I walked and walked and walked last night. I just needed to get out of the house and think. It was another brutally cold night, but I braved it. I arrived home feeling refreshed with freezing cold hands and a frozen face.
Yesterday evening, George’s mom had asked me to come and eat with them. It was nice getting a southern style home cooked meal. Mrs. Jones cooked fried chicken, a pan of her most awesome macaroni and cheese, turnip greens with ham hocks, mashed potatoes, and homemade biscuits. I ate until I was stuffed. She is such a wonderful cook.
George kept sneaking outside to take a drink and I asked him what he was doing. He hides a bottle of bourbon in the bushes so his mother will not find it. Mrs. Jones won’t let him drink in her house.
“Just don’t get so drunk you ruin our meal,” I told him. “Your mother went to a lot of trouble fixing this meal tonight.”
“I ain’t gonna get too drunk,” George replied incredulously. “I never get too drunk.”
“Sure,” I replied thinking of the other day he passed out in the woods at Ferret’s campsite and I had to drive him home.
Thanksgiving today will be spent alone. My mother, father, and great aunt drove down to Thomasville, Georgia to a cousin’s home for a Thanksgiving meal. I elected to stay home despite being invited. My idea of Thanksgiving is not some mad rush across a state to go eat. I would rather spend it alone than do such things. Good day.