Another Joyful Christmas

Her arthritic aged hands reach feebly toward the pink box. “Thank you hun, you’re such a sweetheart,“ Grandma Wendy says.

“Welcome Gammie,“ Lisa replies as she twiddles her fingers in preparation to tear into a gift of her own.

My wife stands there focused as a hawk with camera in hand. She waits for the perfect Kodak moment to pop up. I am not here right now. My mother, love her to death, is a fungal infection that won’t resolve. Around the holidays she calls non-stop and sends cards every week in preparation for her arrival. Oh how I loathe the holidays. If that sadistic, depressed creature called the Grinch were real, I am him now. Ever since Roy, my father, passed away a few years ago, Mom has never been the same. It seems as though every moment is her last. This is how I have come to the conclusion that holidays suck.

Another gift with brightly colored ribbons and decorations is passed around to my wife. She hands the camera off to me as though I really wanted it. “Thanks dear, smile for the picture,” I say to Eve and Lisa embracing each other. I wonder if Wild Turkey and eggnog mix well? I slap a magazine smile on my face as the flash goes off.

As they continue the tradition of gift-giving I walk toward the den exterior window. I scan outside to see the snow continuing to fall. I turn and look over my shoulder as the noise in the background persistently pounds against my ears. Yeah, you thought Quasimodo had it bad with the bells. These harlots never shut up. You know, I think they actually like this shit. I turn back toward the window. Looking across the street I see two teenage girls across the street having a snowball fight. They are supple, vibrant, and dressed like giddy snow bunnies ready for the slopes. I imagine myself hiding behind a tree in their front yard, waiting for a surprise attack on them. I smile, sipping on my eggnog. Walking toward the tree I’m hiding behind, I try to sneak a quick glance around the tree. I feel a snowball pummeling my face. I grab a handful of snow and chase after. I lose my footing and fall. The girls jump and dog pile me. Oh what fun we are having. My breath becomes heavy and I smile as I fog the window pane. A tap on my right shoulder awakens me. “Dear, are you gonna open your presents now?”

I return to my mundane afternoon of pure holiday joy. My wife walks to the kitchen as I unwrap a present given to me from my mother. “Thanks…Mom.” I respond hugging her and smiling hard enough to shatter my teeth. I put down the box containing Fruit-of-a-Loom underwear and ugly Stafford ties. She always know what I want for Christmas.

There is a distinct aroma hanging in the warm air. Oh, it’s just the smell of another holiday ham being burned to a crisp. Great! It’s another meal that could turn away a bulimic. I’m sure that she expects us to eat this crap again. When will she ever learn?

I go outside to dispose of the trash. Walking toward the garbage can I inhale a refreshing breath of air. Standing over the receptacle I imagine the two girls again. They are building a snowman in the front yard. They giggle and dance around the carrot nose figure. They embrace the snowman in a sultry, seductive way. Lucky bastard! I toss the Hefty Glad Bag into the garbage can and slam the aluminum lid. I know…how can someone hate Christmas time? I don’t hate the idea of Christmas and all the giving stuff. I just can’t stand my family on days like this. Despite my wife’s reputation, she’s really an obsessive cleaner and a compulsive shopper. Her half-assed attempts to be Martha Stewart in the kitchen are subdued by her succubus credit card debt. And people wonder why I’ve been looking a little rough lately.

As I extinguish my inflamed emotions in the snow, I gather myself to return to the wonderful dinner that my wife has made rotisserie. I sit down in my usual chair without a word spoken. Eve looks over at me with a Vaseline smile and a nod. You know; that all-knowing nod. The one that tells you, “Hey dumbass, you’re suppose to do something important right now.” Suddenly the epiphanic light clicks; so I ask all to bow our heads as I say grace. Now, I understand that we are actually supposed to be connecting with God at this time, but I can’t focus. I’m asking God to bless the food and the people here to enjoy it with. However, I’m really begging him to get me the hell out of this overwhelming joy and togetherness.

We all dig into the tough hide of the ham. The dry taste of jerky begs for water, lots of water. I look around the table and all join in the ritual. We all eat because we are hungry, not because this meal is palatable. It feels like I am lost in a wilderness, and all there is to eat is the crap the natives serve. My mother must be miserable over there. I look to my right to see her hunched, fumbling with a knife and fork, feverishly working at the meat. Her poor dentures are grinding down the crispy edges of the ham. Saliva slides down the side of her mouth, I consciously wipe my chin to prevent drool from streaming down my face.

