Pamela M. Covington - Holiday Surprises

 

 

In Savannah, our holiday meals were as bountiful as our Victorian home. We dine on baked fresh salmon, oyster stuffing, handpicked crab patties, had an assortment of things. And the house, it was decked festively from its crown molded ceilings down to its glossy hardwood floors and all points in between. 

 

Life was dreamy living with Watson. He was so attentive with our two boys. They were one and a half and nine. And he was an excellent provider. In fact, he saw to it that everything in the house was always exactly the way I wanted it, and he was proud to make it so. But what began as the ideal domestic situation slowly changed. 

 

Having served in Vietnam before we met, he suffered with post-traumatic stress disorder and was subject to the changes of a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. During one of his unpredictable frenzies, when he hit me in the face, I knew I had to leave for the sake of my and my children's safety, at any cost, emotional or financial. 

 

So, I left my middle-class comfort and fled to Jacksonville, a city I'd only visited twice, just for fun. After five days wandering around homeless, the only place that I could afford for my kids and me was a unit in a dilapidated cement tenement with no refrigerator, no stove, no air conditioning and no heat. The little shabby place was only better than being on the streets. Those piss poor conditions made me feel so bad, so low, I felt insignificant. There I was, alone with two children in a strange city, broken in every way imaginable. 

 

But no matter what I did, I could not let my children see my breakage. For them, I had to wear a brave mask. Even though I was having a tough time providing bare necessities, I had to do whatever I had to do for my children. My children had never even gone to bed hungry, and I just had to provide for them. It was no longer Watson and I. It was just me and them. You see, I had run off to Jacksonville without a plan, and that security in Savannah was behind me. Christmas was just a week ahead, and now on a good day, I cooked Vienna sausages and grits on a borrowed kerosene heater. 

 

One day, I meet a neighbor of mine, and he says, “Listen, I see you over there doing all that stuff by yourself. If ever I could be of any help to you, let me know.” I stopped and I thought about it. All I had was for preparing food was an old sunbeam deep fryer and a tiny toaster oven. What I really needed help with was to have a real kitchen that I could cook in. So, I told my neighbor that I had this gift certificate for a turkey I had gotten from the food bank, and I had plans already to spend time with friends on Christmas day. But if me and my kids could cook that turkey, we could eat off of it for days. Well, he said he was going to be out of town and offered to let me use his kitchen. I was relieved. Such a great weight was lifted up off of me. Even though it was only for a little while, I wouldn't have to worry how me and my children were going to eat. 

 

I went over to his apartment. He gave me a key and led me on a tour of his kitchen, which wasn't in any better shape than mine. But I noticed as we walked in how dusty the brown tile floor was, and grit was rolling under my feet. When he went over to open a drawer and show me where the utensils were, roaches ran out of everywhere. And I'm thinking, this is where I'm going to cook it? 

 

So, Christmas day, the children and I had been invited by a social services worker to join her and her family for a holiday celebration. We got there. And it was wonderful. There were children running around playing. The aroma of all kinds of food, and the air and everything new like you smell at Christmas time. And there was music playing. I did good until a song by Donny Hathaway This Christmas came on. It flashed me back. Everyone there had been so nice to me and my children. I didn't want them to think that someone had said or done anything to upset me. I figured it was time for me to go home. 

 

So, when I got back to my apartment, I thought about it and I said, girl, after all that upset, you know you're not going to sleep. You got that turkey in the sink. You might as well go and cook the turkey. So, to pick my spirits up, like I always do, I wanted to hear some music. So, I put on Prince’s 1999, because tonight, we're going to party like we're going to cook a turkey. [audience laughter] 

 

 

I'm doting all over that bird. I'm basting it, I'm seasoning it and I'm fussing with it just to get it right in the center of the pan. I got it in there perfect. I snatch that key, head out my kitchen door and go down to my neighbors. At the door, I'm standing on the stoop, balancing this flimsy aluminum pan, putting my key in the door. I open the door, reach in to turn on the light and head towards the stove, and wow, two big ashy gray rats are standing on top of the stove on their hind legs, screech, screech, screeching at me before they jump down and run across the floor. 

 

At that same moment, I drop my turkey. It bounces out of the pan, slides clear across the floor and hits the wall. I am beside myself. I go out on the stoop and I'm crying. Then, I retreat to my apartment, throw myself into the sofa and make a decision whether or not I'm going back to get my turkey. Oh, those rats, I'm thinking. That place is so nasty. I'm not going to let them have it though, am I? What will we do? Well, I'm going back to get it. I have to, but this time, they can't catch me off guard. I'm going ready for them. 

 

So, I rummaged through my kitchen drawers and then headed back over. I get to his place and I charge in there like some kind of superhero. I snatched up my turkey as quickly as I could, and put it in a pan and walked right back home, where again, I put it in the sink, I scrubbed it, I basted it, I seasoned it and then walked it back over to cook it. 

 

Hours later, I'm carrying a perfectly baked golden turkey in an aluminum pan as if it's on a silver platter, walking it back over to my apartment where I put it on the countertop and I'm wrapping it in about 10 layers of foil, trying to muffle that irresistible roasted turkey scent from any rats before I walk up the cement stairs to our bedroom and place it high up on a closet shelf where it can wait to be feasted on by me and my boys. And that night, having done what I needed to do to ensure the survival of the fittest, I slept for the first time in a very long time, quite peaceably, in the security of knowing that my children and I would have food to eat the next day and for the next few days thereafter. Thank you.