Lindsey and I had only two Thanksgivings together. The last one was in 2004. She didn't have to work that day, so we got a bottle of wine and rented some sappy chick flick she wanted to see. I built a fire and we settled in to watch the movie. My goal was to have her undressed on the blanket in front of the fireplace before the movie was over. Instead, I fell asleep.
When the movie ended, she woke me up and we did what I had wanted to do anyway.
The next morning, we went to her mother's house. When Lindsey died, her mother Ev wrote me off. At the time, I thought she was family. We ate until we were gorged and then I napped on the recliner while Lindsey and her mom did the dishes.
To pay her back, I had to give her a full-body massage with lilac-scented lotion and watch another chick flick with her. In the end, it was worth the effort, because she was there.
She was shot twice in the chest in the parking lot of a Price Chopper on October 4, 2005. I still miss her.
Today, I'm sitting at a bar within walking distance of my apartment on the Dunedin causeway. My goal was to get loaded and stagger home. But I can't quite bring myself to get drunk. I wish I could.
Maybe tomorrow. Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving. I hope yours is as good as mine used to be.
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