The Guest

As the warm pinkish glow of the sun setting cast a sparkling light on the kaleidoscope of leaves still clinging to their trees in the last throes of life, a family's laughter could be heard from within a small, wooden cottage, bereft of any grandeur save its enviable location. The people within were likewise without renown. Two brothers, normally cynical and driven by a weary angst of their situation, had decided to shed their brash and sharp natures for the night, and smiled as their father, a rotund and jovial man, detailed the killing of the turkey which their mother was plating in the kitchen.

"Oh you'd better believe I caught that rascal with a shell right to the head!" He exclaimed"You'll see it when your mother comes out with dinner. Ain't had a catch like that since you boys were little... turkey's been getting smaller around here lately."

"I think the big ones know to stay away from you, dad," said the younger brother, "You've been hunting 'em down for twenty years."

"Where's a fatass turkey gonna hide, Ben?" His father retorted, "Especially now, when they stand out like sore thumbs to an eye like mine."

Ben shrugged, grinning at his father's enthusiasm. The elder brother, Michael decided to chime in, "Maybe you just killed all the big ones, so only the small ones got to mate."

"Well... that could be it... but then again, they coulda just moved south for the winter!" It was a bad joke, and even the father knew it. Normally, he would have been greeted by an exaggerated eye roll and perhaps a quick rebuttal from one of his sons, most likely Michael, that turkey's did not migrate. However, given the warm light shining through the western window, the brother's simply laughed along with their father. It was hyperbolic and clearly out of social courtesy, but so long as they all knew it, they didn't mind.

"Dinner's ready!" called his mother from the kitchen. She came through the small door holding a large tray, which, like the house itself, was very weathered. Upon it was an almost comically large turkey, golden brown and surrounded by succulent accoutrements like freshly harvested potatoes from the garden, and the last batch of tomatoes from the plants out front. They didn't have enough room for the full Thanksgiving spread, but the turkey, along with a small bowl of stuffing and mashed potatoes, was a feast compared to their normal meals.

"Happy Thanksgiving, babe," said the father with a warm smile. The mother responded with a peck on the lips as she took her seat. A quick grace was said - hastened by the brother's hunger, and the turkey was carved expediently. The light was now almost gone, with only a slight purple reflection left on the western lake and a deep yellow glow above the distant trees. The father got up and turned on the incandescent light above the dining table, and fed the fire which was roaring in the living room behind them. A manner of chit chat was occurring where the objective was only to keep one's mouth moving until it was stuffed with food. The mother piled slices of turkey, scoops of stuffing and mashed potatoes, and a drizzling of pan sauces onto the men's plates, taking a relatively small amount in her own. However, before anyone could bring a fork to their mouths, there came a loud, powerful knock on the door.

Everyone froze with mouths agape. The mother blanched, and the brother's hearts began pounding in their chests. The father looked rather annoyed, as he had been picturing eating the turkey he killed for hours. He put his fork down and got up heavily from the table. There was another series of knocks. On the mantle, there was a shotgun - the one he used to hunt. He grabbed it and made sure it was loaded.

"Corey, wait!" said the mother as he went to check the door. "Maybe they'll just go away!"

"Annie, there ain't a house until the far end of the lake west, and fifteen miles in any other direction. Whoever this guy is, he's a long way from home. He ain't goin' nowhere." Corey turned from his wife's worried face. His sons, breaking from their reverie, got up and stood behind their father. The two boys were an intimidating pair - tall, broad, and lean from years of climbing trees and running amok in an indifferent forest. Unconsciously, they stood with their chests out and arms crossed, tensed as the knocks came a third time.

"Please," called a harrowed voice from the other side of the door, "Is anyone home?"

"Who is it?" asked the father in a loud, gruff tone.

"I need... help. I'm lost... I've been lost all day. I don't know how I can last out here-"

"Now you listen here," interjected Corey, "If you mean to harm us, I got a number five shotgun here and it's loaded. I do not take kindly to vagabonds trying to take advantage of my family in any way."

There was silence for several seconds, until the voice finally answered, "I understand. I don't wanna hurt anybody. I'm just cold... and lost."

Corey looked at his sons, who were still ready to spring, and opened the door.

The man on the other side was incredibly tall, standing at least half a head over the brothers. His face was worn and thin, with an unkempt brown beard coming down to his clavicle, and long, tangled brown hair reaching past his shoulders and touching his shoulder blades. He was surprisingly tanned for the time of year. He wore a strange sort of coat, long, beige, and torn in several places. He seemed to be wearing old, shabby boots and wrinkled khakis. The men didn't notice his garb, however. They were staring into his crystalline blue eyes, which were sharp and perceptive, in great contrast to the rest of his appearance.

"Alright, who are you?" asked Corey after many seconds of staring.

