They carried their thoughts. They carried their mirrors and bags full of powder, lipstick, deodorant, toothbrushes, tissue, hand sanitizer and business cards.

They carried their egos. They carried on their backs, shirts made with exotic fabrics, hair on their heads full with product, their bags weighing them down with touch up supplies.

They carried their doubts. They carried white teeth, in shape bodies, smiling faces, children or grandchildren in their arms or holding their hands.  

They carried their self loathing. They carried their dinner plates and napkins; the fancy embroidered kind that you feel foolish to use in real life. So when you really needed to wipe pumpkin pie off of your mouth, you were ashamed to ask for another normal napkin, because then you would have to carry the weight of their disapproving stares because you ate the pie in the first place.  

They carried their sarcastic wit. Their brains full of topics that don’t mean anything in real life, but at the dinner table cause wars.

They carried their empty stomachs. Mothers saying to their daughters how they need to lose weight, those daughters saying to their children, how they need to behave; how they are embarrassing them.  

They carried their shame. They carried their heads high in the air. They carried their morals out on their sleeves, baiting others to trip over their booby trapped compliments so they can tear out their throats while tearing into a turkey leg.

They carried the dishes back to the sink to hand wash, to show the guests how clean they are and how much pride they take in cleaning. Cleanliness is close to godliness. Some carried distrust, others depression, but most just backhanded compliments.  

They carried the same DNA. To link them forever. To carry all of these things back from their black hearts and homes to the empty and silent Thanksgiving dinner table.

Every. Single. Year.