Archives:
December 24-December 30, 2006
December 24, 2006
“Ho, ho, ho!” I can hear Ray's voice before I see him. I set down the newspaper and head toward the door. “Hey there, little brother.”
“Hey,” I say heading over. We shake hands, and he pulls me in for a hug with one arm.
“You don't look as bad as I thought you would, for all the stories I was hearing. I figured you'd be like Tiny Tim here or something.”
“Well God bless us everyone,” I say, rolling my eyes. I look past him. “How are you doing, April?”
“I'd be doing better if someone would help me with these bags,” she says.
“Oh, right.” Ray turns around, taking the rolling suit case from her.
April hugs me and gives me a peck on the cheek. “How are you, Preston ?”
“Doing all right. And you?”
“Just spent nine consecutive hours with your brother—six of them sitting on an airplane. How do you think I'm doing?”
“Come on, you enjoyed the twenty questions.” Ray says, stepping inside, allowing April in, and my father behind her.
“Maybe the first twenty games.”
“At least you weren't the one getting drooled on.”
April shakes off her snow cap onto him. “I was tired.”
“And now I'm wet.”
“That's tragic.”
My father laughs. It's good to hear him laughing after a day of being pretty quiet. And it's good to have Ray and April here. This holiday's just beginning to feel right.December 25, 2006
A Christmas CD enters its third rotation in the background, playing “Hark, The Herald Angels Sing,” as Mom cuts out a piece of the apple pie she baked this afternoon.
“So, he returns those first few pages of the script to me,” Ray goes on with his story, “and asks me if he can see the whole the whole thing.”
Dad claps his hands. “That's great. It's the kind of story you just hear about happening out there in LA, but you never think it would happen.”
Ray shrugs. “I know I didn't.”
“That's because our sons have talent,” Mom says, passing a plate around. “One's already the editor for the college newspaper, the other's writing movies. These boys are going places.”
“That they are.” Dad nods.
It's nice to see Mom and Dad speaking to each other now, and nice to see that after an afternoon all together, the ice is broken all over again. It's probably just for the day. When Ray and April leave, I don't expect my parents will find a reason to spend time together. Then Mom will go back to Florida , back to Avery, and they probably won't talk for a year. It's not as though I'll notice, though—not for the most part. In a couple weeks, I'll be back at college, off in my own world, in my other life.
But for today, we're together.
Today, I don't have a thought of how my grandmother has aged, or her mortality. She's just the amazing women who bought me a bunch of CDs for Christmas based on what the kid working at FYE told her.
Today, Ray and I are kids again, with bright futures ahead and a lot to laugh about at the dinner table.
Today, Mom and Dad are just Mom and Dad.
Today is Christmas.
December 26, 2006
“Check it out, only ten bucks for this blender,” Chang says, eying a box as we make our way into the department store.
“What would you need a blender for?”
“Smoothies? Milkshakes? Mixed drinks?” Chang shrugs. “Just figured it could be handy around the suite.”
“Eh, maybe.” Chang picks one up and reads the box before setting it back down, as we continue into the store. The place still has all the signs of Christmas around it, with nativity scenes on top of clothing racks and tinsel lining the walls. Of course, it's still clear enough that the holiday has passed, with each sign we pass, marking a “Boxing Day Special” or “Post-Holiday Clearance” item. “So how was your Christmas?” I ask.
“Pretty standard. Mom cooked up the full Chinese buffet, Dad drank a lot of beer. My aunt and uncle came over for dessert. And, of course, I was the whitest dude around.”
“Like any family function.”
“Exactly.” Chang says, eying a fiber optic Christmas tree. It actually looks a lot like the one Teri had in her apartment, making me give it a second look too. “So is Matt coming soon.”
“He said he'd join us for lunch. You know how things go at his house for Christmas.”
“Less beer, more hard liquor?”
“Ever since he hit sixteen,” I say as we move on. “Figure he'll roll out of bed by noon , get here to the mall by one or so.”
“Sounds cool.” Chang stops again, this time in front of a cardboard stand up of Santa Claus, about six feet tall, and plenty wide. “Now tell me this wouldn't be a sweet acquisition.”
“You've got to be kidding.”
“Come on. Just think about the Facebook pictures. And we could set this thing up for pranks—it'd awesome.”
I look at the back of Old Saint Nick. “Worth thirty bucks to you?”
“Awesomeness ain't cheap.”
December 27, 2006
“All right, I'm going to my room,” Teri says to her brother. “OK, I'm not watching you.” I've heard the frustration in her voice grow in the few minutes we've been on the phone, and now she leaves behind her brother and sister.
I can hear a door shut, and suddenly the background is quieter—no screaming, less static. “Enjoying the quality time with the kids?”
“They're just so obnoxious,” Teri complains. “I liked being with everyone for Christmas, and yesterday was OK because they were busy playing with all of the new stuff my parents gave them. But now they're back to being little monsters.”
“And when are they off to school again?”
“Not until next Thursday.”
“Better enjoy that quality time.”
She sighs. “It won't be as bad Saturday. We're going on a big family sledding trip, so at least that will be fun.”
“Snow and fun—those words don't go together in my vocabulary.”
