It’s a generous memory. My uncle holding crystal, delivering on the joy of family; his wife, my aunt, looking through the turkey one day after discovering her marriage vows had been violated. My father drunk again, my mother worried, her hand nervous at his side, trying to take a hold of his elbow as he swung his crystal to my uncle’s. Then, with the most delicate crash, a burst of ice over the turkey, the sweet potato casserole, the creamed spinach and Sister Schubert rolls and the sliced can of cranberry dressing. How our Thanksgiving sparkled. And us cousins at the far end of the table, our mouths open at this discovery, how beautiful the untouchable can be.
William Hawkins has work published or forthcoming in ZYZZYVA, The Molotov Cocktail, Pithead Chapel and Tin House Online, among others. He lives in Los Angeles, CA.
Cover photo by Dennis Sylvester Hurd