#2: Urban Turkeys

In which Meg and Karen meet, yes, urban turkeys.

In Which We Meet Urban Turkeys

Meg's sitting on the counter, talking on the phone, and swinging her feet. She's decided that she's going to introduce me to some of her friends.

“So we can come over? Mmm. Uh-huh. Velikodanova bros. there, too? Oh, jeez, you're practicing, aren't you? What? No, don't stop. You guys need all the practice you can get. Right. Ten-twenty minutes. Me and Karen. Bye-bye.” She hangs the phone back in the cradle, turns to me, and relays the plan of attack.

“We're going to Greggie's house. The Velikodanova bros. are there too.” she says. I picked that all up in the phone conversation, except...

“What is a Greggie?” I ask. Meg grins.

“You're about to find out. Although, if I were you, I'd be more worried about what a Velikodanova brother is.”

Meg does not have her driver's license. She's sixteen, but she says she doesn't really like to drive. Thus, I am the driver for any of our excursions from the house. Also, according to Meg, because I have access to a car. I suppose her parent's minivan doesn't count.

Which is how we come to be screeching through Milwaukee, on the way to the home of someone named Greggie.

“Turn here! And don't run over small children!” Meg shouts.

“I don't see the small children!” I twist my head around frantically, trying to avoid running over any small children.

“Wait, wait, that's a turkey! Okay, that one's Greggie's house!” Meg points to a house with a red door. I swerve to avoid the turkey and pull into the driveway.

“Why was there a turkey in the middle of the street...?” I ask. Personally, I did not imagine ever running into urban turkeys, but you never know.

“Don't open the door!” Meg screeches. “I'm scared of the turkeys!”

I snap my door shut. “Do they bite?”

“I don't know! But they follow you around. It's scary. Look at those talons!” I look at the talons and quickly roll up the window as well. Trapped in a station wagon by urban turkeys in Milwaukee, Wisconsin is not the sort of predicament I would have ever imagined myself in two weeks ago. Meg peers around my shoulder. One of the turkeys is now pecking at the car's front tire. I pound on the window. “Stop that!” I shout. The turkey looks up at me and flutters its wings before continuing with its examination of my front tire. “Shoo!”

“Let's sit still, and hope they ignore us.” Meg suggests. We sit quietly in the car for at least ten minutes before the turkeys decide to wander off. Meg and I cautiously open our doors and hop out. I slam my door shut. We start to head for the red door of the house"

“Oh, crap!”Meg dashes towards the door, and jams her thumb on the doorbell. I look around, and see a turkey that was lagging behind its friends running towards me. I sprint towards the door as well, right as its opened by a little blond girl. Meg and I dive inside. She looks out the door, sees the turkey on a fast track towards her, and slams the door shut.

Meg slides down the wall and runs a hand across her forehead. “Thank you, thank you, Skye. Greggie downstairs?”

“Hmph.” the girl (Skye?) crosses her arms over her chest. “I'm Alyssa, thank you very much. Next time I'm gonna let the turkeys eat you.” She stalks off.

“To the basement!” Meg jumps to her feet. “Follow the hideous sound of the Grinches attempting to make music!”

“The Grinches?” I ask.

“Greggie and the V bros.'s so-called band. Do you hear them?” Meg cups a hand around her ear and point to a door I'm assuming leads to the basement. From here its hard to tell what they sound like, but I'm assuming they sound better up close, for their sake.

Meg and I tromp down some questionable stairs to an unfinished basement. It's occupied by a washer, dryer, and a lot of cardboard boxes with labels like Skye:Kindergarten and Summer Clothes. The noise has stopped by now. Meg puts her finger to her lips and walks on tip-toes towards a door-less doorway.

“One, two, three, boo, okay?” she whispers. I nod. I can hear the three guys talking. At least, I'm assuming that there are three guys, two Velikodanova brothers and Greggie, although I suppose there could be more than two brothers.

“That was not good.” says one.

“Well, I think it was better than the last one. I mean, you can sort of tell what song we're playing.” They were playing a song? No, that's too harsh. They were obviously playing a song, just not in any recognizable fashion.

“One, two,” whispers Meg, “three...BOO!”

“BOO!” I shout, jumping around the doorway with Meg.

A boy with hair that can't decide if it wants to be red or blond turns to look at us. “Saw that coming.” he drawls. He's holding a guitar, so I'm assuming he's the guitar player.

