They say nobody has a normal family, which is probably true. My family is no loonier than the next, but I’ve gotta say that, in my family, the diversity is spectacular. From the morbidly obese to the anorexic, King James stickler to the atheist, and the billionaire to the bum holding the cardboard sign that says “Need $$ For Hos And Booze”—they’re all family to me. When we get together for family reunions at Grandpa Eli’s in Georgia, nobody knows what to expect. At one, my cousin Vic actually died but I swear it’s not as bad as it sounds, it was really an accident.

We’ve got one comin’ up this Saturday; Grandpa’s making home brew to lower the cost of intoxication, which could be a good or bad idea, depending on whether the alcohol tips folks towards the loving, confessional, depressed, or aggressive side. Last year didn’t go too hot—fourteen of my cousins started a brawl with the neighbors. Anyway, this year’s reunion should be pretty exciting. Uncle Lenny just got out of jail for stealing and most of us haven’t seen him in ten years. We sure don’t know what to expect; the last time he started a brawl—but nobody was allowed to touch—they had to use inflatable toys as weapons. He also started a goat-milking competition, and to this day no one knows where the goats came from. Ever since Lenny left, my cousin Eliza hasn’t talked much; before that we couldn’t get her to stop runnin’ her mouth. She’s been to counselors and stuff but nobody really knows why she changed all of a sudden

Lenny was always a troublemaker, so none of us was surprised when he went to jail. I guess we all knew it’d happen when he turned eighteen, once he got too old for juvi. He’s a lanky guy with a Jesus beard and real big feet—he never wears shoes, so it’s kinda hard to miss ‘em. He always hated daily obligations like going to school or washing dishes. Bomb threats, small fires, and short disappearances were all in his sack of tricks. Once, I caught him trying to set a squirrel’s tail on fire.

“Hey Bud, you know what happens when you light the wick to a pile of dynamite?” he said, squatting down and puttin’ his hands on his knees. He ruffled my short brown hair and slapped me on the back so hard that I nearly fell over.

“Yeah, I’ve seen Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner on TV. Why?”

He stood up and showed me a lil’ cage he’d been hiding behind his back. “See this squirrel here has a fuzzy tail, wound around like a string sorta?”

I nodded.

“It’s not bushy like most squirrels’ tails, eh? I’m tryna see if the fire travels up his tail like it’d travel up a wick” I stared at him for a minute, trying to figure out if he was serious.

“That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard; you’re just gonna scorch the end of his tail. Cats have that type of tail too. Ain’t you ever seen a cat?”

“Different type of fur, different type of fur,” he said. He was too devoted to this project to listen to me. I felt bad for the animal, and hoped that he’d give up after the first try. A couple weeks later I saw a squirrel stuffing its face with some huge acorns. When it turned around, I saw evidence of Lenny’s experiment. The squirrel’s tail was blackened and crisp to the base; it looked sorta like a whip. I guess he didn’t give up after all.

That was one of the last times I saw Lenny. I was eight, he was eighteen. I reckon he’s smartened up a bit since then, but it’s hard to say. It’s not even that he isn’t smart; he just lacks common sense. Other than that I’d say he’s one of the smartest members of the family. I’m surprised he didn’t tunnel his way outta jail Shawshank Redemption style. It probably woulda been a great source of family pride if he’d done it.

I woke up early a couple mornings before the reunion to help Grandpa, Lenny, and Eliza unload the chicks into the barn; the truck was scheduled to arrive at 7:00 a.m. sharp. We sat down for breakfast at 6:15; Grandpa made omelets with pepper jack cheese, red onions, and green peppers. Lenny, Eliza, and I were still half asleep, but Grandpa Eli was full of energy. Ever since I can remember, he’d wake up at sunrise, turn on NPR and start makin’ eggs, even if nobody was up. He called us lazy louts if we weren’t outta bed by eight and he’d blast the radio to speed up the process. He doesn’t eat eggs much anymore ‘cause his cholesterol is sky-high, but this was the morning of a special occasion.

 After breakfast, we strolled down the dusty path from Grandpa’s house to the big red barn. It stood at the foot of the hill, right behind the cornfield. Between the barn and the field, the path widened into a bumpy two-way lane spotted with murky algae-filled puddles. We called it barf boulevard ‘cause the barn vents sent out the stink of thousands of peckin’ and shittin’ chickens. If the cornfield were any closer, I reckon half the stalks would be wilted and dying from the thick, suffocating smell. Right now the smell wasn’t too bad since the last load of chickens had been shipped off to KFC a couple weeks ago. The farmhands had already emptied out the old pine shavings and filled the rows under the water dispensers with fresh seed. We propped open the side door of the barn and stacked a couple of wooden crates near the entrance—the chicks would be rolled down into the barn straight from the truck. We were a bit early, so we sat around shootin’ the shit for a while.

“Ma nearly whacked me across the face this morning when I tried to wake her up; you shoulda seen ‘er. I don’t think she recognized me at first, just flailed her arms like a madwoman.” I said.

