway.

Liz recruited me to help out the first year I became friends with her and I’ve been here every Thanksgiving since. I spend the morning setting up and serving food and stuff like that and then they all set up a big TV and spend the afternoon sitting around and drinking beer and watching football while I get to go home to my family. For the last couple of years, Mr Davidson had recruited Dan to join the team who drive around and collect people who don’t have cars. It made it easier for me and Liz because it meant we could arrive at a sensible time instead of having to get up before dawn so that we could go with Mr Davidson.

I looked around and saw Liz standing at the door and greeting people. She was holding a cash box for people to pay for the meal. There isn’t a fixed price. People pay what they think is right, or they pay what they can. Some people hand over a voucher. Mr Davidson and his friends had spent the previous few evenings riding around the streets and handing out vouchers – “Present this voucher for a free Thanksgiving meal.” We get more people turning up that way, than by saying “Come along and get free food.”

The Y let us use their showers and washing machine, so a lot of the homeless people come and have a shower and the men sometimes shave and there’s some donated clothes and stuff for them to wear while they put their own clothing through the machine. That way they can sit down for the meal feeling neat and clean and civilized. We usually get a few prostitutes and people like that too – ones that aren’t homeless I mean. You can usually tell who they are because they turn up clean and in a bit better clothing.

Dad freaked the first time he found out about the prostitutes. I don’t know why. Maybe he thought being a prostitute was catching and he didn’t want his little girl turning into one. I guess I was, like, nine at the time so maybe Dad wanted to protect me from knowing about things like that. Dad threatened to ban me from coming. Mr Davidson talked to him and calmed him down, but Dad came with me the next year and helped out himself so that he could make sure I was okay. I think once he saw what was going on he was a bit happier. I also think something about the day made him uncomfortable because he hasn’t come back since.

I saw Dan come in pushing a man in a wheelchair. I ran and moved a chair out of the way, so that there was a space at the table for the man next to his friends and then Dan and I waved at each other and he left again.

Liz called me over to the door. She had a teenage girl with her – she was maybe sixteen or seventeen. She was painfully thin and had that stretched look in her eyes that told me she was either on drugs or used them a lot. Liz asked me to take over the door while she stayed with the girl. If it had been a guy, one of the men would have stayed with him. Liz would make sure she got her shower and change of clothes and a good meal. She would also quietly tell her about the local clinic and give her their card – or try to get her into one of the shelters or something. That was something else we did. We made sure that the people who were new to the streets were aware of the local shelters.

I got Tara to join me and the two of us stood at the door and took money or vouchers and welcomed people and answered their questions. I saw Dan a couple more times, delivering people and then going off again. I don’t want to give the wrong impression. We didn’t have this massive crowd or anything. But there were quite a few people. It was quite difficult for me to stand there and be friendly to all these strangers. That’s why I got Tara to help me. She’s good at that sort of thing. With her smiling and chatting away to everyone, I could stand there and hold the money box and not have to talk so much.

A new girl stepped cautiously through the door and stopped. She stood there looking around nervously. She was a bit taller than me, but I figured she was younger, like maybe eleven or twelve. Her skin was that light brown color that meant most people would call her black but multi-racial would probably be more accurate. Her clothes were brand-name but they were old and frayed and dirty. I looked around the room for Liz. This girl was going to be another one for someone to stay with. I didn’t think she was on drugs, but she was so young and nervous that she was going to need some encouragement. I sighed in frustration because I couldn’t see Liz anywhere. That meant that I was going to have to do it. I’d helped Liz a few times but I’d never done this by myself before. I cried the first time I saw a girl here who was my own age. I mean one who was obviously living on the streets. It was a shock that someone my age could end up sleeping in a cardboard box in an alley somewhere instead of having their own bed to sleep in. I guess it made what we were doing here so much more real to me. I still sometimes cry about stuff like that. This girl was going to make me cry, I just knew it.

I told Tara that she was in charge of the door since she should know the routine by now. I walked up to the girl and smiled at her.

“Hi, my name’s Bec. Come on in. You’re in the right place.”

She gave me this nervous smile and took a couple of steps inside. Then she stopped and dug a tattered voucher out of her pocket and showed it to me.

“A man gave me this. He said I could get some food.”

“Yep. Just give it to my sister and I’ll show you around.”

I gestured at Tara and the girl tentatively handed over her voucher. Tara gave her a cheery “hello,” but the girl didn’t respond.

“Come on,” I said and took her hand. “The food won’t be ready for another twenty minutes so we’ve got time. Do you want to have a shower? The Y lets us use their bathrooms.”

That got me a shy smile.

“That would be nice. But I don’t have a towel or anything.”

“That’s okay. Come with me and I’ll sort everything out for you. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Alyssa.”

“Hi Alyssa, I’m Bec.”

“Yeah, you told me.”

“Oh, sorry.”

We both giggled and that kind of broke the ice a bit. I took her to the room with the washing machines and she got excited about the idea of washing her clothes. But then she worried about what to wear in the meantime so I took her into the next room where we had a stack of donated clothing set out. I explained that it was all donated and she could either borrow some stuff to wear while her clothes were being washed or she could keep it. That was up to her. Then I gave her some new underwear, still in its polybag. We didn’t want that back, I told her, and we both giggled again.

Alyssa opened the bag and breathed in the smell from the open pack.

She saw me watching her and her cheeks tinged pink.

“I can’t believe how much I’ve missed the smell of new underwear,” she said with shy smile.

I gave her a bag with little sample-sized bottles of soap and shampoo and conditioner. There were also a couple of emery boards for her nails and a comb for her hair and some tampons and stuff like that. I gave her a towel and we picked up the clothes she’d selected and we went through to the bathroom. Alyssa hesitated at the door to the shower cubicle.

