Thanks!
It's the most wonderful time of the year. With the kids jingle-belling, and everyone telling you "be of good cheer". Yes, it's the most wonderful time of the year!
Ugh, the cheery music sends pins and needles through my aching head. Clutching my skull, desperate to keep it from shattering, I slouched in my satin finished chair, and kept my eyes trained on the many swirling patterns on the oak dinner table. Silently, I cursed the dreaded radio which buzzed in my ears, the sharp bright clinging of silver ware, and the rich cuisine which sunk like a rock into my stomach, turning my face a lovely shade of pea green. Across from me my neighbors were having a very loud and animated conversation which exhausted me; my eyes drooped. Yes, I hate Christmas parties; I don't know why.
As storm clouds raged in my mind, darkening my face, my mother shuffled past, cradling a small stemming teacup.
She carefully bent over and stared at my face for a moment, obviously concerned. My breathing quickened, would she notice my pallor and send me home?
"Sweetie, will you get my coat from the back room?" she asked, "Jeeze, it's freezing in here, and this tea is not helping."
"Sure mom," I sighed, "just give me a moment." While I struggled up from my chair, my vision suddenly blurred then disappeared altogether. I had the lucky privilege to stumble through a strangers house blind. Finally, I sunk to the ground, lightheaded and tired. When my vision returned, I found myself sitting alone in a cold dark room, the smell of gasoline curling up my nose. It was the garage. I laughed out loud, and sprawled out on the cold floor, deciding to rest before getting up again. The hard concrete leached the heat from my body, sending it into shivers. And as I laid there like a fool, memories began to invade my mind. Memories of sitting outside of a church one freezing winter night, my little tottleler breath transforming into clouds of steam before my wondering eyes. The snow falling lightly, slowly, calmly upon the dark city streets, and the sweet lucid notes of the choir floating into the inky black sky, caressing each ear with its gay rejoice.
I remembered the pure joy that spread all over my little body at the sight of Christmas presents underneath our tiny tree. And our humble dinner of macaroni and cheese which I devoured in soft candle light, finding mirth in the fact that we dined atop a bedroom door which my dad ripped from the wall. Memories filled my mind, these old Christmas traditions.
And with the memories, I couldn't help but compare these to the life I lead now. These new Christmas dinners, loud and busy, strangers everywhere I looked. Suddenly, I felt a strong longing tug at my heart. I really missed those small, quiet Christmas nights. Even though waves of sadness drowned me, I pushed myself to the surface. There was no going back, and nothing I could do. So, I put on my best happy face and struggled to my feet.
I embarked on my quest to find my mothers coat, thinking all the way (hoping really), that perhaps one day, I would learn to accept this new lifestyle and love Christmas with the intensity I had as a tot. One day, I thought.
