A Holiday StoryWhat is enough? Enough what?
That's Enoughby Jan S

 ©copyright 2007 by Jan S

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~Home at last!~ I thought as I sat down on the back steps. Troy greeted me with his usual huge smile. I put my arms around him and buried my head in the long blond hair on his shoulder. I said, "I don't know why I do this every year, Troy. I never really make any money out of it."

He showed his sympathy by snuggling a bit closer. We stayed like that a while and, though I wanted to stay forever, I eventually said, "OK. That's enough. Let's get dinner."

As I open the back door, I said,"Ohhhh shoot; the elves didn't show up."

The place was full of rented caterer's equipment; every pot, knife and bowl I own was piled on the countertops, and the whole place smelt of schmaltz. (~Was it schmaltz if it came from a turkey?~ I'd have to ask Shelly.) The only thing different from what I had left this morning was the little red light that flashed impatiently; there were four messages on the phone.

"Troy, couldn't you have done just a little bit of cleaning?"

He just stared at me with his big brown eyes. He never has much of a sense of humor around dinner time.

I slumped against the door, mourning the mess, until he came and nuzzled my leg.

"OK. That's enough. I've got a treat for you even though you didn't do the dishes."

His tail began to wag. I filled his bowl with kibble and got the plastic bag of turkey fat out and mixed some into his food. The smell made him spin in circles.

"Only five spoonsful though. That's enough. You need to watch your figure, love."

Bagheera had smelled or heard the kibble, and was doing his terrier impersonation: "Meo-Meo-Meo-Mow." I called to Sasha and filled their bowls adding a few giblet bits.

My compulsiveness overcame my fatigue; I rinsed some dishes and searched the kitchen for all the potato peels the paring knife had thrown about this morning. By the time I had created a tidy catastrophe out of the disaster, Troy was sitting with his nose pointing at the door.

"Oh, Troy, no walk, please. I'm too tired, and you've been out all day. Surely, that's enough." ~His name is Troy, not Shirley. -- Oh god, am I that tired?~

Troy just wagged his tail faster, so I rubbed his ears and opened the door. He was down the steps before he realized I wasn't coming; I felt so mean.

With Troy exiled, Sasha came to say hello at last. I picked her up and told her how beautiful she was; she rolled her head on my arm and purred.

It was time to hear the phone messages. But first something to drink! Shelly's wine!

*****Last night Shelly came in without knocking and yelled, "I'm here, and I got refreshments. Let's bake!!"

"Five bottles, girl! What, did you steal these?"

"They're open bottles that were left on tables; the chef and the sommelier both saw me take them, so it ain't theft."

"And what would the health inspectors say?"

"Hey, don't ask, don't tell. Just enjoy, little-goody-two-shoes. This is the good stuff! Look at all the vowels on these labels!"

"But I can't drink tonight. We have ten pies to make, and I need to be up by five to cook four turkeys."

"FOUR! You're cooking four dinners!"

"Just three; one bird and some other stuff I'm taking to a church."

"Then you will spend the afternoon serving poor people, right?"

"Where else would I be, Shelly?"

"Why didn't God make more people like you?"

"Most people wonder why He made any people like me at all."

"OK, stop. Don't get all verklempt. That's enough. Let's get chopping."

*****

I savored half a glass of wine then pushed the play button on the answering machine. "Hi. I guess you're off delivering food or else at the shelter already. -- Umm yeah, -- well -- I'm at Chez Parents' again, and it's still the same old crap. -- Well. . . Well, you know. OK, anyway, I was thinking about you. Bye."

~Oh, poor Andy. It must be hell if you're calling me. But I can't. No.~

*****Over a year ago Andy said, "But WHY? You're fine. Doesn't what I want matter at all?"

"Andy, you always knew. I told you."

"That's just a fantasy! We have a real life to lead."

"I'm the one that earns the money, Andy. I pay all the rent, buy all the food."

"If the newspaper . . ."

". . . reviews your play you'll be the next Tennessee Williams; and if the agent will just read your novel, you will be the next Truman Capote; and if you can just get your film made, you will be the new Warhol. You're going to be The great queer artiste for the twenty-first century."

"At least I know what I am!! I'm not in denial, claiming I'm something else. Ohh -- keep the damn money, and you won't have to deal with 'queers' any more. Find a 'real man' that wants you. As if!"

"No, Andy, I didn't mean that. Love. Please, I didn't! Please, Andy."

"No! That's enough!"

