This Thanksgiving I get to reflect on the people I spent past Thanksgivings with, and how it is I am now homeless due to that person.
The last few days have been brutal, emotionally. Events that transpired to leave me in a friend’s basement along with my two cats and a puppy will be fodder for future holidays, since the life-altering conduct will reverberate for many years to come.
She nearly begged me to move into her farmhouse as she had fled for the Coast, having fallen In Love™. We had known each other for a few years when this happened. I guess I just didn’t know her enough.
I wanted to get away from the small town I landed in, and she wanted to be with her brand new One True Love®. She had a 40 acre organic farm, I had some hops in the ground there. Her mom bought her an old farmhouse close to the farm. Turns out her aunt financed the farm, and my friend apparently never made a payment — her mom did that for her.
I started the move last summer — I walked away from a mortgage that will haunt me forever now, I suppose. This was not a move to be taken lightly: the 500 mile round trip drive was very hard on my old ‘85 Chevy Van. Probably spent more on maintenance than gas, and my mileage is not that great at all. Even had a 1,800 pound press to move. So at a certain point I was pretty much committed to following through on plans we made together.
The old farmhouse was begging for attention: my friend had been doing free-range egg production right there in the front wrap-around porch, and left the detritus behind when she drove west. The accumulation of chicken & goose crap along with deteriorating hay meant that when the porch was finally cleaned, dust masks would be required to prevent inhaling the stuff.
And then there were the cats she left behind in March. 4 of them, one with a left ear clipped off indicating it was feral. I arrived in July. 5 months of feces. 5 months of urine.
5 months of fleas.
I plead with my friend on the phone to allow me to take the cats out of the building, so necessary things could then be done.
Instead she cast me aside. She said get out of my house. She actually said “Get cracking”
So much for friendship. So much for the several years of Thanksgivings we did together, in a shared 2 flat rental in Madison.
So much for her pretending to be an “ally”, in the LGBT sense. So much for my decision to list her name as an emergency contact.
Each Thanksgiving for me going forward will forever be polluted by what a “friend” found easily possible to do to another.
Honestly, my rage and disgust may never subside. I suppose the upside is that I will have future Thanksgivings in the first place. This kind of Long Dark Night is enough to make even the hardiest soul despair.
Every turkey dinner with all the fixings, once a classic Comfort Food for me, now is dust in my mouth.
I cannot feel more disgusted with Life than I am today.