"My name is... Jordan," he said through trembling lips. Under the large coat, his ragged frame shivered.

"Just Jordan?"

"Jordan... just Jordan."

The father looked at him shrewdly. "How long you been lost?"

"Must be... must be getting on four weeks, now."

"Jesus! It's a miracle you ain't dead!" exclaimed the father, "Where you from?"

"That's part of the trouble... I cannot remember."

"You... can't remember where you're from?"

Jordan simply nodded.

"Well, let him in, Corey!" cried Annie, startling everyone besides Jordan, who had seen her step in behind them all.

Corey gave his wife a severe look and then scowled. He gave a slight nod to Jordan, who stepped inside timidly.

"Close that door!" barked Corey, "It's cold out there and heating this place ain't free."

"My apologies."

Annie stepped through her sons and husband and looked at Jordan almost tenderly. "Can I take your coat?"

Jordan smiled, which appeared ghostly on his face, as though he hadn't done it in quite some time. "Thank you, but... I am not wearing anything under this."

"Really? In this cold? My goodness... Michael, go get Mr. Jordan that warm flannel you have." She saw the hesitation in her son's eyes, which she cured by narrowing her eyes. "You'd better get him those sweatpants, too!" After Jordan was dressed, they went to the living room. He sat gingerly in front of the fire, its dancing light bringing out the sharp lines on his bony face. He was utterly silent - even his steps were almost imperceptible to the family's ears. He gazed reflectively into the flames.

"Mr. Jordan, would you care for some dinner? It's fresh... and warm." Annie had her hands together nervously.

"I would love that," said Jordan with another stretched smile, "And please, there is no need to add a title to my name. Just Jordan is perfect."

Her husband grabbed her shoulder and whispered in her ear, "In the kitchen, now."

As soon as the door was shut behind them, Annie said, "Can you believe that poor man-"

"No, I can't believe you, Annie!" Corey's anger was thinly veiled. "We have no idea who that man is, and you just want to invite him over for dinner?"

"Look at him! He's skin and bone! He says he's been lost for weeks, who knows when he last ate... or what he's been eating!"

"Oh Annie, isn't it obvious! He's a druggie!" Corey grabbed his wife and added in a hurried whisper, "Come on... the hair, the beard, the clothes! He's probably been in the woods eatin' all sorts of mushrooms and God knows what else... A few weeks my ass... Ain't no one who could survive in those woods a few weeks in the cold without knowing a thing or two about 'em!"

"Corey, he's not a drug addict!"

"How do you know? He looks like he went to Woodstock with Mary Jane in every pocket of that jacket! His eyes got a weird look too! And don't forget, he doesn't even remember where he's from! How is that possible?"

"Maybe he's homeless!"

"Oh, and that's okay?"

"Look, all I know is that there is a man out there who needs our help! We can't just turn him loose in the forest again! Weatherman said it was gonna snow tonight... he'll die out there!" Corey looked unconvinced, but Annie saw his resolve begin to crack. She added desperately, "What's he gonna do to us in his condition! He probably couldn't lift your rifle to shoot us."

Corey chewed his lip, but nodded at last. Annie made to leave the kitchen, but he grabbed her arm and said, "I'll be watching him." Annie nodded too, and they left the kitchen together. Jordan was still sitting in front of the fire, talking pleasantly with Michael and Ben.

"How do you two like living here?" he asked softly. He saw that the parents had come out of the kitchen, but neither of the boys heard them.

"It's alright... it gets dead boring sometimes," said Ben. "There aren't any kids around here except us... and we rarely take the car into town. Sometimes... sometimes we wish we lived in a big city, with lots of people to talk to."

"You wish to have more than you do now?"

"Well... we like what we have now... it's not about more, it's about different." Michael looked a little uncomfortable. "Is that a bad thing, Jordan?" It was strange that he was asking this stranger a question, looking perhaps for validation.

"No... I suppose it is not. I love your home. I could ask for no more than this. But I understand that you're young and you wish to travel. I think I did some travelling in my day."

"How old are you, if you don't mind us asking?" Ben and Michael hung on every word Jordan said, though they were not consciously sure why. Perhaps it was his warm voice.

Jordan narrowed his eyes as he thought. "Somewhere in my thirties, I think. I can't really remember."

"You really don't know where you're from?"

Jordan shook his head. "I haven't the slightest idea... Do you two love your parents?" The question was abrupt, and posed almost wistfully.

"Of course we do," answered Michael. "They're... they're really awesome. I think they love us more than life itself..." It was an odd thing to say for a man in his twenties, especially one who spent a lot of time being guarded around his parents.

"Sometimes," said Ben in a distant voice, "I wish we could show them how much they mean to us." There was something about Jordan which pulled these words from Ben and Michael's hearts, it seemed.

