It had been sixteen years since he'd been home for Thanksgiving, and now he was going. Somehow he had to hold everything inside. He focused on the scenery, the autumn foliage, the winding road. He could not think about his goal lest he pull off the highway. He had no fear of falling asleep as he traveled mile after mile because he was finally prepared for what had stood between him and that field since he was a ten-year-old child.
Pain clouded his mind. He would not surrender! If he didn't face down the monster, it would haunt him always.
"Scaredy-cat!" his brothers had sneered. "You're afraid of ghosts! You're afraid of your own shadow!" The echo of ridiculing laughter ricocheted through his mind, autumn after autumn. His mother had held her tongue while even his father and uncles joined the chorus of humiliating jeers. "Sissy! Go on! Just go as far as the scarecrow and come back. Mommy will give you cocoa and warm your jammies in the oven!" Hahahahahahahahaha!
Now he was married with a son of his own, a child who next year would be old enough to understand the demeaning jeers of a grandfather and uncles. The monster had to be defeated now, this year, tonight!
The last hour of the trip was agonizing. The miles and minutes dragged, and he wondered if he could reach his destiny without surrendering to the urgency that was overwhelming him. He twirled the radio dial. He counted fenceposts.
At last he saw the lopsided gate that hadn't been rehung in all the years he had avoided that path between the farmhouse and the field. The dirt road itself was pocketed with years of neglect, and his city-oriented car protested with every bump and gully. Each thud and jolt surged between the vehicle and his body, nearly shredding his mind.
There it was! He parked and stared as it loomed in front of him, backlighted by the wintry moon. It seemed incredibly smaller now, and he could have shrugged and driven away; but his need was irresistible. He had driven most of the afternoon, determined to DO this. Painfully and slowly, he stepped out of the Mercedes. ("Take that!" he thought, "You and your damned tractors!")
Stumbling over the rough terrain almost defeated him, but it was only a few more steps. Now... I will do this now!
He stood in front of the weather-beaten and aged scarecrow that had sent him screaming away from the turkey his brother had bagged for Thanksgiving sixteen years ago. All his job had been was to pick up the damned bird and bring it back to the house, but the scarecrow's head had flopped wildly in the wind. He had run empty-handed, blubbering.
Now he would be avenged. He unzipped his fly and released the pain in his belly in one mighty burst, grinning the whole time.
"Gotcha!" he whispered. "Gotcha!"
