Sprawled on an ugly ocher comforter on a motel bed in Des Moines, she laps up lukewarm IKEA glögg and fingers his Polaroids. A cluster of family holiday clichés testify with the zeal of a sweaty faith healer to a closeness that is closed to her. She studies the saccharine images, knowing that, like Santa in his sleigh, she swoops in at night, filling gaps as if they were Yuletide stockings. As the next link in the relentless chain of rendez-vous draws near, she mounts the mistletoe over a Gideon Bible, welcoming the work of a cryptic Matchmaker.
As a little girl, she believed in him. That he was watching over her. That all she need do is be good and he would bring her gifts.
As she grew older, she learned the truth. That he did not exist. That it was all a fairy tale. That good or bad, she would receive gifts. But as she grew up, she discovered a deeper truth. That he does exist after all. Not as one man but as all the people who have touched her life. That she is the one watching over them and that this is her gift. A busty woman with red highlights walked into a casino, her cleavage full of dollar bills. The sound of her stilettos caught the attention of the scrawny man alone at the bar. She sat two seats to his left, and he swirled his stool in her direction.
"What's your name?" he asked. "Lucifer." "No seriously." "I am serious." "You got a number?" "Yeah, 666." "Nah, come on." "Do you need me to repeat myself?" The man walked away, completely unaware that the devil himself could shapeshift. Bob and Jane won their home at a foreclosure auction. The owner had abandoned it.
The day after they moved in, a knock pounded in the attic. "Must be the AC," Bob said. He traced the pounding to a room. It grew louder, giving him a headache. His flashlight shone upon a beam with a name painted on it. Bob looked up. Each joist bore a name. The booming sound made Bob dizzy. On the last joist, he saw his name, then only darkness. Hearing a crash, Jane ran upstairs. Months later, a couple bought a house in a foreclosure. The first song that refused to dance around them was ignored. If it was meant to be, the T.V. would stop working first. A glance isn’t enough to say fresh towels are a gift or watch your language. It requires a whole meal going to waste because it was tomdickandharry’s birthday. Weekends and babysitters zip past. Neither has the time to live from moment to moment. She sits on her haunches and reaches for a toy car. His fingers tap the back of the couch. Each have a corner they retreat to called zen. Their parents have taught them well.
After the dragon has been slain and the princess rescued from the trenches of doom, the knights hasten to quench their thirst. Over goblets of candied drinks, they spin tales of past battles, gypsies and mischief mongered. The tyrant’s rule shall unleash by summer’s end but their spirits remain buoyant as they scheme victorious. When the sun becomes unbearable and their stomachs rumble for wholesome fare, they return home. They discard their armor, feast and pay homage to their queen. At her feet, their dreams turn vulnerable and guileless as she whispers a lullaby – you are loved, you are safe.
Mindful of the stairs, Chloe considered the possible wisdom of a wag who’d wanted to be an invalid when he grew up. On the second floor she gazed through the window.
Midday flurries had come to nothing. Lamplight glowed peach, illuminating tangled and bare tree limbs. Many of the twig-like branches had been long dead, the work of Ash Borers; the remaining had entered their winter rest. A web of coloured lights twinkled beyond wavering boughs. Having successfully evaded the noise of evening news, she was grateful for quiet, for these brief interludes of austere beauty that somehow embodied peace. Jim smiled as he observed the scene in front of him. Sunlight was steaming from the sky above, covering the beach in a warm glow. The clouds above looked like cotton balls hanging in midair. Boats skimmed by atop the ocean, and families and visitors played and relaxed on the beach shore. Everyone looked so happy, clearly enjoying the beautiful day and all their vacation destination had to offer.
