Chrismas Gathering From Hell

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.

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 the Grinch were real, I would gladly take the title. 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. She smiles at my daughter with such love and kindness in her face. I can’t stand it.

Another gift with brightly colored ribbons and decorations adorned upon it is passed around to my wife. She hands the camera off to me as though I really wanted it. These stupid lights are really hurting my eyes. “Thanks dear, smile for the picture,” I say to Eve and Lisa embracing each other. Why do I long for a tall beer right now?

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. The rhetoric white noise in the background continues, I turn and look over my shoulder. I think they actually like this shit. I turn around again to the window and see two teenage girls across the street having a snowball fight. They are supple and vibrant. Such youth dressed like giddy snow bunnies ready for the slops. I imagine myself hiding behind a tree in their front yard waiting for a surprise attack on them. I smile, sipping on my eggnog. But the girls see me and I feel a snowball pummeling me in the face. Oh what fun we are having. 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 is attempting to cook something in the kitchen. I love her to death, but she’s a terrible cook. I ineptly ask her “Do you need a hand in there?”

“I got it under control, but thanks anyways,” she replies. 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, just like we have in years past. When will she ever learn?

I go outside to dispose of yesterday’s trash. Walking toward the garbage can I inhale a breath of refreshing air. Standing over the receptacle I imagine the two girls again. They are building a snowman. They are giggling and holding hands dancing around the carrot nose figure. They don’t understand the madness that lies just beyond that exterior door behind me. These people, my family, are ridiculous. The innocent girls stand throwing handfuls of snow up into the air. God, I wish I was away from here. I want be over there playing in the snow. Do you get it? I hate this holiday crap.

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 out of this somehow. Perhaps pulling a miracle out of his hat or something that will end this overwhelming joy and togetherness.

We all dig into the tough hid 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, but we are not enjoying this meal. It feels like I am lost in a wilderness, and all there is to eat is what the crap the natives serve. My mother must be miserable over there. I look to my right to see her 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’s so quiet over there, toying with her fork and food. I can tell that she hates this just as much as I do. Her mom prepares every one of her meals, and all of her sack lunches for school. I bet that there is no kid at school that would want to trade snacks with her. How defeating it must be to know that your mom absolutely sucks at making snacks; even the pre-packaged snacks she buys at the store are horrible.

I gaze at Eve seated 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 directed toward Eve. 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. The one in a floral print top has a water hose in hand running after the other. Water is shooting from the spout of the hose. They circle around the pool in a playful manner. I really want to see the girl with the hose catch and spray the other girl wearing a solid yellow bikini.

“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 if you don’t mind washing,” I reply.

“Wendy and Lisa would you like to sit in the den and 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 my family I have. I wonder how did I get this far into this situation, if I have bitched and moaned the entire time. I figure that I cannot change what I have already done; plus I have a lovely daughter that I very much care about. I pity her though, because she her parents are complete assholes to each other. I know that she probably hates me.

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 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 mean really liking this. They prance around each other as if they were flamenco dancers. They were working the crowd, and I was their solo audience. Their bodies moved with such fluidity and grace. I was 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 mom mother standing over me. My heart damn near jumps out of my chest, I think I’m having a coronary. She tells me goodbye and I stand up to give her a hug. My wife and I walk her to the front door. Jesus, that scared the shit out of me. I walk back to the den and shut the television off. I kiss Lisa and send her off to bed. I hug and kiss Eve and tell her that I will see when she comes to bed. Well, I have seemed to have survived another Christmas gathering. I’m glad this stuff only comes once a year.