I glance at my daughter seated to my left. She is slamming the food on her plate as fast as possible. It seems as though she thinks the faster she eats, the quicker Santa will squeeze his fat ass down that chimney and maker her fucking year. This raging pre-teen hormone factory is relentless in her pursuit to ruin my life.

I gaze at Eve across the table. How fitting is it that my wife is as far away from me as possible. I catch her vision and I grin at her. She replies with a smile that unveils a giant pepper speck wedged between her front teeth. It gives me a momentary coughing chuckle. I quickly look down at my plate. I fight with myself not to look up again, in fear of letting loose a vulgar laugh. Seeing that pepper between her teeth gives me such pleasure and enjoyment. I don’t know if I can stand it much longer. Whoever said that the small things in life are best was absolutely right, because this shit is a riot.

I look around the room for some escape. I view through the dinning room exterior window. I see no snow outside, but now the sun is out and it’s summer time weather. The two girls are back. They are wearing bikinis and their skin is tanned to a beautiful bronze hue. They are running around a small plastic pool. They chase each other with water hoses and squirt guns. One throws her wet hair back in a Claudia Schiffer way. Man oh man, these girls are vivacious. I imagine myself standing in the pool; I’m wearing a pair of boxers and a strip of sun block on my nose. They splash me with buckets of water. I look toward the heavens with arms stretched out. Now, this is paradise.

“Honey, can you help me clean up the dishes?” Eve kindly asks. I am rustled from my fantasy once again today.

“Sure, I’ll collect the dishes into the sink, if you don’t mind washing,” I reply.

“Wendy and Lisa, would you like to find a home video to watch?” Eves asks invitingly, washing the dishes with her Lemon-scented Palmolive. Ah, the traditional home video showing. I really cannot stand this part of the evening activities. Digging through boxes of old memories is what makes people become alcoholics. I would rather take a hot poker to the eyes than sit through another rerun of my craptacular life.

After I finish clearing the table and cleaning up the kitchen I go outside in the back yard for a much needed and deserved smoke break. I stand there in the snow clearing out the insincere thoughts that pile up in my head like a foggy day collision on Highway 99. I toss around what life would be like outside of this, this place I live at, with the family I have.

I put my cigarette in the snow and toss the remnants into the trash can. I walk back inside to join the festivities. I grab another glass of eggnog. I pause, this stuff is really, really good. I walk into the den and see everyone huddled around the television. I sit in my recliner that rests against the back corner of the room. I joyfully pull the lever that releases my foot rest. I cinch my way down into the chilled leather padding. I place my glass of eggnog on the stand next to my chair.

I close my eyes to keep the glaring flickers of light of the television from striking my eyes. I grow relaxingly comfortable and drift off to sleep. I dream about those girls again. Sitting in my chair I open my eyes. The girls are dancing in front of me; they are wearing hot flowing dresses. They roll their hips in front of my face, seducing me. I am liking this, I am really liking this. They move around me like flamenco dancers. They were working the crowd, and I was their solo audience. Their bodies stir with such fluidity and grace. I am numb from the pleasure of seeing these two nameless figures perform a sexual, tantalizing dance for me and only me. One girl leaned forward with pouting lips and rests her hands on my shoulders. I anticipate a hot kiss.

But they are not pouting lips; in fact they are wrinkled like raisins. My eyes rush open and see my mother standing over me. “Oh, geez hunny…it wasn’t that bad.”

“No…you just startled me, that all!” I reply, as sweat beads on my forehead. Palpitations in my chest retard my ability to stand and giver her a goodbye hug. Eve and I walk her to the car. The chilling air simmers me down. Entering the den, I go and shut the television off.

“Lisa, it’s time to go to bed. As soon as you wake up tomorrow, Christmas will be here.” I say half-heartedly leaning with hands on knees, giving my best Jimmy Stewart impression.

“Promise?!” Lisa inquires with batting eyelashes.

“I promise,” I reply after kissing her on the forehead. As she makes her way up the stairs, I hug Eve and kiss her goodnight.

“I’ll see you when you come to bed,” she tells me. Well, it seems that I have survived another Christmas gathering. I’m glad this stuff only comes once a year.