“Will you wait for me?”

I smiled at her.

“Sure. I’ll sit right out here until you’re done.”

So I sat and waited and listened to the splashing as Alyssa stood in the shower. An older lady came in with an armful of clothes. I recognized her from the last few years. She’s a regular. She nodded at me and ducked into an empty cubicle.

Eventually, Alyssa was done and she came out in her clean clothes. She looked at me doubtfully, so I smiled at her and started saying nice things about the way she looked. Gradually I prised a smile out of her and that gave me a glimpse of how pretty she must have been before things went bad for her. I mean, something must have happened to her or she wouldn’t be living on the streets. I smiled at her again and held out my hand. She took it and I led her out of the bathroom. We put her original clothes in the washing machine and set it going.

“Come on, let’s go and get some food.”

In the meeting room, they were nearly ready to start serving. I took Alyssa over to a table and sat her next to a female vet called Sharona. She’d lost her left arm when her truck ran over a landmine. Now she wore a jacket with the sleeve neatly pinned up. I introduced Alyssa and Sharona to each other and Sharona quickly set about making Alyssa feel welcome.

Mr Davidson was standing out the front next to where the big TV was set up. He had a microphone in his hand and he coughed into it and tapped it to get everyone’s attention. Then he made a short speech welcoming everyone – it was a really short speech. Then he handed the microphone to a young guy standing in one corner, next to a small electric keyboard with a girl about the same age sitting behind it.

Everybody stood up and put their hand over their hearts. The girl played a chord and the guy started singing, “Oh, say, can you see by the dawn’s early light...”

Everyone joined in and sang the anthem with passion – enthusiasm and passion. I stood there, singing along with everyone else, when my eyes slid sideways to Alyssa and Sharona. They were standing side-by-side, the wounded veteran and the teen waif. They had so little in common, but they were standing there together, united by their mutual love of their country. In fact, everyone in the room was united – except me.

That’s why, in the light of the red glare of the rockets, the sound suddenly disappeared from my throat. I couldn’t sing. My eyes roved around the room and I knew I shouldn’t be singing. I didn’t belong here. I knew at the core of my being that I wasn’t an American, so I didn’t have the right to be standing here, singing along with everyone else. I’m not an American. I don’t belong. But I’m not really English any longer, either. I don’t belong there anymore. If I went back to Preston, I’d be a stranger there as well. So where does that leave me? It leaves me belonging nowhere.

So I stood there with my hands by my side and tears streaming down my face. I felt completely alone. I was in this room full of Americans as they asked if their star-spangled banner was still waving and I was alone. I wanted to run out of there and escape but I knew that running would make everyone look at me. The best way to be invisible was to stay standing still. So I stood like a statue and tried to disappear. I felt like a fake, standing there in that little portion of the land of the free and the home of the brave.

The singing stopped and they all clapped. Then there was a noisy bustling as they all started lining up to get their food. I realized that I needed to move or I would stop being invisible. People tend to stare at a person standing as still as a statue when everyone else is moving. The only problem was that I couldn’t move.

Suddenly, Liz was beside me, asking what was wrong. I looked into her eyes and tried to plead with her to get me out of there, but my voice had done what I wanted to do and run away. Maybe my psychic powers suddenly kicked in or something because Liz seemed to get the message anyway. She gripped my arm and steered me towards the door.

It had started raining, so we stopped on the doorstep. Liz hugged me for a moment and then she sat us both down on the step.

“What’s going on? Why did you suddenly start crying?”

I shrugged. I didn’t think my psychic powers were up to answering that.

She scowled at me. “Don’t you dare go all silent on me. I want to know what’s wrong and you are going to tell me.”

I withstood her glare for a moment, but then I shuddered and gave in.

“I don’t know who I am,” I whispered. “I don’t know who my family is. I feel so lost.”

“Why did that suddenly come to you in the middle of The Star-Spangled Banner?”

I shrugged. “Everyone was being so, I don’t know, patriotic or something. Suddenly, I figured out that I didn’t belong. I’m not an American. It felt wrong to stand there and pretend that I am one.”

“Of course you’re an American. What are you talking about?”

“I’m not a real American. Not like you are. You were born here. Your dad fought in the army. I’m just a visitor. I’m just someone who came to live here for a while. I don’t belong. I don’t even sound like an American.”

“You didn’t take me seriously? I was kidding around when I said that. Please tell me I didn’t make you feel this way.”

I heard the distress in her voice. I shook my head at her and I saw her face relax a bit.

“You aren’t just a visitor. You’ve lived here for years and years. You go to school here. Your dad works here. That makes you more than a visitor. That makes you American – at least it does as far as I am concerned. You’re as American as apple pie.”

I snorted at her. “That’s a dumb saying. Americans didn’t invent the apple pie. Nana knows a recipe for apple pie that she says has been in her family for three hundred years.”

“Oh!” Liz’s face fell for a moment but then she smiled again.

“That proves my point then. The apple pie came from England and we made it better and now it’s American – the same as you.”

I gave her a little smile for the effort but she could tell that I wasn’t convinced. She bit her lip and looked at me. Then I saw her face brighten as if a little light had switched on over her head.

“Every week at assembly, we say the Pledge of Allegiance. You say it too. Do you mean it when you say it?”

I shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Well, there you go then.”

Liz smiled in triumph as if she’d solved everything. I blinked at her as I tried to figure out what she meant. She rolled her eyes at me and scrambled to her feet, dragging me with her.

“Come on,” she said as she pulled me a couple of paces out onto the pavement. It had mostly stopped raining so I allowed myself to be dragged. She stopped and spun around to face me.

“Say it with me.”

“What?”

“Say it with me, right now.”

Liz put her hand over her heart and used her eyes to hint that I should do the same.