Michael Thomas Ford - Full Circle by Michael Thomas Ford Read Free Book Online

apparently exhausted by his exertions. I, however, was more wide awake than before, tormented by the demons that leapt, monkeylike, from the cracks and fissures of my mind. They danced through my thoughts, poking me with accusing fingers and laughing meanly at my disappointment in myself. I suppose I could have taken solace in the moment, in realizing that I was not, after all, alone in my depravity. Jack, too, had felt its touch. But reaching that conclusion would have required the reasoning of my adult self and he, sadly, was years away from being able to offer his opinions and reassurance. Instead, I felt even worse, convinced that, somehow, my immorality had rubbed off on my best friend.
    It was, of course, all terribly dramatic. But as I say, I was young, and inexperienced, and in the throes of first love, although that was something I couldn't even begin to recognize or understand. I knew only that I was unhappy again, and that alone was enough to keep me awake for most of the night. Finally, near dawn, I succumbed to exhaustion. Minutes later, or so it seemed to my weary self, Jack was waking me up so that we could watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Our families alternated holding holiday dinners, and it was my mother's turn for Thanksgiving. (Mrs. Grace would get Christmas, and the following year they would reverse duties.) So everyone convened in our house for the day, mothers in the kitchen and fathers with Jack and I in the living room. Despite my exhaustion, I do remember the parade. Elsie the Cow led the way as the newest balloon to make the march to Herald Square. Although the floats were draped in black in honor of Kennedy's death, a festive air still surrounded the events, and I couldn't help but be thrilled by the sight of Felix the Cat, Bullwinkle, Mickey Mouse, and Charlie Brown bouncing through the streets of New York as their handlers navigated the turns with aplomb.
    Dinner was the usual affair, everything cooked to perfection following recipes from Good Housekeeping and The Joy of Cooking . Jack and I ate heartily, piling our plates with corn pudding, oyster stuffing, green beans, mashed potatoes with gravy, cranberry sauce, and, of course, the ubiquitous roast bird. We grew probably two sizes in the course of an hour and a half, and when we finally pushed ourselves away from the table, it was to collapse onto the floor in front of the television, bloated and groaning. We stayed there for the rest of the afternoon, watching with our equally stuffed fathers the annual Lions versus Packers game, in which we were only marginally interested, but which was far preferable to actually trying to move. When the game ended in a disappointing tie (we didn't care who, but we wanted someone to win), we managed to roll over and sit up long enough to eat two pieces of pie apiece topped with whipped cream.
    I was half asleep by then, lulled away by food and my restless night at Jack's. When he and his parents said good night, I was up the stairs to my room in a matter of minutes. Pajamas on and teeth brushed, I slipped beneath the covers, not even bothering to read a few pages of the Jules Verne book I'd picked up after finishing the last Hardy Boys mystery. I closed my eyes, and within minutes fell asleep. Donna Michelle came to me like Dickens' Ghost of Christmas Future, wrapped in snowy fur and bedecked with a crown of holly and gently flickering candles. She smiled as she reached for the clasp of her robe and unfastened it, letting it fall open to reveal her perfect breasts and, below, the bright flash of hair she'd kept to herself in her centerfold shot. She held out her hand to me, waiting.
    "Don't you want to see what I have to show you, Ned?" she asked. Reluctantly, I reached out and took her hand in mine. Instantly, we were flying through the air, snow rushing past us as we sailed over a city twinkling with lights. Donna laughed, her voice sparkling like diamonds, and pointed to something far below. We