The Sky’s the Limit: My Journey with Maryellen

After lunch, Maryellen and I are putting the finishing touches on the table when we hear cars in the driveway. Everybody’s home. Joan tells us to get the door, while she gets Mikey all dressed. She scoops up a wet, wiggly, Mikey right out of the bath and Maryellen grabs me by the hand. Maryellen suggests that we use the front door since the Winklers are company. She swings open the bright red front door as Mr. Larkin and Jerry climb out of their scruffy station wagon, and the Winklers emerge from their car, which is big and fancy. It has tail fins that are above the rear lights like giant wings, and dazzling white wall tires.

All the adults are talking all at once. They’re shouting, because the Winklers’ dog, a little black poodle, is barking so loudly they must shout to be heard. Mr. Larkin is shaking Mr. Winkler’s hand and introducing him to Jerry, and Mrs. Larkin is encouraging Mrs. Winkler to come in the house, but Mrs. Winkler is distracted by her dog, Tinkerbelle. She keeps scolding her. But the dog ignores her and keeps barking and tearing wildly around the front yard.

Finally, Tinkerbelle takes matters into her own paws and shoots past Mrs. Winkler. She flies into the house, passes me and Maryellen, and is soon barking at Scooter, who welcomes her with a howl. Jerry shoos both dogs into the backyard and finally everyone comes into the living room. Mr. Winkler is stout and spry, with a ruddy face and tufts of white hair that stick out from the sides of his head. Mrs. Winkler moves with a slow, stately stiffness that looks very dignified and regal. It makes her seem snobby and superior. She winces as she sits on the couch, as if she’s accustomed to more comfortable seating.

Mr. Larkin is about to talk to everybody when Mikey runs into the living room, hurls himself as Mr. Winkler, and says joyfully, “Santa!” Mr. Winkler puffs. He does sort of look like Santa. Maryellen starts to apologize for Mikey’s behavior, but Mrs. Winkler tells her to never mind and beams down at Mikey. He’s the cutest little guy ever. Mr. Winkler picks Mikey up and puts him on his lap. Mrs. Larkin collapses in her chair.

But before anyone can get another word out, Scooter and Tinkerbelle parade into the living room with turkey legs in their mouth. It seems the two dogs are best friends, and they are very pleased with themselves. They ignore the shouts of everybody and carry their turkey legs back to the backyard to eat in peace. And through the door, we can see the rest of the turkey carcass has skidded under the table, leaving a trail of grease behind it across the floor.

For a moment, no one says anything. What is there to say? The Larkins cannot have possibly made a worse impression on the prim and proper Winklers. Thanksgiving dinner is destroyed, and so is Mr. Larkin’s career, most likely. Maryellen, Joan, and I look at each other in horror. It was our fault the kitchen door to the backyard was open, and the turkey was on the chair where the dogs could get it.

Suddenly, Mr. Winkler starts to chortle. It begins deep in his chest and rumbles up until it explodes into a roaring laughter. Soon, he’s shaking all over and laughing so hard that it’s contagious, and we are all laughing with him. Mrs. Winkler has a laugh like a donkey bray, and Mrs. Larkin is laughing so hard she’s gasping for breath and tears are running down her cheeks.

Mr. Winkler finally says that he shouldn’t laugh. But he’s afraid Tinkerbelle has ruined Thanksgiving dinner. They shouldn’t have brought her. We can just call him Mr. and Mrs. Jinx-ler!

Maryellen says it’s not Tinkerbelle’s fault. Scooter took a leg, too. And we shouldn’t have left the kitchen door open or the turkey on the chair. Maryellen asks if they want to use her prize money to take everyone out for dinner. Mr. Larkin smiles and says going out for dinner sounds good. But the money won’t be necessary.