“Lily oughta know by now that it’s only proper to get up at sunrise” said Grandpa “I have no idea how I raised such a lazy gal, but she says she can’t function before eight a.m., and after what she did to Eliza a couple o’ years ago, I’m pretty sure she ain’t lying…” Lenny, Grandpa, and I burst into a fit of laughter, slapping our knees and rocking on the ledge of the barn door Eliza just stared at Lenny as she sat cross-legged in the shavings, wearing a ratty black t-shirt and a pair of baggy jeans. A couple of years ago Eliza had gone into the spare room to wake up my Ma. Grandpa and I were sittin’ around the wobbly old table eating breakfast when we heard a buncha banging. Grandpa stood up and burst through the door. “What the hell is goin’ on here,” he bellowed. Apparently, Ma had pinned Eliza to the ground and was holding our family shield to protect herself, even though Eliza wasn’t fightin’ back. As soon as Grandpa pulled the shield away from Ma, she stood up and marched back to the bed.

“Woo-wee!” Lenny yelped. “I remember when Eli came to tell me about that one. That was the best damn jail visits I had in ten years!”

I stuck my head outta the barn door and saw the truck heading towards us. After the driver opened up the side door of the truck, we set up the rollers and the driver pushed the shallow white plastic bins towards us. Grandpa and grabbed the crates while Eliza and Lenny dumped out the chicks and stacked ‘em. There were usually a couple of dead ones, but the worst was when there was a squashed on or one with a broken neck. Then, one of us would have to put it out of its misery by stomping on it. I could never do it, even if they were suffering; I couldn’t stand the idea of crushing a tiny peeping fluff-balls. I was always extra careful to make sure I didn’t step on one of them on my way out; their yellow down matched color of the pine shavings in the dim light.

Ma and I are headed to the grocery store to pick up some food, and then we’re setting up the moon-bounce for the reunion on Saturday. There was some kind of a baby boom in the family, so we had to get something to distract all the kids. We considered clowns, but they make me uncomfortable, so I made up this great story about a sketchy clown.

“You know, Ma, I ain’t really sure clowns are a good idea.” I shook my head and gazed up at the ceiling.

“And why the heck do you say that? I didn’t know you had so much experience with them.”

“Well, you see, there was this clown—I think his name was Gerald—and he accidentally peed on a toddler sleeping in some tall grass. My friend Jimmy told me about it. I guess the clown had helped himself to some Southern Comfort, was pretty drunk, and didn’t really see the kid because she was wearing a green jumpsuit. It’s not that big of a deal, I mean, I’m sure we’ve all made similar mistakes.” I had to try real hard not to smile, but it was like holding kids back from a Christmas tree.

Ma looked disgusted and crossed “clown” off her list.

The grocery store was packed when we got there—frail old Millie was there, and so was Reverend Mitchell. Since I wasn’t all that into shopping, I found myself eying a fine lil hunny bending over the cabbage.

“Bud, quit your daydreaming and help me pick out some of these fruits here. I’m sick of pre-made fruit trays with their stupid compartments. It’s about time we did something different, that’s for sure!” As she said this she handed me a hot-pink fruit, about the size of a mango.

“What the heck is this? Is it even edible?” At this, my mother shook her head, told me I was uncultured, and pointed to the word “dragonfruit” scrawled on the chalkboard above. We picked up a bunch of fruits I had never heard of: mangosteens, lychees, and miracle fruit. I’m not real sure anyone at the reunion will appreciate that stuff; nobody cares what they’re eating as long as someone else is paying for it.

We weaved through the aisles for an hour or so, picking up some baking supplies in addition to the weird fruits. Shopping ended up being the highlight of my day; setting up the moon bounce made me sweat floods—it was hot as hell. I went to bed at ten, but barely slept a wink. Reunions require some mental preparation.

Usually everyone is there by two or three, congregating around the fire pit and fighting over the least burnt hot dog.

“Damnit Lenny!  If I’m holding a plate and there’s only one dog on it, it’s probably not an ex-con free for all. Why do you think everyone else is hanging out by the fire with their tongues wagging?” Jared stomped his foot and shook his finger at Lenny.

“Ahh Jared, not much character improvement since I’ve been gone, I see. Guess I haven’t missed much in the last ten years. It’s a flamin’ hot dog, for Christ’s sake; put your nuts back on. No one else minds me gettin’ a bit of nut-rition after eatin’ all those potato flakes in jail.” Lenny glanced around at the group, flashing his infectious smile.

Lenny, grinning from ear to ear, couldn’t be more pleased to be back with the family. He couldn’t really tease his inmates, unless he wanted a black eye or a beat-down. Jared was probably his favorite target—he wasn’t a huge guy or anything but he had some saggy man-tits and a greasy comb-over. Lenny didn’t pick on him for having man-tits, but the fact that he showcased them. Jared always wears these high-waist black slacks with red suspenders; Lenny told me they cost extra because they have to hold up his hefty bits.

Around three o’clock, the family gathered by the rickety back veranda where Grandpa Eli was standing. When Grandpa was in his twenties, he and my great-grandpa built the house with their own bare hands. The gray paint is peeling now, and some of the floorboards on the veranda are wearing thin; Grandpa replaced most of them, but there are still a couple of sketchy spots. The wood creaked as he paced the veranda, hands clasped behind his back, waiting to give his yearly speech. He was wearing a new pair of jean overalls for the occasion, with his favorite red and blue plaid button-up. One of the straps of his overalls was undone, and his potbelly made him look like a pregnant kangaroo. He cleared his throat a couple of times to get people’s attention.

