“It’s lights and glitz and pretty houses.”
“It’s about the culture wars.”
“It’s about who has the most bad ass tree.”
They talked over each other, sentences lapping over sentences like so many waves coming ashore, none complete or convincing, doing little more than disturbing his mental sand. He took the lapping as long as he could.
Then the boy took a breath and his blanket and the stage, since no one else was using it.
“And there were in the country some hardworking guys catching a breather. Something fell over them, a sort of irrational notion skipping across three minds, unspoken and inexplicable. They saw people with wings surrounding a little newborn baby. And one of the winged guys said, ‘Don’t be afraid. Here is a boy who will grow into more than a man, and he’ll be good to those who hate him, good to those who offer nothing, and maybe he’ll start a revolution, and maybe he’ll bring some people back from the dead. But he will never be about death, or revolutions, or fury. He’ll be about being. Go see him.’ The three guys looked at each other, not straight in the eye, each thinking he should pack a present.”
“It’s all commercial now.”
“We get twelve days in ours.”
“Jingle Bells makes me want to stab somebody.”
The boy dragged his blanket off the stage and out of the school and past the church and past the tree lot and past the condos, which were colorful but dim that hour. He joined his best friend in decorating the best tree they'd ever have. It was scrawny and slouched towards nothing in particular, except someone being born somewhere, because if you go far enough in any direction you'll find someone beginning. He wrapped his blanket around the base as a skirt, and his friend hung a red ball from the low thing's highest branch. It was ugly. It was the best they'd ever have.
Counter est. March 2, 2008
Merry Christmas, John (and to the little bald kid). merry face
ReplyDeleteMerry Christmas John. Blessings.
ReplyDeleteAdam B @revhappiness
I've never seen Charlie Brown's Christmas, although I still got the reference to his Christmas tree, but this nearly made me cry. (Of course, Lyme is like that sometimes.) It was this bit - "But he will never be about death, or revolutions, or fury. He’ll be about being" that really touched me. And then this one: "It was scrawny and slouched towards nothing in particular, except someone being born somewhere, because if you go far enough in any direction you'll find someone beginning."
ReplyDelete"And there were in the country some hardworking guys catching a breather" made me laugh first, though.
Dear gods, John, how do you do this profound stuff? Do you even notice when you're writing it, or do you go, 'Ah, another perfectly ordinary post in my blog'? Can I link this elsewhere?
I have a deep love for that little bald kid. Peanuts is great.
ReplyDeleteJemma, I'm just trying. I didn't know what to make of this when I was done, outside of being done. You're welcome to link it wherever you please.