“That's because you're a spoil sport.”Meg retorts. He shrugs. The bass guitarist, who has long hair that knows it wants to be red, grins at us.

“Took you guys forever,” he says, “It's been over half an hour. Did you get trapped in traffic or something?”

“No,” replies Meg, “It was those crazy murderous turkeys.” The drummer, a skinny Asian guy, hoots with laughter.

“Why're you scared of them, Meg? Turkeys drown themselves by looking up at the sky when it rains. They're the stupidest birds around.” He walks around from behind the kit and sticks out his hand.

“You're Karen, right?” I nod and shake his hand.

“Do turkeys really do that?” I ask. Before he can respond, the redheaded bass guitarist turns to me.

“You're Karen? Well, duh, of course you're Karen, howzit going? Where're you from? Somewhere up north, right? Strange being in the city? You like it here? How did we sou"”

“You're scaring her, bro.” guitar-dude says, “I'm Rob.”

“Hey, interrupting isn't polite. I was just trying to be nice to Karen.”

“More likely scare her back to where she came from.”

“No, you're the scary one, Robbie. Hey, Karen, which one of us is scarier?” The younger brother (I'm assuming he's younger) asks.

“Uh...” I tug at a strand of my hair. The redhead turns to Meg and starts chattering with her, while Rob proceeds to stare blankly at the ceiling.

“They do.” says drummer boy, who must be Greggie, “The turkeys, I mean. They drown themselves by looking up at the rain. Uh, I'm Greggie.” The older brother (Well, he looks older), Rob, plucks out a few notes on his guitar, and Greggie and I turn to look at him.

“Ignore me, please. Thank you.” he says.

“Karen. Wait, you know that.” I've never been good at talking to people. It just doesn't come naturally to me. I either don't say anything at all, or I talk to much about some really little insignificant thing no one really cares about. Like British punk bands of the Seventies. Things like that. I wonder if these guys like the Clash, or the Jam, or the Buzzcocks. Maybe.

Greggie doesn't appear to be very good at social situations either, so I try and think of something to say. In conversations, you're supposed to let the other person talk about themselves, right?

“You, uh, don't really look like your sister.” I say. Stupid Karen.

Greggie smiles. “Yeah, I know. My parents thought they couldn't have kids, so they adopted me, then, lo and behold, they started having little Scandinavian poster girls.”

“What?” The whole Scandinavian poster girls thing clicks the moment after I say this, but Greggie explains anyway.

“The blond hair, blue eyes, slight frame. Give them light blue dresses, hair ribbons, and a plate of herring and you've got the picture-perfect little Scandinavian girl.” I laugh, and we both nod, trying to pretend we have an idea how to hold a normal conversation. There is an unsaid connection between the socially awkward of the world. “What about you?” he says.

“What about me?” I ask.

“Like, family-wise.” he replies.

“He's gotta get his stalker notebook, first.” Rob cuts in, before I even have to start worrying about a response.

Greggie rolls his eyes. “It's not a stalker notebook. Besides, I already have it down here. I thought of a Question Of The Day to ask you and the chatterbox.” Sensing being mentioned, Redhead turns and waves, the returns to Meg.

“Question Of The Day?” I ask.

“World's next famous anthropologist, standing in front of you.” drawls Rob, then returns to the seemingly random plucking on his guitar. Greggie's ears turn pink.

“Not quite. I just think y'alls answers are interesting.”

Without stopping his plucking, Rob snorts. “Y'all. Y'all crack me up. Greggie.” Greggie half-laughs, like he's not entirely sure if he's supposed to.

“Dialect.” he says. “I could make fun of yours. There's all sorts, really. Like, up here people are always sayin' 'You Betcha', and instead of 'you' or 'yeah' you say 'ya'. Then there's route. How come y'all say it rut?”

Rob rolls his eyes. “No one says that stuff.”

“Have you ever talked to Chris 'n' Curt?” Greggie asks.

“Yeah, but they've like, never left the state of Wisconsin. And anyway, Chris doesn't really talk.”

“Lemme get the Notebook.” Greggie hurtles over Redhead's amp and effectively dives over his snare drum to grab a battered composition book off the floor. “Got it! Okay, that was a Question Of The Day from a few weeks ago. Curly and Chris have lived in Milwaukee,”

“Duh.” cuts in Rob.

“And Milwaukee. You have lived in"”

“Greggie, I know where I've lived.” Rob says.

