"November Rocks"
"Who made these appetizers?" Becky asked. "They're amazing!"
"I don't know. I thought they looked kinda weird. Ask Chelsea."
By the time she tracked down Chelsea, Becky had eaten three more of the tasty morsels. She didn't know, but pointed her to somebody else and so forth, until Becky found herself sitting in the garage with Phil.
"You made these? They're amazing!"
"Thanks. I do them every year. Usually I take at least half of them home."
"You won't this time. I can't believe you ever have leftovers."
They talked about various things for a few minutes, from whether Aunt Georgia would get drunk on schnapps again this year to the truck Phil was planning to buy. "You're going to need another garage just for your trucks," Becky teased him. "You ought to buy that old gutted house down the road and just put a garage door in the side of it."
Phil chuckled. "Not a bad idea. That thing's been sitting empty since I was a kid. No idea who even owns it."
"Since you were a kid? Damn."
"Listen, you little whipper-snapper... Yeah, I used to play there when I was, oh, about ten years old I guess. Nobody else would go in there because they were scared of it. I thought it was interesting. They just left stuff there when they left, you know? Phone books, utility bills, jars of green beans in the basement. I made up stories about what had happened to them."
"Always the one with no sense."
"Probably." He grinned. "Another thing they left was plenty of broken glass and mildew. But nobody bugged me while I was there."
"Like when you hide in the garage at Thanksgiving," Becky observed.
"Yeah, but I was always sure I'd find some kind of treasure there if I looked hard enough. Kind of people who'd leave behind their electric tea pot would surely leave behind jewelry or guns, right? Anyway, one day Scotty Peaseman showed up and invaded my house."
"Like I'm doing now."
"Yes, the similarities are stunning. I was saying?"
"Scotty Peaseman."
"Right. Good ol' Scotty. You don't know him, he died in a car accident right after we got out of college. Anyway, he came in, scared as shit but trying to put up a brave front. I guess somebody dared him, but I never found out. After I got over being mad I started showing him around and we were having a grand old time shuffling through someone else's old, dusty stuff and trading alien invasion stories about them and why they had to leave things the way they did."
"You always hear about those things on ships," Becky said. "Food still on the table and all of that."
"The Mary Celeste," Phil agreed. "But this wasn't a ship. And I'm pretty sure these people weren't abducted by aliens or mobsters or pirates."
"Nothing cool, then."
"Sad, isn't it? Anyway, before long we were telling ghost stories about them. You know, they'd all died here, no relatives, they never left the place and were ready to pop out at any moment. We both made out we were trying to scare the other one - and we were - but the only reason we weren't both scared to death was because we had another person there.
"By then we'd got around to the back porch. There was a piece of the foundation paneling busted out and for some reason Scotty wanted us to go through and look underneath the porch."
"He was checking for monsters under the bed."
"You're probably right. We kept saying how ghosts would never be under the porch. Anybody could have heard we didn't believe it, but there was nobody else there to hear so we kept saying it."
Becky shook her head. "Boys."
"It was dark under that porch, all boarded up. And it smelled funny. We weren't about to admit we were nervous, so Scotty crawled and I crawled in right after him."
The appetizers were almost gone by now. Becky reached for another. "No flashlight?"
"What, we were Boy Scouts? Of course no flashlight. So we were inching along, trying to get our eyes to adjust to the dark, not saying a WORD about ghosts but thinking it real loud. All of a sudden Scotty tripped and something reared up out of the dark, flapping and making the most gawd-awful noise. He backed into me, the thing came toward both of us, and we beat each other up getting out of there. I was first out and I forgot all about him, just ran like the devil was after me. Thought he was. Then I heard, 'Phiiiiil!' and looked back.
"Well there was Scotty, running like a muppet, eyes as big as dinner plates. He looked like a horse in a panic. And over his shoulder I could see the thing under the porch. It was a big turkey, flying just a few feet off the ground with eyes almost as big as Scotty's were and squawking, waving those ugly wings around and just barely gaining on him. It wasn't chasing Scotty, it was just as scared of us as we'd been of it!" Phil doubled over laughing at the memory. "Until that day, I thought turkeys couldn't even fly."
Becky was laughing, too. "I bet you still have that image just perfect in your head." Phil nodded and pantomimed first Scotty, then the turkey, and Becky laughed even harder.
"Poor turkey," she said. She pointed at the tray between them. "This is the last one of these. You want it?"
"Nah. Go ahead."
"I can't place what's in these. What kind of meat is this anyway? It's not Spam or something gross like that, is it?"
Phil looked at her for a second. "Uh. It's not Spam. They're... turkey balls."
"Oh, like meatballs."
"No."
"Turkey is meat. I want the recipe. How do you make them?"
