Thanksgiving

The year that I turned twenty - one, We watched the Macy's Day parade, while snow blanketed Kalamazoo. Cold cans of Miller High Life toasted with garlic butter green beans. We baked bazil roasted turkey breast, and laughed like children at the very idea of the two of us cooking. Digging through the dishes that other Civic Theatre employees had left behind, we listened to Sweet Charity, and the sound of tap shoes beating against a green star. We were wating for Santa in a little city almost a thousand miles from home. We ended the day as we started, in puffy sweat pants, hair a mess. No pomp and circumstance. Just the two of us listening to the heavy flakes fall.