“Longview, Washington; and Milwaukee. Huh, y'know, I've never lived in the Northwest. Well, not for

long. I should move to Seattle after graduating.” Greggie scratches his head with his pen. “Now, Karen, I need your answer. The more responses the better. Actually, I could ask you all the questions.”

“And people think I have bad social skills.” says Rob, rolling his eyes. Greggie ignores him and turns to me, tapping his pencil.

“Milwaukee, Spooner, Fairfield, um, that's in Maine, and Elsberry, Missouri.” I say.

“You've lived in Milwaukee?” Greggie asks, then proceeds to scribble in his notebook.

“That's how she knows Meg, duh.” Rob says. In reality, no, that's not how I know Meg, but Rob's entitled to his own opinion.

“Can I see that notebook?” I ask.

“Yeah, hold on, I don't know your last name. Lemme just write this down.”

“It's Krause.” I say. Greggie tosses me the notebook. To be honest, I'm impressed. At the top of every page he has the date and the question. His handwriting is tiny, and neat, too. The exact opposite of mine, which I've told by various people resembles chicken scratch.

According to the Notebook, which I get the feeling starts with a capital N, Meg has lived in Rockford, Illinois, and Milwaukee. Like Rob said, duh about the Milwaukee part, but Greggie has it written down for everyone. Greggie himself has lived in Tempe, Arizona; Alexandria, Virginia; Ackerman, Mississippi; Chapel Hill, North Carolina; Fredrick, Maryland; Bend, Oregon; and Milwaukee.

“Jesus, you've lived everywhere, haven't you?”

Greggie nods. “Not quite, but close. Mom and Dad promised we're not going to move anymore, but then again, they did that in Tempe and Saint Louis, too. But I have high hopes. I bet they'll let me finish high school.”

“Wait, wait, how is it even possible to live that many places?” I ask.

Greggie sighs. “Three months in Chapel Hill, then Dad finished grad school. Crappy job in Bend. Alexandria. Then Mom and Dad have to work out marital issues or something that was not explained to ten year old me, so Skye, Alyssa and I got sent to stay with Gran and Pops in St. Loius. Move back to Alexandria. Then to Fredrick. Dad kept the same job, just decided Fredrick was better than Alexandria. Got offered a better job in Tempe after less than a year after moving to Fredrick. Move to Tempe. Then to Milwaukee last summer. Ta-da!” He runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry if I sounded like Rob, it's just I've had to answer that question so many times its not even comical.”

“Oh, yeah that's fine.”

“Uh, do you mind if I ask you a few more questions? For the Notebook?”

“Look in the front for the rules.” adds Rob. “I wrote them.” I flip to the front of the notebook.

1. If Greggie gets too personal, slap him.

2. If you don't want to answer the question, you don't have to. If Greggie pesters you to answer, slap him.

3. Rob cannot slap Greggie. He is trying to curb his violent tendencies.

“You can ask some, I guess.” I answer.

“Warning,” says Rob, “You may feel like you're filling out the world's most bizarre Social Security

application.”

“Okay, I'll just do one, and today's Question.” Greggie flips through the pages. “Do you have any siblings, how would you describe your relationships with them?”

“I have two, virtually non-existent.” I reply.

“May I ask why?” Greggie doesn't look up from the Notebook as he takes far longer than necessary to record my terse response.

“Slap him.” Rob urges.

“Dope slap!” I laugh, but don't actually do anything.

“Okay, moving on. Listen up, bozos! I gotta Question!” Greggie shouts. Meg and Redhead both turn around.

“Seriously? You guys think I'm scaring Karen? Seriously? When Greggie's got his stalker notebook out?” Redhead smiles and laughs.

“Most annoying family member.” Greggie says, “The one I asked Karen got me thinking.” Oh, fabulous. I've prompted Greggie for more family questions.

“Him.” The V bros. Say simultaneously, pointing at each other.

“My grandmother.” says Meg, “She's always going on about being a proper lady.” Greggie scribbles in the Notebook, then points his pen at me.

“What about you?” I ask Greggie.

“He likes to wait 'til the end and build up the suspense.” Rob says.

“Naw,” Greggie protests, “I just, well, wait, your right. Jeez. Okay, my cousin Jared. He thinks he's a hot shot.”

I don't see much of my family besides my mother. It's not to complicated, for the most part. My Aunt Stacey and her family live in Nevada. My grandparents in Florida. Oh, yes, and then there's the fact I didn't know where my dad and brothers lived until about two months ago. But that's really just a small fact amongst many.

Y'know?