The fire still played in Jordan's clear blue eyes. "I think you can. I don't remember my parents... but if you listen to yours when they speak, even if you find them pedantic, as I am sure you do, it will show them how much you care. Perhaps... Perhaps you could allow your father to accompany you on one of your jaunts in the forest, or take your mother out to the middle of the lake... with a meal you prepared for her."

"Yeah, we could do that." Michael frowned, not used to these thoughts being expressed.

"Let's eat," said Annie with a tear in her eye. Even the stalwart father had a soft look. The boys got up with a deep blush, and pulled Jordan to his feet. Their guest smiled yet again, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looked at the dinner table.

Dinner was just lukewarm when they finally tucked in, saying grace again if only for the purpose of not looking uncultured in front of their guest. Jordan ate sparingly, and politely denied Annie's every method of trying to fill up his plate. They conversed quite easily with one another, and soon it was as though Jordan had spent every Thanksgiving with their family. Outside, the snow began to fall. It was relatively early in the season, but it wasn't unheard of. Jordan looked out through the eastward window, watching the flakes as they were briefly illuminated by the fire in the living room.

"I am fortunate," he said quietly, "I do not know if I could have survived that storm."

"Oh, it's just a bit of snow," said Corey, taking a long draft of beer, "You sure I can't tempt you to a brew, Jordan?"

"Quite sure, I'm afraid. Just the thought of drinking something cold makes me shiver."

"I understand," said Annie, putting another scoop of mashed potatoes on Ben's plate, despite the boy's protests. "Maybe some tea, after dinner?"

"I should be leaving you all after dinner... I don't wish to overstay my welcome."

"Don't leave!" said Michael suddenly. His parent's looked at him with arched eyebrows, which made their eldest son blush. He added, "I just mean... you said it yourself, you can't survive this storm alone!"

"Not without some hearty food and good company to sustain me... but now," Jordan frowned and looked into the distance, "I think I've survived worse."

"You starting to remember where you're from? Or how you got here?" Corey, to his own surprise, didn't sound hopeful that Jordan could be leaving soon.

"I think I am starting to... I can't say for certain, though."

"That's okay," said Ben, "I read about amnesia once... sometimes it takes a while for memories to come back and sometimes-" he stopped himself from saying they may never come back at all, but Jordan's piercing gaze suggested he had inferred what was left out.

"Jordan, please spend the night," said Annie, "I couldn't bear the thought of you out there in the cold... all alone. Heck, you can stay with us as long as you like."

At this, Corey bristled slightly, but he nodded with pursed lips all the same. Jordan looked at the father and said, "You are still wary of me, Corey?"

"It's not you," he replied quickly, "I just... We're not used to having guests at all, and especially not guests who just knock on the door with amnesia."

Jordan smiled brightly, "You are right to be cautious. Please trust me when I say I do not mean you any harm... Thank you for your offer. I will stay the night."

"I'm glad. And I believe you," said Corey, finishing his beer.

The meal ended jovially, with much laughter from Jordan as Corey recanted old hunting tales, Michael and Ben talked about their various finds in the forest, and Annie proudly spoke about her small garden. After the plates were cleared up by the brothers, Jordan took a cup of tea gratefully. The boys grudgingly went off to bed, protesting at first but following their parent's wishes when they caught a reproachful look from Jordan.

The parents sat up with their guest for some time, stoking the fire and making easy conversation. Sometimes, they would delve into some strangely murky territory. Corey spoke about how he could not seem to relate to the boys anymore, and Annie remarked on how worried she was that they wanted to leave the house and go to the city. Jordan just gazed at them serenely, his sharp blue eyes taking in every word they said, and after they were done, he counseled them as best he could, which seemed to make a great difference to them. He told Corey that it wasn't his fault the boys were growing away from him - does a plant's leaves not also grow away from the stalk? He comforted Annie by telling her that it was only natural for the boys to wish for a different life... but as long as they knew they were safe at home, they would always come back with full hearts.

"It's getting late," said Jordan, "We should be getting some rest." The snow fell steadily outside.

"Right, I'll pull out the couch if you want to grab the sheets, babe."

After they had said good night to each other, though Corey and Annie were loath to leave his company, Jordan promptly fell asleep. Corey fed the fire one last time and then went to bed as well, falling into a quiet slumber.

***

When they woke the next morning, Jordan was gone. Michael was the first to discover it, as the sofa-bed was perfectly tidied up and his own clothes were folded atop it. Jordan's coat, pants, and boots were gone. Michael quickly roused his family, who came running to the living room. There was a note on the coffee table. Annie read it aloud, "Dearest people... I can't begin to thank you for your hospitality. You helped me remember my home. Yours sincerely... Jordan Clemence." While the rest of the family scratched their heads and wondered what he had remembered, Corey opened the front door. There were no footprints in the snow. He smiled and shut it behind him.