Sighing, Jim lowered the tropical postcard to reveal the nasty snowstorm through his window, which had been going on all day. A trip to Hawaii was sounding great. Winter--travelers’ nemesis. 99 words long and submitted as a competition entry. ’Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung, with unusual care, Prezzies awaiting, but nobody’s there. The light that’s a-glistening on new-fallen-snow Gives a ghostly green shadow to all things below. And off in the distance, what do we see But a mushroom of dust that is coming for thee. The president’s safe tucked up in his bunker, His aides and attachés, frightened, they hunker. There’s no peace on earth, but there’s no more to fear, Too late, one-and-all, for a Happy New Year. If I could, I’d go back to our first kiss. I’d watch that silken thread pull us closer. My wild heartbeat stirring dormant dreams as they waltzed around me. I was drowning in your eyes, blessing each magical breath flowing between us. My lips were seeking yours, aching to trace patterns of desire. In that moment, before our connection transcended any earthly feeling I possessed, I stood with shuttered eyes; naked as a baby, handing you my world.
I’d marvel at that moment of absolute surrender, taking note of your nervous sideways glance and slight hesitation before you kissed me. He never imagined having to uproot his family like this. It was the only home he had ever known.
But it was no longer safe for him and his wife. So they had to go. They had to leave that night. There was little to pack. Some food, a few household items and, of course, his tools, his only means of livelihood. They would make a new life in a new place. His wife would bear a son, who would change the world. And he would continue his work, quietly. He made beautiful things, and he kept his family safe. For the 2020 Presidential Election, Republicans and Democrats alike sought a candidate with an experienced well-oiled support organisation. The candidate should promise the earth, even if nobody actually expected any politician's promises to be fulfilled.
Eventually, a clear leader emerged. He was perfect – a man with an avuncular, Reagan-like smile, a man who ignored promises, whom most didn't even believe existed. A man who coined the brilliant election slogan: "Ask not what you want, ask whether you deserve what you want." Both parties courted him, but he chose to stand as a Republican. The colour of his coat swung it. The child wanted to be an astronaut, young head filled with dreams of outer space. The teen would not admit to this, and was further preoccupied with other secret thoughts, of strange and exotic adventure in the heart of a distant jungle.
Later, when the possibility of space travel proved impossible to her, and the jungle had ceased entirely, only occasionally did the adult mourn what was lost, and what never was. Only occasionally could she picture herself above or within, some stupidly childish ambition fulfilled. It's starting to cost a lot like Christmas. You check your credit score and hope there won't be any big expenses in January.
This used to be your favourite time of the year. Your absolute favourite. Now you dread it - the red'n'green, the "Jingle bells" and gift hungry attention monsters you call family. You need to relax. You buy the first gift for yourself - the cheapest whiskey. You take a large swing from the bottle and join the other zombies crawling between shops. You know one day you'll get to like the season again, just maybe not this year. Just recently, Max stood in front of the Western Wall, the holiest place of the Judaism. That afternoon, he had a chance to visit nearby Dome of the Rock, one of the holiest Islamic shrines, on top of Temple Mount. The very next day, he traveled to next-door Bethlehem to visit the Church of Nativity, birthplace of Jesus Christ. Three world religions flow in harmony in Jerusalem, Israel.
Now, a madman, to distract the world from his misdeeds, has been getting ready to rattle the peace in the region. “Will the world hold him responsible for the aftermath,” wonders Max. Mike the marine watched the burning monk with a mixture of fascination and horror finding it quite impossible to avert his eyes from the gruesome scene.
"My god, isn't there enough death in this country already?" he asked his friend. "I wonder if he's high or perhaps it's meditation which has caused him to discover such a radical way out of this cruel world." The monks were persecuted by the catholic rulers, a much easier target than the North Vietnamese. Someone took a picture, it would make the photographer's name. It seems there's always a silver lining! Yet again it’s Christmas Day, not on 25th Dec… “It’s impossible…!”
I shift my gaze below… New Year’s Eve…not on 31st Dec… My mind boggles. Valentine’s Day… not on 14th Feb. What’s wrong with the calendar? An unfathomable pain pierces my brain as my world tumbles. I drop on the floor…! Forty eight hours have passed. I lie down like a newborn in a cradle. The gentle breeze flips another calendar ... My world is restored as I glance at 25 Dec, with red inscription ‘Christmas Day’. With trembling lips, I say, “Thank you Doctor for removing my brain tumor…!” I write a letter to Santa for Star Wars stuff.