*****

~Don't! Stop! Why did you have to call, Andy? I don't need to relive all of that again. That's enough!~

I was holding Sasha too tightly, and now she abandoned me. I refilled my glass, took a very deep breath and started the messages again.

"Well, you ruined my dinner; how could you do this? The marshmallows were black. The cranberries weren't sweet. I poured that stuff on the potatoes, and they were runny! It was all a miserable mess. Only the turkey you argued about was any good at all! I just want you to know you'll never work out here agai....

~OH, Shut UP!~ "Shut Up! That's enough!" I yelled as I pushed the pause button "Bitch!" ~Shit, shit, shit.~

*****"You gotta give them a reason to put their aprons on so the guest will think they did most of it," I had told Shelly last night, "I give them some crá¨me fraá®che to add while reheating the potatoes on a double boiler. That brings them back a little."

"And this kosher turkey is just for a goy?"

"Yes, this horrible shitza trophy wife who probably doesn't know what kosher means."

"The word is shiksa, and people like you aren't allowed to use it."

"She wanted me to brine it too."

"OK, maybe she is a shit-za; that'd be as salty as a potato chip."

"Yeah, I couldn't bring myself to do that to that pretty bird. So what she doesn't know will help her."

*****

She didn't whisk the cream in; I wondered what she did to the other dishes. Probably nuked them for days or put them in an oven set at inferno. ~Nothing I can do about it. You can't please everyone; can't please everyone; can't please everyone, can't...~

I emptied my glass, sighed and started the next message. "Hi, honey. It's Mom...."

Quickly I pushed the skip button and took a deep breath. I wasn't ready for that one yet.

"Hello. I want you to come in tomorrow. I know you think you made some deal with George, but we're going to get drop-ins from all the shoppers and. . ."

~Come on, Greg, don't be a jerk; say please.~

". . . so if you want to keep your job you'll be here -- I'm paying everyone time and an eighth. I know you were busy today, and if you want to come in late, Susan can do your mise for you."

~The hell she can! I'll do my own mise; thank you very much. Well, at least you try to be a nice total asshole, Greg. Time and an eighth?~

I should really go to bed now but must listen to Mom's message first. I refilled my glass and did three laps around the living room.

*****Long ago I told my father -- sperm donor -- Oh Hell: Daddy, "But I'm going to make the sweet potato pie all by myself. It'll be real good."

"I said go outside and play with the boys! Now!"

"But they're playing army. I want to help. Everyone will like it; promise. Gran'mommy said it's your favorite."

"Stop. That's enough. OUT!"

*****

I closed my eyes and started the message.

"Hi, honey. It's Mom. We're all here thinking of you of course. We're at Pete's this year. Pete and Daddy are taking everyone downtown to a basketball game tomorrow, so you could call sometime after four if you wanted to. I know Christie would like to talk to you too.

"Pete made partner last summer, and both his little ones were thankful they had nice teachers this year. Christie's Joe was happy to have his driver's license, and our little Lizzy got into the select choir. That sounded a bit more like bragging than being thankful to me. Christie's husband just opened a second shop; your father said he was thankful he had his health, but of course he doesn't really, you know. Christie joked about not leading Girl Scouts any more, because Pete's new wife just started doing that. I was thankful we were all together, like every year. -- So we were a very thankful bunch -- try to call if you can. Love you, I wish you could jus. . .-- I love you, dear."

Almost ten years ago Christie had asked me to stay away until her kids were older. I was something too hard to explain to ones so young. I would confuse them she had said.

*****"Ya' can't pay me," Shelly said, "but you can give me that turkey and things you're making for the needy."

"Why? They're promised and your family wouldn't touch it, and there is milk in everything else.

"We're not going to eat that tref! But when you give it away it will be my mitzvah."

"Oh, like I don't need a blessing?"

"Blessing - schmessing. A duty's a duty. You do yours by schlepping and serving."

"Since it's all you will take. But what's with all the Yiddish tonight, huh?"

"Getting in practice to see my Bubbeh; it happens every time, subconsciously or something. Say, why not come with me? I think they might take you as a good compromise from my girl friends -- you would have to convert though."

"Well, that'd be a start, but not what I had in mind," I said, trying to joke.

"Could you pretend to be a doctor? -- Boy, you are so lucky not to have to go through all that narrischkeit all the time."

*****

I opened the door to let Troy in but found myself sitting on the back steps again. Troy loped over with a rawhide bone in his mouth.

