Me at Christmas
December 25, 2023
Me at Christmas
I remember when the house was golden. The fire was on. The family all bouncing off each other in conversations wrestling with endless stores of the past and future. The tiresome and lonely youngest cousin that I was would leave the house with my longboard and cruise up and down the street at night. I was not cold. I did not shiver. The house was warm. The garage with the ping pong table was warm too. Yet I needed space. I would I ride up and down a couple of time throughout the night having the smell of a wood burning fire place in the air, the harsh cold wind on my cheeks, and silence.
I remember looking at the house, standing on the curb admiring the lights. The family that I could see through the dining room window was pleasant to watch. I had absolutely no urge to go back in and participate.
Waste space. Drink and eat food that someone else could be eating. Cause a conversation that no one wanted to have. Maybe spill another glass of wine on accident. Taking time away from my mother’s actions of her doing something more important than cleaning up a simple stain.
Maybe someone else should sit on the couch or chair just was sitting in. Maybe they need it.
Even as a young child on Christmas Eve at my grandmothers house, after we all opened up the presents I would go into the living room and sit on the couch by myself. I watched tv or looked at a new toy or DVD I got.
I would watch the family go and eat the snacks on the table we angled for easier flow from the kitchen into the living room. The noticed me. Never said anything. But by the time coffee was about to be made, the unwrapping was done, I was joined by other people.
I can still remember sitting there alone. I would listen to the sounds in the other room, the sounds on the tv in front of me, and the sad looks the dogs would give sitting in the Bakersfield cold.
Once in a while my uncle would light the fireplace. Once and awhile my aunt would play the piano. Once and awhile we went to midnight mass and my cousin commenting that I would wear the same thing every year.
Each year before we open presentsI, I would sit in the same place. Right by the dining room table, or I would put a chair there, right by the French doors leading out to the backyard. Every year I sat there. Every year I sat there while my grandmother lived there. Every year while the family still got together on Christmas Eve.