Those things are for boys, snaps Mother. I rake everywhere. Not even a snifter of wrapping paper. I do my best thinking. The loft! I climb through the hatch. A Sindy dollhouse. It has been her all along. Feelings are easier to hide than presents. Will you build it with me Daddy? Aye, after our dinner. The click of the beer bottle ensures the box lies unopened. I look after my brother like I am told. We play Star Wars. I don’t want to make any more discoveries. The room is perfumed heavily with lavender.
The Empress sits on her throne, silent as always. She gazes through walls, people and time, immersed in the Empire of the unknown size. Around the Empress' world there's an eternal tussle for prolonging life. The nursing home is an Empire too. The nurse mumbles that the pay is not enough, and the doctors are weary of long hours. The Empress knows eternity and weariness, but the impenetrable borders of the Empire wouldn't let any words in or out. If it could, she'd tell the nurse that lavender has never been her favorite. Everything which we can quantify is outcome of everything we can’t quantify.
Once we sat on a river bank, clutching fishing rods in our hands like holding falling lighthouses. We glimpsed at a frangible wooden hut on the other side of river. Grabbing fish before me she said to go see what’s there. A blind quiescent old man lived there all alone whose only son was consumed by river. With sodden eyes she gave her fish to him. After life abandoned her I started visiting that old man. I always gave him two fishes; mine and my wife’s. “That the nest?” asked the interplanetary pest control officer.
“Yep”, replied the technician, “planet Earth.” “They the problem?” “Yeah, humans. They get off that planet, they could do serious damage to the galaxy.” “Invasive species?” “You bet. Look what they’ve done here already – polluted the atmosphere, poisoned the rivers, oceans filled with plastic.” “Hey! What was that?” “ICBM, potentially nuclear. Been a few recently. What they call North Koreans have problems with this creature: POTUS, aka Trump.” “I can see why. Yuck!” “Doesn’t like aliens either!” “That so? Let’s do it then. Laser ready?” “Ready. Here goes.” “Good riddance humans!” It was quiet, almost empty in the hotel bar. I ordered a vodka martini with a twist. I couldn’t place the woman beside me at first; then I recalled.
“You’re a barber, right?” “Yep, what of it?” She looked simultaneously bored and suspicious. “You cut my hair, maybe three times, a year ago in Andalusia.” “I did work there. How come you remember me?” “I thought you were overly friendly, physically and otherwise, like maybe you were working me for tips.” “Did you complain?” “No, I liked it.” “How about now. Would you like more?” “I’m alone.” “So am I.” After heating up his dinner, Frank sat across from Gloria so they could discuss their dispute—so things wouldn’t explode into another argument.
Frank started. “All the kids are gone, at least there’s that.” Gloria’s eyes misted over. “Yes, I thought about that all day.” Frank pushed his peas around. “Over the past twenty-five years I occasionally anticipated we’d bust up—they say money or infidelity typically does relationships in.” Gloria wiped her eyes. “Yeah, but I didn’t see this coming. I always figured we had the same political views, at least when we first got together.” “Elections have consequences.” Broken and spent, he worked his way through the trees and discovered a moonlit river. A ferryman was waiting on a skiff. He got on board. The ferryman pushed off.
The closer they got to the other bank, the more luminous it became. Finally, the boat reached shore. He stepped off and looked back across the river. The trees, the land he had known, even the river were fading, absorbed by the light. The light cradled him. It felt healing and warm. He began to remember it, to feel whole again. Then he too faded, and he rejoined the light. My son is a fashion fanatic like multitudes of other young people. Spiky haircut with faded sides, a stubble beard, tattooed skin, a metal chain about the neck, funky goggles, a sleeveless shirt, tight trousers torn at various places, and so on.
The other day, I buttonholed my son in the doorway. I said, “I’m sorry, my son, but what makes you have such a passion for fashion?” “I want to stand out from the crowd,” replied he avidly. “But, I suppose, you are already part of the crazy crowd. I want you to be different from it. Got me?” |
"Classic"
|