Holding up a chipped red and white megaphone, he bellowed “Howdy, ladies and gents.” Everyone hooted and hollered, anticipating Grandpa Eli’s speech.

“I know ya’ll have been waiting for this all year, and I’m happy to announce that there are more people at this reunion today than there’ve been in the past twenty years!”

A handful of people cheered, and Lenny shouted “We love you Eli,” causing a few chuckles throughout the crowd.

“And may I just say that I am honored to be hosting here in Alabaster. Some of ya’ll have traveled pretty far to be here today, to spend time with this lovely family of ours, and I’m happy so many folks made it. Get some hot dogs and burgers, help yourselves to a drink or two, and if any of the kids get in the way just give em’ to my wife to look after.”

Just as Grandpa was finishing his speech, I noticed Eliza edging away from the crowd. Nobody really paid no mind, they were busy mingling and crowding around the fire pit. Curious, I decided to follow her. I wasn’t real ready for all the commotion that follows Grandpa’s speech, anyway. After she slipped out of the crowd, she picked up her pace and went toward the chaotic little forest leading to the neighbor’s house. I don’t even know if it counts as a forest—it’s only about a hundred meters wide. The trees are tilted and falling over in every which direction and there’re lil’ bushes everywhere so it’s hard to see the neighbor’s house on the other side. I got about halfway through the trees when I saw her sit down in one of the blue plastic baby swings. She didn’t look like she wanted to be bothered so I just stayed put. She looked real damn sad, diggin’ her foot into the dirt, hanging her head so that her dark overgrown bangs covered her eyes. Even her skinny ass couldn’t fit in the swings anymore; she was all lopsided forced into the too-tiny swing. I missed Eliza, the talkative Eliza. We used to sneak over here all the time when we were younger. Since we were the same age, Ma would always tell us to get outta the house and go play together.

When we were both seven or so, before Lenny got sent off to jail, we’d gone to the swing set together and Eliza looked a lot like she did right now—sad, lonely.

*****

“Hey, Bud?” she asked, looking up after she’d made an X in the sand with her shoe.

“What, ‘Liza?” My eyes switched from her shoes to her big green eyes. She hadn’t said anythin’ since we’d got there.

“Do you believe in god?” She stopped fidgeting and turned in her swing so she was looking right at me. Talk about being put on the spot. I was only seven, for Christ’s sake.

“Well, I sure do hate goin’ to church. I hate singing and I hate wearin’ that fancy outfit Ma makes me wear.” I figured it was only a matter of time before she’d stop makin’ me go. Church was like eatin’ cooked spinach; last week Ma gave me such a huge dollop that I gagged—I didn’t even have to fake it—and she told me I didn’t have to eat spinach no more.  Maybe if I gagged in church I wouldn’t have to go there no more either.

“But do you? Do you think he’s a real guy?”

“All I know is that last week something magical saved me from Ma’s cooked spinach. Ever since then I’ve felt like like somethings watching me from the sky. ‘Member earlier when Grandpa wouldn’t let us have those cookies up on the top shelf and they fell down to us? Maybe it was god, ‘Liza, maybe he does stuff like that!” I was getting’ pretty excited with all these things comin’ together.

“Sometimes he talks to me.” Eliza stepped over to the grass, and then she picked up a dandelion and held it up to her nose.

“You mean like when he pushed the cookies off the shelf?” I thought she was mixing up her words or somethin’. When people said they spoke to god I usually thought they meant he did something for them. I didn’t think god spoke at all, really.

“Naw. He started talkin’ to me a week ago; he just showed up in front of me.” She said it like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. When I was five I got up in the middle of the night and rushed downstairs ‘cause I thought it was Christmas morning. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I was sure I’d seen Santa Claus sittin’ on Grandpa’s easy chair. But it was too dark still; when I blinked my eyes, nobody was there. It’s crazy how when you believe in something too much, your mind plays tricks on you. The year after I really did see someone sittin’ in Grandpa’s easy chair, but it was Ma. I thought I was imagining things again but I blinked and she was still there wrapping presents. I thought Eliza was believing a bit too strong for her own good.

“What does he say to you, ‘Liza?” I wasn’t sure I believed her, but I decided to ask anyway.

“He said that somethin’ is gonna change in my life, and when it does he wants me to follow him.” She looked up from her spot in the grass and widened her eyes. “Look,” she said, pointing “He’s standing over to your left by the trees.” I glanced over there and, for a moment, thought I saw a figure standing there before I blinked and the image disappeared into the clouds.

*****

As I saw her sitting there I wondered if she still believed. I wondered if it’d made her happier all these years doin’ something for someone nobody else could see. She must have a hell of a lot of faith. I walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. Glancing up at me, startled, she pointed in front of her a spot by the trees, the same spot she’d pointed to ten years ago. I glanced up, but this time, I didn’t see anything.