"I'm not playing fetch with that thing. Give. Now find your ball. Get the ball." He disappeared into the bushes.

Not one of those callers had wished me a happy holiday. They know that this holiday isn't meant for people like me. Not a one did. Not all day; not even at the church.

But Giving is half of the damn, bloody name. Giving! And what if no one wants what you have to give? What then? What then? Then what?

Paranoia is always so easy, so defensible. For me. But it isn't paranoia when it is true. Maybe they had enough people to clean up the church cafeteria; maybe my cranberries looked strange; maybe I look strange. No wonder no one comes close to me. And if they do I chase them away.

Troy brought me a slobbery tennis ball, and I rolled it across the lawn.

*****"When did you last get a blood test?"

"What? Where did that come from, Shelly?"

"Well, you've got something white on your tongue and that place on your arm."

"Shelly! Stop with the Jewish mother routine. There is no way.

"You should just check even if you've been careful."

"OH, love, those are hardly the first signs, you know, and there is nowhere I could have picked anything up. It's a little bump, a bug bite maybe, and I licked a spoon with cream on it. That is all."

"You mean you haven't since Andy?"

"Yes, Now just stop."

"But that's like two years! You sure?"

"It's different for me, Shell. I don't pick every flower I meet and get around like you do."

"OK, like that am I. Look, I'm making your famous gravlax; I need to get home and turn the fish over. See ya'."

*****

Why did I say that to her? She was being annoying, but.... Oh, I do it to everyone.

I took the ball from Troy and threw it again.

Emptiness embraced me. I put my hands over my face and pulled my knees up. ~I am here,~ I yelled within my mind, ~Someone, anyone take me. I am here, damn it!~

But there was no answer.

The day was a trail of useless destruction. Nothing right; no one pleased; no one wanting to be pleased.

Why am I this? Why is there nothing? Just void. Nothing. Nada y pues nada. A Cornucopia of Pues Nada. That is all there is. All there ever was. All there ever will be.

Void without end. . . .

Troy was trying to lift my head with his nose, the ball still in his mouth, and I shoved him away. He returned to sit on a lower step and put his head next to me, his neck stretched across the cold wooden porch.

I wiped my eyes and said, "See, I can't even make you happy, can I, sweetheart?"

I threw my head back to drain the wine glass, but it was already empty. I threw the glass at a pillar and missed -- ~still such a wimp!~ -- It landed in a decaying pink caladium, only its stem broken.

I took Troy in, and I opened another of the remnant bottles. The wine had turned, and I put it upside down in the drain. The third bottle was good.

I took my new glass and shuffled toward the bath, planning a long soak, but as I entered the living room I remembered the day's destruction had reached there too. The tub was full of salt from the brine I had poured out. I stood by the couch and looked at my dark reflection in the television screen.

I touched my hair; I'd have to have a shower anyway, but you can't drink wine in a shower. Or maybe I should cut it off? Why not? God, it would be so easy not to try any more. I shook my head. ~NO! I have done that. I have done that! That would be the other way to die -- slowly, inside out.~

I stood there, watching the dark image empty the wine glass. Then I went into the bathroom and got under the shower, just letting the water roll over my head.

*****Almost a hundred people had shown up for dinner at the church. Many happy and many somber children. Some happy adults, most making it look very hard. Some unhappy adults, trying even harder. Others just accepting. Lots of offers to help to do anything.

More than enough people behind the counter too, some more skillful than others at making receiving easier.

There were plenty of turkeys, not enough foil to wrap up the leftovers. There were just enough can goods from two weeks' offerings in children's chapel, not enough sacks to pack them up in.

A woman on the vestry made her self the portion manager and the guard of the bathroom key although that had not been the original plan. She had managed to make it clear that "those people," and the organizers and other church members as well, were only being tolerated in her church.

One of the organizers made it his sole job to keep her busy in the back, but she had escaped long enough to bawl out a little girl, four or five, for spilling her drink.

Why had she volunteered for this at all?

I thought I had sneaked the little girl a new drink unnoticed, but maybe not. After that she seemed to home in on me. She told me that my cranberry sauce, really a chutney, looked too strange for people like these to like it and complained about the number of rolls I gave out. During the clean up I had been putting some spoons away in the pantry; she had grabbed them and said, "I'll take care of those. You can leave now; you've been into things all day. There are five of us still here. That's enough."

*****

When I left the tub I washed the salt off my feet and wrapped my hair in a towel. Once I had on my frumpiest, coziest flannel nightgown and fuzziest socks I looked at myself in the bedroom mirror.

