Maybe Next Year

The pheasant meat simmered merrily in its bath of white wine and cream alongside diced mushrooms and shallots. Mabel, Mark’s mother-in-law, stood over the range, stirring every couple of minutes. She was wearing a blaze-orange apron that clashed fiercely with her outfit and said, “Feel the rush of the flush.”

Looking down at the apron, she chuckled and turned to Mark. “Do you get it?” she asked.

Mark was sitting at the table looking at his hands. He glanced up when he heard his mother-in-law’s words. “Huh?” He looked startled. “Oh, um, no, not really.” His eyes darted to his wife, who was sitting across from him. Under the table his hands clasped and unclasped.

“What’s it mean, Mom?” his wife Carmen asked. “I didn’t think you’d find a toilet joke funny.”

Mabel grinned and wiped a strand of hair back from her face. “It’s not that at all,” she said. “When you’re out in the field looking for pheasant, your goal is to get them to fly out in front of you so you can get a clean shot. When they fly, that’s called flushing. You see, pheasant would rather not fly at all, they’re running birds. Easier for them to escape through the undergrowth than use their wings.” She stirred the bubbling pan. “So it really is a rush when you see one fly out.” She picked up a spoon and tasted the sauce. “I think we’re ready to eat.” She served up a helping of meat and sauce onto three plates, then doled out wild rice onto the plates. Carmen got up from her chair and helped her move the plates to the table.

Mark stayed where he was. He started in his chair when Carmen put his plate in front of him. His wife’s eyebrows drew together as she looked at him. Mabel put down her plate and sat. “What a blessing to have a meal like this,” she said. She took a sniff and smiled. “Just like old times. In fact, as long as I’m feeling nostalgic, we should say grace.” She held out her hands. Carmen rolled her eyes, but grinned and extended her hands as well.

Mark had his hands in his laps. He gulped when he saw his wife and mother-in-law’s arms reaching towards him. Slowly, carefully, he put his arms out. His elbows had little creases on the insides that shone white as his arms extended. His mother-in-law snatched up his hand as soon as it came within reach. He gave a little shiver.

“Now, let’s see if I remember how Pop used to say it,” Mabel said. She bowed her head, shut her eyes, and began speaking. “Lord of mercy, by whom all blessings flow, grant us the grace to see Thee more dearly…” Her voice went on.

Mark opened his eyes and glanced around him. His wife’s eyes were shut but he felt her give his hand a squeeze. He looked down at his plate. The pheasant gravy was beginning to creep into the wild rice, couldn’t hurt. His stomach grumbled and he looked longingly at his fork beside his plate. Slowly, he lowered his head towards his plate, inch by inch. Then he put out his tongue and got a bit of the gravy. It tasted like heaven. He closed his eyes and dragged his tongue across the plate. Just then he heard his mother-in-law say, “In Jesus’ name.” Quickly he raised his head and said, “Amen.” His mother-in-law released his hand and he grabbed his fork and shoveled a bite into his mouth. A small sigh escaped him. “This sure is good,” he said.

Carmen looked over at him and smiled, but Mabel raised her folk and said, “Be careful, now, don’t go eating it too fast. I cleaned it the best I know how, but sometimes a piece of buckshot gets through. You can break a tooth biting down on it.” As if for example, she cut herself a piece of meat and jabbed it with her fork repeatedly before putting it into her mouth.

“How was the South Dakota trip, Mom?” Carmen asked.

Mabel finished chewing her bite of pheasant meat and swallowed. “It was just wonderful,” he said. “There’s nothing like the great outdoors to remind you who you are, where you came from. All three of your uncles were there with their families, and we all stayed in this great AirBnb not far from the hunting grounds. Been staying there for at least the last 10 years, kinda feels like home away from home. Only two bathrooms for 12 of us but we made it work. We stayed up late every night playing euchre and reminiscing. And I shot four birds to boot!” She looked over at her daughter. “You’ve never made it to the annual Johnson family hunt, right?”

Carmen lowered her eyes and shook her head. Her mother said, “Wish you could have been there this year.”

Carmen cut her eyes at her husband across the table. “Yeah, me too.” She said. There was something in her voice. “Maybe next year.”

