Merry Nickmas: Christmas II

7.

     After he had finished tilting the last, rotten dregs of his cup into his protesting throat, it was time for presents. Nick walked to his car and pulled out two boxes that looked as though they might have been wrapped by someone in elementary school. At least I’m consistent. One of the higher points to spending Christmas alone was that Nick didn’t have to wrap the bottle of whatever poison he had picked, or the copy of Gremlins (in fact, the video store might have frowned upon it). In a hasty attempt at concealing the universal remote he had grabbed a roll of bright red paper and spun it around the package until it could no longer be seen.

     The shame he felt about the piss-poor wrapping job was outweighed by his contempt for a plastic reindeer that sat on the roof. “Do you have to be everywhere today?” he asked of the plastic deer and received no response. The plastic eyes given life by tiny LEDs stared back in judgment of Nick’s life choices. Standing in the cold, damp driveway he felt remorse for the way he had been acting, but quickly remembered that his silent accuser was merely fabricated plastic. “I don’t have to take shit from you. Don’t you have a sleigh to guide?”

     Nick’s neighbor was standing on her front lawn, assisting an aged dog in defecating, and regarding him as though he had escaped from somewhere. He gave her an awkward wave which almost sent the Christmas presents flying, and went back inside.

     Sitting around the tree with his remaining family, Nick felt as though he was on trial. His grandfather had nothing to apologize for in his life, and would probably ride a muscled stallion on a wave of inspiring flame through the gates of heaven. Darlene had her problems, but had always found her piece with God through it all. Nick, loved drinking, loved his cat, and hadn’t found a deity that didn’t repulse him. To cut it nicely, he was in a rut by comparison (realistically a large trench).

     He gave his gifts to his grandfather and mother in a hurried gesture. “I got this for you,” he said, fully aware of how childish his voice sounded.

     Darlene unwrapped the remote and feigned excitement the best she could. Nick thought that she looked tired and felt the bags that had formed under his eyes sinking as well. His grandfather flashed him a smile and a thank you as he unwrapped a dusty bottle that Nick had been saving for a particularly depressing occasion. It fit better in contrast with the green pine needles than the grey paint of his apartment walls. Nick found that he didn’t want to receive anything, as he knew that it would just make him feel worse.

     In a moment of confusion, his mother leaned across the battlefield of torn paper and gave him a hug. Nick didn’t want to, but he started to cry. It started as one lone tear rolling down the side of his face, but his body caught up and soon it was “westward ho!”. More tears followed, and he became a sopping mess. The photo on the mantle had been turned up once more and stared right through him.

     The speed of it all shocked him. His grandfather was off the couch with a speed Nick didn’t know he still possessed, and soon the three of them were a stuck in a soggy embrace. Nick feared that they would drown the Christmas tree in a wave of salt water, but found that they only succeeded in dampening the heaps of discarded wrapping paper. Every inch of his body wanted to run away, but he was fully held in the vice grip of his family.

     “I know it’s been five years Nick, but it doesn’t feel that way.” Nick’s ears filled with cotton at the mention of it. Everything felt so sharp and dangerous. It was a mental field of broken glass that he had been so careful to avoid. He sank to the floor, hiding from it all, but strong hands pulled him up and dragged him toward the kitchen.

     They plopped him on the living room couch, and through deafening silence he heard the merciful whine of a coffee grinder. Seconds later his mother returned holding a brightly wrapped red package that had been torn open at the top. “I thought you could use some right now.” Inside, Nick could smell the pious aroma of untainted coffee beans roasted to perfection.

     The world continued to blur past, but soon there was a cup of dark coffee clasped in his hands, and feeling was coming back to his limbs. Darlene and his grandfather sat beside him, attempting to enjoy the strong coffee, and Nick actually appreciated it. Thoughts of drinking with his cat returned briefly, but were silenced. In the moment he was perfectly content, and for the second time of the season, he didn’t want to go anywhere else.

“I love you both,” he said, meaning it, and sinking into the sweet smell of gingerbread and pine.

THE END