Merry Nickmas: Old Person Parties

5.

     The next evening Nick set off on a five-hour drive that realistically should have only taken two. The sun had fallen as he pulled into the driveway of his childhood home to the sound of light rain pattering on his cracked windshield. A part of him felt grateful that his parents had managed to hang on to the home for so many years, especially when so many others had sold and moved to Florida. The car clicked off as he removed his key, and for a moment he just sat in the misting glass box, coming to terms mentally with what he had committed to. It was a peaceful way of saying “fuck all” to the world, while not bothering anyone’s yuletide spirit with such language.

     Unfortunately, it lasted all of nine seconds, as his mother had seen the lights of the car pulling into the driveway. Likely she had been perched on the sofa for hours, worrying herself sick about the dangers accompanying light rain and driving on the freeway. She rushed out in a jingling mess of Christmas sweater, accompanied by a pair of small dogs that looked like they would be more at home scavenging garbage in the Mexican desert. Nick had barely opened his door when one of the beasts scampered in, sat on his lap, and stared up at his face eagerly.

     There was no time for action, the dog licks came faster than enemy machine gun fire, and Nick was caught in the middle. Slobbery kisses adorned his otherwise miserable face, and for once, he just gave in to it. “Hey boy,” he said with a light chuckle, and patted the dog vigorously. While he had become somewhat of a cat person, the sight of his dog was still enough to warm his heart.

     “Oh Nick, you made it. Thank goodness, we were so worried.” The jingle bomb had descended on his car, and was ready to explode. Nick took his seatbelt off and exited into the cold winter air. His mother embraced him, and he did his best to return it with as little sarcasm as he could muster. “You’re just in time, the neighbors are having a Christmas party, and they’re dying to meet you.” The neighbors were old, and no doubt dying, but Nick was sure that it had nothing to do with him. “It’ll just be five minutes, in and out, and then we can all catch up.”

     Nick did not have a chance to argue, and before he knew it was standing in a white carpeted living room, staring at a gaudy blue Christmas tree with a porcelain hippopotamus curled up beneath it. He was fascinated by a set of ornaments that looked like taxidermied birds, and was about to ask if they were real when he was whisked off to the center of the party to “show people that he was real.” Nick had never had a problem with his own existence, but when old people didn’t see something for more than six months, they began to think that it had died.

     He spent the next “five minutes”, touring around the house, meeting various elderly folk who had collectively gone through drinking a winery. Sour grapes and fragile hugs surrounded him on all sides for what seemed to be an eternity. “Very nice to see you again. You’ve grown so much,” said a woman that Nick had never seen in his life. He gave a smile and stuffed his face with one of the many dried meats sitting on wooden cutting boards around the house. Part of him did not believe them to be edible, but the other part never passed up free food.

     At a certain point the evening began to pass in a blur of red, green and blue. The lights streaked past his vision like a drunkard on a subway car, which was odd, as he hadn’t had a drop since returning home. I could be liquored up with my cat watching Gremlins. It was true that this was initially what he wanted, but as the evening pressed on, he felt the urge to stay. The brilliant train wreck of the elderly at Christmas was something that he couldn’t look away from. Luckily, eight o’clock rolled around, and it was time for half of the people to go to bed. He said his goodbyes and returned to his house next door.

When he returned home that evening he found a pile of mail on his childhood desk. There were the usual credit card statements as still had not seen fit to change his permanent address, and a birthday card from a financial advisor whom he had never laid eyes on, but must have been doing a good job. It read “Happy Birthday,” and was signed with a symbol that might have been someone’s name, but could have easily been a child’s drawing of a snake.

     He read it by the Christmas tree, letting the scent of pine seep into his brain while tinny carols emanated from a plastic carousel. The words were as false as they came, but in the context of his old living room, they almost felt sincere. Nick leaned back into a couch that was more decorative than functional and pulled a red Santa hat over his eyes. Staring through the thin red fur he could see nothing but bright Christmas colors. Blinded, he thought that if he just lay there a few moments longer he would wake up, a younger version of himself, back in his childhood home. The fantasy was intoxicating, but not to last, as once again, the hairless pup had found its way onto his lap.

     Nick lifted the veil from his eyes and stared down at the tiny loveable mistake of nature. He patted the dog’s head and it curled up next to him fast asleep. Each moment felt like a glimpse of Christmas past and hit him in the gut like a professional boxer. Every time he got close to resurrecting the old feeling, it reminded him of how far away from it he truly was. “Happy Christmas to you too,” he said to the dog, pulled the Santa hat back over his eyes, and tried to find the blissful peace of sleep.