"Well, first, you turn a turkey over..."
"I don't know. I thought they looked kinda weird. Ask Chelsea."
By the time she tracked down Chelsea, Becky had eaten three more of the tasty morsels. She didn't know, but pointed her to somebody else and so forth, until Becky found herself sitting in the garage with Phil.
"You made these? They're amazing!"
"Thanks. I do them every year. Usually I take at least half of them home."
"You won't this time. I can't believe you ever have leftovers."
They talked about various things for a few minutes, from whether Aunt Georgia would get drunk on schnapps again this year to the truck Phil was planning to buy. "You're going to need another garage just for your trucks," Becky teased him. "You ought to buy that old gutted house down the road and just put a garage door in the side of it."
Phil chuckled. "Not a bad idea. That thing's been sitting empty since I was a kid. No idea who even owns it."
"Since you were a kid? Damn."
"Listen, you little whipper-snapper... Yeah, I used to play there when I was, oh, about ten years old I guess. Nobody else would go in there because they were scared of it. I thought it was interesting. They just left stuff there when they left, you know? Phone books, utility bills, jars of green beans in the basement. I made up stories about what had happened to them."
"Always the one with no sense."
"Probably." He grinned. "Another thing they left was plenty of broken glass and mildew. But nobody bugged me while I was there."
"Like when you hide in the garage at Thanksgiving," Becky observed.
"Yeah, but I was always sure I'd find some kind of treasure there if I looked hard enough. Kind of people who'd leave behind their electric tea pot would surely leave behind jewelry or guns, right? Anyway, one day Scotty Peaseman showed up and invaded my house."
"Like I'm doing now."
"Yes, the similarities are stunning. I was saying?"
"Scotty Peaseman."
"Right. Good ol' Scotty. You don't know him, he died in a car accident right after we got out of college. Anyway, he came in, scared as shit but trying to put up a brave front. I guess somebody dared him, but I never found out. After I got over being mad I started showing him around and we were having a grand old time shuffling through someone else's old, dusty stuff and trading alien invasion stories about them and why they had to leave things the way they did."
"You always hear about those things on ships," Becky said. "Food still on the table and all of that."
"The Mary Celeste," Phil agreed. "But this wasn't a ship. And I'm pretty sure these people weren't abducted by aliens or mobsters or pirates."
"Nothing cool, then."
"Sad, isn't it? Anyway, before long we were telling ghost stories about them. You know, they'd all died here, no relatives, they never left the place and were ready to pop out at any moment. We both made out we were trying to scare the other one - and we were - but the only reason we weren't both scared to death was because we had another person there.
"By then we'd got around to the back porch. There was a piece of the foundation paneling busted out and for some reason Scotty wanted us to go through and look underneath the porch."
"He was checking for monsters under the bed."
"You're probably right. We kept saying how ghosts would never be under the porch. Anybody could have heard we didn't believe it, but there was nobody else there to hear so we kept saying it."
Becky shook her head. "Boys."
"It was dark under that porch, all boarded up. And it smelled funny. We weren't about to admit we were nervous, so Scotty crawled and I crawled in right after him."
The appetizers were almost gone by now. Becky reached for another. "No flashlight?"
"What, we were Boy Scouts? Of course no flashlight. So we were inching along, trying to get our eyes to adjust to the dark, not saying a WORD about ghosts but thinking it real loud. All of a sudden Scotty tripped and something reared up out of the dark, flapping and making the most gawd-awful noise. He backed into me, the thing came toward both of us, and we beat each other up getting out of there. I was first out and I forgot all about him, just ran like the devil was after me. Thought he was. Then I heard, 'Phiiiiil!' and looked back.
"Well there was Scotty, running like a muppet, eyes as big as dinner plates. He looked like a horse in a panic. And over his shoulder I could see the thing under the porch. It was a big turkey, flying just a few feet off the ground with eyes almost as big as Scotty's were and squawking, waving those ugly wings around and just barely gaining on him. It wasn't chasing Scotty, it was just as scared of us as we'd been of it!" Phil doubled over laughing at the memory. "Until that day, I thought turkeys couldn't even fly."
Becky was laughing, too. "I bet you still have that image just perfect in your head." Phil nodded and pantomimed first Scotty, then the turkey, and Becky laughed even harder.
"Poor turkey," she said. She pointed at the tray between them. "This is the last one of these. You want it?"
"Nah. Go ahead."
"I can't place what's in these. What kind of meat is this anyway? It's not Spam or something gross like that, is it?"
Phil looked at her for a second. "Uh. It's not Spam. They're... turkey balls."
"Oh, like meatballs."
"No."
"Turkey is meat. I want the recipe. How do you make them?"
"Well, first, you turn a turkey over..."