Turkey

"It's Aunt Edith's fault," I screamed. Sweat prickled on my skin as my face glowed an even brighter red. I pointed at Aunt Edith. "She did it!"

My father stood up. His usually nasally voice rose up, giving me the impression I was being spoken to by a mouse, not a man. "Now Janie, there is no need to throw accusations around . If you keep pointing at Aunt Edith, she's likely to have a heart attack. You don't want to be responsible for that do you?"

I dropped my hand to my side and glared at Aunt Edith. She smiled back, her missing teeth little black holes among the coffee stained ones. "She's the one who called Jimbo a turkey in front of grandma AND she's the one who said that someone should go and get the turkey ready for the oven. She had to know what would happen!"

"I don't think that Edith meant any harm. It was all just a very unfortunate accident. Now, I miss Jimbo too, but no one could have predicted that grandma was going to react in that way." My father was calmer now, his voice less squeaky.

But he was wrong. Dead wrong. Aunt Edith had always disliked Jimbo. My dear sweet little brown beagle, Jimbo. Every time Edith came over she told me he was a nuisance who should be put down for the sake of mankind. "Really dad?" I retorted, "No one could have predicted that grandma, with her Alzheimers and constant talk of slaughtering turkeys for Thanksgiving dinner, would hear it as 'There's the turkey that needs to be readied for the oven?"

My father put his hands over his face, pulling his skin back tight as if he was considering a face lift. He breathed out loudly and looked at me before picking up the newspaper and taking it to the other room. Aunt Edith continued to smile at me.

*** One Minute Writer ***