The First Friendsgiving

Therefore I will give thanks unto thee, O Lord, among the heathen, and I will sing praises unto thy name.

2 Samuel 22:50

The following is a story I wrote while I was in college. It was intended to be part of a little book about my college life I was going to give to my little brother so he sort of knew what to expect when he got there. But nothing in my life has ever been typical and my experiences varied wildly from what others probably experienced. So I never finished the book. He’s still writing his own story which is filled with just as much happiness and misery as my own but at the time I didn’t think he’d be able to relate. Here’s one story that survived that I think everyone can relate to, though. Please feel free to cringe as you read.

Every great and terrible story has one thing in common: they all start somewhere. This one starts on November 23rd of my sophomore year at Texas A&M. Like every great or terrible story, it’s about a boy and a girl. Enjoy.

DISCLAIMER: The following is a true story. Some of the names have been changed to protect the innocent. If you’re reading this and your name hasn’t been changed, it’s because you’re not innocent.

My friend, Matt, picked me up from my dorm and we headed to the store to get some food for our church group’s get-together at Ben and his wife’s apartment. Some people didn’t get to go home for Thanksgiving, so Ben and his wife opened up their apartment and invited us all to what they dubbed “Friendsgiving”. They wanted us all to cook something and bring it but neither Matt or I knew how to cook so we just got some soda and chips. If they don’t like it, they don’t have to eat it.

My dad always told me “if you’re on time, you’re late” so we got to Ben and his wife’s place right on time, which meant fifteen minutes early. We were greeted with smiling faces and the smell of ham and turkey. I set my chips down on the counter and set up my folding chair next to this one girl. We used to do this thing where I’d show some interest in her and she’d blow me off. I used to invite her to things just to hear her say no. She was playing hard-to-get, I’m almost certain. I remember I wore this ugly, black sweater vest that night because I thought I’d look sophisticated and impress her. I don’t think I did. After a while of playing the sort of cat-and-mouse game where the mouse goes to the opposite side of the room and leaves the cat to argue with some girl about whether country Taylor Swift or pop Taylor Swift is better, someone in the room caught my eye.

Her purple shirt sat softly atop her black yoga pants. She was high up in her chair with her hands in her lap. Her eyes surveyed the room as if she was following an ant crawling back and forth on the tip of her nose. Her hair was tied back in a bun and she was swinging her feet while we waited for Ben to announce what was next. She was beautiful. I’d never seen her before. Who brought her? Is she going to be in our group? I’ll stay for sure then. Greater men have waged mighty battles in pursuit of lesser women. I saw an angel. Of that, I’m sure.

Ben announced that since we were all done eating, it was time for his favorite part of the evening. He said, “When I was younger, we used to go to my grandparents’ house for Thanksgiving. When we finished eating, they would make us go around in a circle and say something we were thankful for. I always hated that, so I’m gonna make y’all do it.”

I wasn’t in a thankful mood at the moment. A couple days earlier, I was driving to my grandma’s house in the rain. She lives on an old, unpaved country road which isn’t great in bad weather. She also keeps boulders on the sides of he driveway as decorations. I think you can guess where this is going. My car skidded on the gravel road, smashed through her fence, and got propped up on one of the smaller boulders. That would end up costing me a good chunk of change and some pride (not that I was lacking any). I took a lot of pictures, though, for insurance and storytelling purposes.

Nobody seemed too excited about coming up with something we were thankful for but in the end, everyone at least lied. Some were thankful for health, some for family, and others for their grades. Eventually, it was my turn to come up with something. I had been imagining how I was going to introduce myself to the mystery beauty so I had to come with something on the fly. I figured it should be funny since this would be the first time she would hear me talk. After all the buildup, whatever I said must not have been that great because I can’t remember it. She probably wasn’t listening anyway. I bet she was trying to think of what she was going to say, too. We’re the same that way.

When it finally got around to being her turn, I heard her speak for the first time. I don’t remember what she said as much as I do the way she said it. Soft. In a way where you almost had to lean in to hear her. With her hands folded in her lap, she introduced herself. Rachel. Her name was Rachel. Just as Jacob did in the Bible when he met his Rachel, I cried unto the Lord, thanking Him for creating this beautiful woman. And just like Jacob, I would have worked seven years in the field and then seven more and went through three failed marriages just to be with her.

The rest of the evening was spent trying to inch my way closer to her. But I didn’t succeed. I didn’t even talk to her that night. Insecurity got the best of me. I’m short. I’m ugly. Why would she even wanna talk to me? I took my vest and went home, defeated. But like Ernest Hemingway once wrote, man is not made for defeat. A man can be destroyed, but not defeated.

-Jeston

This is Part 3 of a multi-part series. Read Part 2 here. Subscribe for updates as they’re posted.

Follow me: @DoHpodcast and @JestonTexeira or on Instagram: @Death.Of.Hemingway