“That's because you're a crotchety old man who can't enjoy the winter.”
“Right, I'm the old one when all you can talk about is how those darned kids are driving you up the wall.”
“We don't all have the luxury of older siblings,” she says. “So, I'm sorry, what were you saying before?”
“Nothing much,” I say looking out the window. Matt and I are supposed to hang out today, but the idea of getting all bundled up to wade through the snow is less than enticing. “My bro left last night, my mom was out this morning. Everything's settling back to normal here in Shermantown.”
I hear a pounding in the background. “Hold on,” Teri says, before yelling, “What do you want? What? What do you mean you burned it?” She comes back to me. “I'm sorry, Preston , I've got to go.”
I can't help laughing. “All right, I'll talk to you later, Teri.”
December 28, 2006
“So you don't know of anything good going on for New Year's?”
“I got nothing,” I say, slumped down on Matt's sofa. “Chang was talking about going to Dilly's. But, well, that's Dilly's.”
“Might as well go to Chucky Cheese.”
Dilly is in his second year at Shermantown Community College , and half of his friends are still people at Shermantown High. We ended up there last year, and it wasn't so bad. But another year removed from our lives here, Dilly's seems all the less appealing.
“This sucks,” Matt says, flipping channels. “I feel like we're in high school again. No place to go, nothing worth doing.”
“Of course, in high school this option wouldn't seem so bad.”
Matt shakes his head. “Maybe I should high tail it back to the City. Go to fucking Times Square or something—crash on somebody's floor for a couple days.”
“You're ready to drive six hours both way for that?”
Matt shrugs. “Eight hours by bus?”
I plunge my hand into the bag of pretzels between us. “We could just hang out here. Drink beer, maybe get some wings, watch old movies.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Dave shakes his head. “I just can't believe we're already old enough that that's our best option.”December 29, 2006
“So what do you think you're going to do?” Teri asks over the phone.
I stare at the ceiling, still in bed, just past noon . “I don't know. Something tells me we're going to start at Matt's place, then suck it up and go to Dilly's by midnight .” I hear a slurping sound on the other end. “What is that? Are you eating something?”
“Yeah, sorry, it's oatmeal.”
“Oatmeal, huh?”
“Not a fan?”
“I don't know, oatmeal just has sort of looks like hot vomit in a bowl to me.”
“That's disgusting.”
“You're the one eating it.”
I hear her slurp again. “So, before you started making fun of my oatmeal, I was going to ask you if you might want come out here for New Year's?”
“Out to Pennsylvania ? It's kind of a trip.”
“Well, I figured it was far-fetched. Didn't seem like you had much going on, though.”
“Well, I don't.” I shift under the covers, just thinking about it. It would be kind of fun to spend New Year's with her. “What are your plans?”
“Little house party—and I do mean little. We're talking maybe a dozen people, just friends from high school and a few significant others.”
“So where would I fit into that?”
Teri sighs. “It's not like I have a significant other, so in lieu of that, you could be my date. Heck, you could bring along Matt, too, if that helps.”
The idea of driving out to Teri's seemed kind of crazy in the first place, but when I really think about it, it doesn't sound so bad. And if there's an idea that would appeal to Matt it would be just this sort of party—the chance to meet a lot of new people, all of them about our age.
And I really would like to see Teri.
“How soon would I need to let you know about this?”December 30, 2006
“So, another year down, huh?” Dad says, as we cut into our Cornish game hens. I can't remember the last time we had these, but in any case, I'm pretty confident it was my mother who cooked them then. Nonetheless these look and smell pretty good.
“Yeah,” I nod, sawing my way through my little bird clumsily. “Hard to believe, huh?”
“That it is,” he nods, already chewing on his first mouthful. “I remember where I was in life a year ago—my first holiday season after your mother left. And I remember thinking that I was standing at a crossroads.”
“How's that?”
“I didn't know where my life was headed. It could have been an aberration—one off year before things went back to normal.” He looks at his fork, as the overhead light reflects off of it. “But then, it could also have been the first year of the rest of my life.”
“But life does go on,” I say. “I mean, it's going to get easier.”
Dad smiles. “Maybe.” He eats another bite. “So, you have any resolutions, Preston ?”
“Haven't given it much thought.”
“Yeah, I never put much stock in resolutions.” He shakes his head. “I hope you never come to this point in your life, but I find myself at sort of a crossroads again.”
“Well, what are you thinking about?”
Dad takes a sip from his glass of wine. “I had idealistic notion about making a resolution to never give up—to hold onto the memory of everything good your mother and I ever had, and to hold out for her.” He looks down and starts to cut into the bird again. “But now I wonder if I shouldn't just resolve to move on with my life.”
I recall having this same sort of talk with friends—talking to Matt about Julie, or explaining how I felt about Veronica. Years go by, and we all get a little older. We're all tested, and hardened in some sense. But then there are those memories of the good times. Could be a woman. Could be friends, or a place, or a time. I suppose it's the best parts of our memories that keep us going. I suppose it's the best parts that are the reason we get stronger—just on the hope we might see them again.
I don't know what to tell my father. I suppose he just wants me to listen.
I take a long drink from my glass of Pepsi, then turn my knife, fork and eyes back to the hen.