~Sexy, huh? Who could resist that? -- -- This is what I am. This and only this is what I can give. Just only all of me.

~Ohh, hell. I need more wine.~

There was a new message on the phone when I got to the kitchen. Someone else complaining about their meal, I supposed. I waited until I had finished half a glass of wine before I pushed the button.

Shelly's voice said, "Hope your already in bed, so good morning. Wanted to tell you my day was completely, totally, absolutely miserable, but not so bad. Lots of fressing. And your gravlax recipe was a smash. Not so that anyone said anything, but no one said much bad either, and they all ate it. In my mishpocha that's praise for something not tradition. 'Course I told them it was special Swedish lox.

"But you're probably not in bed; you're sitting there eavesdropping on me, all plotzed in tears when you should have naches from today. You did good! You're a real mensch. So stop acting like a meshuga shmegege and get to bed, boichika! Gu' Night."

~Sweet Shelly. You know me too well! But get over the Yiddish thing, already. Isn't there a feminine form of mensch and shmegege? You could have added a vowel at the end or something.~

I topped off the wine glass, sat on the couch with my legs folded inside my nightgown and began rocking back and forth. Troy brought a toy over. I closed my eyes for a second before I took it and tossed it across the room. When he was half way back with it I pointed my finger at him and said, "BANG."

He flopped down on the floor.

"But your tail is wagging, Troy. Dead dogs wag no tails." He made no effort to make it stop.

"I guess you can't kill a good dog's tail. Alright, Troy-boy, come up here." I patted the couch and he climbed up next to me; I pull his head onto my legs and rubbed his ear. He settled down and moaned.

Bagheera was stalking me along the back of the couch, purring as he came. He lay down right behind me and began kneading my shoulder. I reached back and scratched his head.

*****When I left the church there was an old woman with swollen calves and a cane sitting alone at the bus stop. The autumn sun had set, but the earlier drizzle had almost stopped. I hadn't intended to say anything to her until I noticed the two little girls playing on the grass near by. The smaller was the girl that had spilt her drink, so I went over and said, "Hi, is your ride late?"

"Oh, no," the woman said, "We're waiting for the bus."

"Are you sure they're running today? This late?"

The bigger girl said, "We missed the other bus because she had to go to the bathroom." She showed who she meant by pushing the smaller girl hard enough to make her stumble.

"Well, I've had to go into there a few times too. Haven't you?" I said.

The girls giggled. The woman smiled and said, "There's one more coming. It should be here at six-oh-seven."

I looked at my watch; that was nearly thirty minutes from now. I said, "I could take you downtown if you need it. There are probably more buses there."

"No, sir; thank you." the old woman said, "this one takes us right where we're going without changin'."

I cringed, then said, "OK, if you're sure. I should get home; it's been a long day."

As I turned she said, "Bye and thank you for the dinner."

I wasn't sure if she had made me or not. I was wearing a long skirt and she didn't seem the sort that would confront me, just stare. Maybe she called everyone "sir". Maybe she didn't see very well.

Both girls hollered "Thank you," at the same time, obviously prompted.

I turned back around and said, "I'm glad you liked it. Bye."

As I walked on, I heard the older girl say, "That's the lady that walked around with rolls. She'as nice."

The younger one said, "And she got me a new drink when that mean lady said I couldn't. She's a real nice lady."

*****

The phone rang again. Since I was being held down by two animals, I couldn't have answered it if I had wanted to.

"Hi, that was magnificent!" the voice said. It was one of the people that I'd made dinner for, and my jaw dropped.

"Sorry to call so late but I had to tell you. My mother-in-law complained about not having potatoes, but she had thirds of your seven onion timbale. The rest was perfectly wonderful too. Call me next week; my parents and brother may come down for Christmas. And I might do a party too."

Sasha had materialized atop the rented refrigerator in the middle of the room. She was sitting serenely aloof, watching the three of us on the couch. I challenged her to a staring contest -- and lost.

I stroked Troy's chest and petted Baggy again.

~I am inside with a glass of wine in my hand and beautiful blond's head in my lap. I made some people happy today. There are two little girls in the world who know what I am; and so do I.~

"That's enough!"

I tilted my head onto the cat, looked at the ceiling, and smiled.

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I hope the Yiddish was not a distraction. If it was a problem, check here or here

Many, many thanks to Daphne and Kristina without whose encouragement, advice and punctuation wrangling this story would not have been.