“That’s what I said when I was your age,” Mabel said. “Didn’t want to spend the money on the plane ticket, didn’t want to walk around all day in the cold. I only thought about me. It took what happened to your Grandpa to get me out there finally. And of course I fell in love with the hunt, the land, the otherness of it all. But the best thing was I got to experience it all with my Pop.” Her voice caught a little. “By that point he couldn’t walk much so he didn’t hunt. But he was so excited each night to hear about my day. What I’ve seen, how many shots I’d taken.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “It was highway robbery I only had one hunt with him. And I can’t blame anyone for it but my own self.” She stood up abruptly, toppling her chair onto its side. “I’m sorry, kids,” she said. Her shoulders shook as she hurried through the kitchen. Carmen got up quickly and followed her mother. Mark heard the door to the screen porch shut behind them.

Mark was alone in the dining room. He looked at the chair his mother-in-law had overturned in her departure. He nodded at it. “You’ll be back on your feet in no time,” he said blandly. He ate a few more bites of pheasant and wild rice. He could hear faint weeping coming from the screen porch. He imagined his mother-in-law and wife sitting on the wicker couch, his wife rubbing her mother’s back. He got up and took a couple steps towards the porch, then paused. He rubbed his chin. Then, he turned and walked back through the dining room and down the hallway, then stopped and opened the door to the guest bedroom. In the room, there was a queen-sized bed, a nightstand, a dresser, a door to a closet, and a lot of pictures on the wall. All the pictures were in black and white and showed a man in army clothes posing by an airplane, with his buddies, or in the outdoors holding a gun. He was skinny and trying hard to smile. Written under one of the photos were the words “Powell Johnson, 1920 - 1994” and then “Miss you every day, Pop”. In the center of all the photos was a framed Purple Heart award and a big bullet set in soft material. Above the bullet were the words “I’ll take a shot for you.”

Mark got up close and rubbed his finger along the glass. Then he took the picture off the wall and laid it on the bed. He undid the back from the frame and turned over the picture. He carefully took up the Purple Heart and unfastened it to his shirt. Quietly, he high-stepped across the room and gave a smart salute. Then, he unpinned the Purple Heart and put it back in its frame, then examined the bullet. The bullet was about three inches long and a dull bronze color. He ran his finger along the bullet. It felt smooth and cool like the side of a bottle of Bud. He carefully picked it up, noting the heft of the bullet for its size. Gingerly, he put the bullet up to his mouth and licked it. Then, he eased the bullet into his mouth and tongued it into the side of his cheek. The bullet rested easily like a plug of dip. He fastened the Purple Award and put it back on the wall, then walked out of the room, closing the door silently behind him. Then, he moved quietly across the hall to the bathroom, opened its door soundlessly, and shut it loudly. He kept the bullet steady with his tongue so it wouldn’t rattle as he walked down to the dining room.

His wife and mother-in-law were back at the table when he arrived. His mother-in-law’s eyes were still red and he could see how his wife’s mascara had run a little. As he sat down, she asked, “Where were you?” He nodded back towards the hallway. She shook her head and said, “I told you Taco Bell for lunch was a bad idea.” He nodded again. Then he put a big piece of meat into his mouth, gave a couple chews, and started feeling his jaw. He gave a groan. His wife said, “What’s wrong?” His mother-in-law said, “I told you to not eat so fast. You gotta check each piece with your fork before you put it in your mouth.”

Mark groaned again, louder. Carmen said, “Mark, a dentist bill is just what we need right now. We need that like a hole in the head.” She put her elbow down on the table with a bang and rested her head on it. Mabel pushed herself out of her chair and came around the table to him. She said, “Can you feel the buckshot? Open your mouth. Let me see.” Mark waved her away. Then, he opened his mouth just enough to let the bullet slip out. The bullet fell down onto his plate hard and broke off a small piece of the plate. It lay amidst his pheasant and wild rice like a wolf among sheep. Still rubbing his jaw, Mark looked up at his mother-in-law. Her mouth had dropped open. His wife was looking at him with an expression he’d never seen before. “Wow,” he said, as if to himself. “That poor bird never knew what hit it.”