SWIM Book 1 (Complete three-hundred pages)

DAY 5 (TWO NIGHTS BEFORE THE TSUNAMI)

Thursday, November 23, 2017

T

oday was Turkey Day. I always abstained from the turkey. Weird I know. It's just that I felt bad we killed so many turkeys on this twenty-four-hour-period. Travis Gibbs, being the know-it-all logic mensch that he is, shook his head at me when he saw my plate pass over the dark and white bird and instead plunge for the green bean casserole (my favorite because it was almost healthier and way more delicious than the rest). I shot Travis Gibbs an annoyed look and asked, "Are you judging me?"

"You know that you shouldn't feel bad for the turkeys on Thanksgiving. If it wasn't for the fact that turkeys were a seasonal tradition, we might be eating them on all days of the year, not just Thanksgiving."

I shot him a blank look. I couldn't argue with his logic. But I could sure ignore it. I wanted to stick my tongue out at him as I turned my back and continue throwing mashed potatoes, gravy, salad, croissants, skillet cornbread, grape salad, cheesy rice, roasted brussels sprouts, squash casserole, braised greens, and when I found my plate to already be full, I decided to leave alone for now and come back later for the stuffing, corn, glazed carrots, candied yams, creamed spinach, sweet potato casserole, cranberry sauce, rolls and macaroni and cheese—shedding a tear as I saw the long line of my mother's relatives behind me, and prayed to the Turkey gods they would leave me left overs.

I never liked cousin Cecile's nasty habit of taking pictures of us eating throughout the entire meal. It took a few reminders from the adults to get her to put her new IPhone X away. She was addicted to the $1000 plus toy. Travis Gibbs couldn't help but throw in his criticisms when she left the multi-tabled room to put it away in her purse.

"I can't believe people give in to the hype. The only thing I would want that phone for is for the camera feature, and the memory, but I wouldn't spend $1000 for it," he griped.

"You're forgetting my cousin Cecile's married to one of the largest shareholders of Latin network Televisa stocks," I said, rolling my eyes at his comment—he made a fair point though, but I didn't like to admit when he was right, even though he always was. It was the pessimistic way Travis Gibbs said things that made him come off patronizing and narcissistic. I must take a deep breath and remember he was just a seeker of the truth, of science, and of justice. He was a logical young man, and coming from a Yeshivish background, a Jewish school of lawyerly arguing over the Judaic laws of the Talmudic texts, the idiocies of consumerism always gave him a fever he always sought to treat through well-articulated debate.

"I'm thinking of creating a consumer boycott app so the people of America can plan together on refusing to buy popular goods until the prices drop to a fairer price," said Travis, rubbing his temples in trembling aggravation with one hand before stuffing some white turkey into his mouth. "Did you know Apple is doing away with its discounts for whenever you go in to upgrade your phone?"

Both Jack and Brett Stevens lifted their heads from their consumptive silences and coughed with wide-open eyes as Travis broke the news they would have to pay in full for their upgrades. "Goddammit!" They cried. "Why didn't we upgrade our iPhone 5S's when we had the chance!"

After four servings, my extended family of lawyers, doctors, entrepreneurs and real estate investors all looked pregnant, and a traditional family walk outside commenced. My sports-loving uncle and his boys managed to influence Brett Stevens into playing a game of touch football with them as the rest of us went for a stroll. There was about fifty of us, and our walk down the paseos of the hills turned into a path along the waterways inland from the town's main harbor, and we enjoyed the view of holiday Christmas and Hanukah lights splayed over the unending row of bridges and across the sails of boats.

I took in my family as I walked side-by-side with Jack (our hands clasped together under the warmth of our fall winter clothing. I felt snug in the hug of my grey turtleneck sweater underneath my chic grey wrap coat that matched my grey shoes, all complimented by the crisp white pants my long legs strutted through. I smiled as Jack pressed into me and laid his lips onto my neck. "I've never seen a more attractive family in my life," he said with yummy warmth into my ear. I turned, my hair whipping behind my shoulder, as I locked lips with my hunky man when the coast was clear. I kissed him and like always blacked out of consciousness for a good minute before our lips pulled apart. And I opened my eyes to find that the rest of my relatives, including my mother and father who were leading the pack like the power couple they were, were far, far ahead along the canal. Jack's hands slipped around my waist, hidden in the warmth around my wrap coat, and he slid his fingers down.

"Jack," I said with my eyes, "my family's right over there. I wouldn't get too handsy if I was you. You don't want the cops in the morning to find your body in the canal cut up in a speedboat propeller, do you?"

"I'll take my chances," said his daring smolder. And I smiled as the record-breaking heat of the Thanksgiving night gave me the idea that he and I should sneak back to the house and rip off our jackets.

I pulled his warm hand and we raced away from the canal. Passed side porches of families eating and drinking and playing underneath early holiday decorations, and once we trudged with the unbending energy of lust up the steep slope to the empty family house, we ran to an upstairs bedroom, and made love as fast as we could, letting the moments stretch long.

Little did we know Travis Gibbs had locked himself in the downstairs bathroom, to find solitude on the toilet with his pants down, a wine bottle nearly empty in his hand, flipping through an American Association for the Advancement of Science AAAS journal with intense intellectual curiosity, so fast like it was a thrilling fictional page-turner. He had found it somewhere in my mom's uncle's study, buried deep in the trash under his stacks of popular science magazines and the Economist.

Jack and I would discover Travis Gibbs stepping out of the bathroom in a fright, and we wondered if he had heard the bed shaking upstairs.