Thanksgiving @ Terminal Island

"15-2, 15-4, and a pair for 6"

Usually, pegging 6 points in cribbage on the south yard with my cribbage group arouse some flak and trash talk. But not today.

South Yard has a nice view of the Long Beach Harbor. Pigeons make their cooing noises as one older man feeds peanuts to them. Oddly quiet on a Thursday afternoon, there is tension in the air. Today there is less "human noise" and only the pigeons, slapping of dominoes, and the strangely calming clink-clank coming from the weight pile can be heard. If I close my eyes and concentrate, I can hear past the barbed wire and hear the beep-boop-beep-boop of the cranes loading my Thursday friend, Hapag-Lloyd.

However, we are all waiting; waiting for last year to happen again. It was unforgettable for those who were there and re-counted it in vivid detail for those who were not. Watching TV, someone changed the channel, and a fist pummeled into the nose of the offender. The offender scurried out and the assailant pursued with ferocious fervor. An ill-equipped female guard pleaded on deaf ears to stop the melee. The red panic button she carried was pressed into the shell of her walkie-talkie and Guard Tower 2 responded.

Over the loud speaker, the ominous voice echoed, "Get on the ground, face down, arms at side." The 'kur-shack' of the rifle was heard, along with the one, and only one, warning shot. Once the shot is heard, everybody knows, those who don't get on the ground willingly will be forced to do so by the trigger happy guard eager to test his firearm on a moving target.

In a microsecond, people crumple to the ground, a robotic army whose power is cut at the source. Eating grass, the only noise now heard is the cranes loading Hapag-Lloyd, blissfully unaware of the action across the harbor. Spitting out sand, someone slowly arched their head over and whispered, "Happy Thanksgiving."

This year, we all wait for another fray to break out; everyone walking the track looks over their shoulder, conspicuously waiting for a punch that may or may not arrive. Waiting for the shoe to fall, and the break the awkward silence I say, "Happy Thanksgiving". A mere grunt replies, and someone shuffles the cards.

The day ended without incident, but we have not seen the denouement. There is still Christmas and New Years.

In the meantime, as people walk to work they all spit at the Christmas tree erected 4 feet high in the north yard. Christmas behind the wall is looking over our shoulders, afraid to watch TV, and the only safe activity is watching Hapag-Lloyd, our Thursday friend.