Thanksgiving

It was the weekend before Thanksgiving and I was a recent graduate, living and working in Philadelphia. I was new to experiencing life in the United States as a whole as I hailed from India.

I was walking back to my apartment with a handful of groceries, when I heard someone crying behind me. I wheeled around to see a guy in his early twenties sobbing on the phone. I was in a culture shock and was unsure if I should approach him; not knowing how people in the US reacted to displays of emotion.

He yelled, “Why do I care? Because you are my fucking brother. Now I will be alone for Thanksgiving.”

He was still on the phone, gasping for breath in between loud sobs, tears streaming down his ruddy face, comingled with the snot running from his nose. I had to do something, culture shock be damned.

As I approached him he screamed again, “Well fuck you. I just wanted to be with family.” He hurled the phone across the asphalt and it cracked open. The battery landed at my feet while the rest of the parts were strewn around.

I picked up the various parts and put his phone back together. The screen was cracked and it wouldn’t turn on. I handed it back to him as he continued to weep with his eyes closed. He looked so sad! He wasn’t keen on accepting the phone back so I placed it on the ledge he rested against.

“I hope it gets better for you.” I said.

He nodded his head and before I knew it I was hugging a complete stranger as he lay his head on mine and cried (he was at least a foot taller than me). We stayed like that for a minute or two and then he picked up his phone and walked away.

I walked back to my apartment with my groceries for one. I never saw him again. But every once in a while, I wonder about him. Did he ever reconcile with his brother? Does he have a family of his own?

I hope he found what he was looking for...