Merry Christmas From the Family

By nine in the morning, I should have been awake for hours. By ten, Ishould be knee deep in shredded wrapping paper and surrounded by giftswhose use I can barely conceive. For the world to provide me (theproduct of the secular, commercialized Christmas) anything less isblasphemy.

My younger brother, who went to an expensive private college to earnhis degree in Speech Language Pathology, is a Patient Care Technicianat a local hospital. While the title sounds impressive, it apparentlytranslates as the person in the hospital who does what grunt work thenurses assign him. This involves wiping geriatric asses, taking blood,and working holidays. (In no Christmas carol does it suggest thathospitals can shut down for a day. Heck, I'm certain the grandma thatgot run over by a reindeer could have used Bryan's help.) Despite this,I can't really imagine this role until I scan through the hospitalshows I've watched for context and decide he is like Abraham Benrubi'scharacter on ER.

Bryan left my parents' house-the only abode he can remotely affordafter his paycheck meets his student loan payments every month-wellbefore dawn, well before I have willingly woken up in years. He was notdue back until eight at night, though he implied he could be home asearly as four. We knew that this was almost definitely a lie meant toeither imply that he had clout enough to leave early (unlikely) or toassuage some measure of his guilt that we were going to wait until hereturned home to open our presents (more likely). There was simply noway we would begin opening presents without him.

Little Purple

Emilyand I arrived to my parents' house bit before noon on Christmas day,just as my mother sped away out of frustration with my father andobligation to my grandmother. Emily and I were promised of a goodbreakfast to compensate us for having rented a hotel room the priornight under the assumption that we would be opening our presents early.Instead, we got to sit at the edge of this mound of red and greenboxes, passively wondering at their contents. Were I younger, thiswould be cause for cholericness, but I am well past the age where Irequire immediate gratification. Given where I am in my life, I havebegun to make an art out of delaying the hope for satisfaction. Also, Ican stand to wait to formally take these new objects into mypossession, secure in the knowledge that no seasonal elf is going tosnatch them away depending on my level of naughtiness--a term which hasceased to associate itself with anything wholesome thanks to themewling ads of the porn industry.

Despite realizing in time to cancel my reservation, I kept the room asa combination Christmas present to Emily and me. She mentioned morethan once how much Anemia sucks her soul away by degrees (any below 32Fahrenheit, especially). If I can decrease even by one the number oftimes she must make the drive back there, I will. That our presence inthe hotel would also give me ample opportunity to unwrap my favoritepresent early did not exactly hurt my decision.

Ever since Emily broke off our engagement,I have become all the more keen to get her naked, a yielding yetconcrete demonstration that we still belong to one another, that wewill keep each other's company. A few days after the disengagement (forwant of a better term), I told that I would keep loving and fawning onher so that there could be no doubt in her mind that she had beenutterly cherished should things go badly. This made her fall intodesperate tears, her body wracking with sobs. It was not about me, notentirely. I was just one of many catalysts that night. I am almosthorrified to admit that I relished her initial outpouring. When shecracks enough to allow some tears to flow, I can hold her and soothher, I can kiss her tears away with impunity. Prior to this leak in hercrumbling façade, I felt a distance between us, a cloak of heruncertainty that seems to want to keep her from being loved by me. OnceI could hold her as she snuffled that this is the part where everyoneleaves, the distance only reappears when I ask a question as to ourstatus. Like the electron, I can either observe this relationship orknow where it is going, but not both. I don't know whether I amstanding in a desert, on a beach, in quicksand. I know that, if I existtotally in the moment, realizing I have a brilliant and affectionategirlfriend, I am happy. As long as I don't probe into whether we arestill handfasted,I can just hold her and be in love. I try to make this enough withoutworrying about the future, but my head involuntarily plans for that aswell.

Sincethat wrenching night, things between us have been more or less normal.I try to avoid the traps and pitfalls. Having spent so much time insidebooks and inside my own head, I know every horrid little situation thatcould add stress and pain to what we are going through, and I am sharpenough to spot the foreshadowing before it can darken our lives. Afterthe initial shock to my system, this awareness dulled and it was soeasy to hear the defeatist words echoing in my ears, to just give up,to end it now before I got hurt one iota more. But the panache hasalways been simply to talk to Emily. When my mother said that shethought she overheard Emily whisper something untoward about me to Zackwhen I went to the bathroom during my birthday party, Emily correctsthat she likely called me a dork (which I incontestably am) and I knowinstantly that this is true because it totally fits within hercharacter and this story line. Nothing in her would cast aspersionsabout me to one of my best friends at my birthday; the Divine Architectof our lives writes a better class of script than idle melodrama.

Asidefrom this remark, revealed at dinner a week after my party, my familyhas been otherwise as genial as can be expected toward her. I toldEmily then and I echoed before we went to meet them for a dinner ofpizza on Christmas Eve that my family is not likely to beconfrontational or change their behavior toward her unless it isexcessively necessary or funny. Certainly, while she is my partner, sheis a member of the family and is due all rights and privileges thereto.They are aware that she is going through some personal issues that,while they influence her interactions with me, have nothing to do withme and they seem to respect that. She has previously spent sevenChristmases with them, she has huddled with me in my childhood bedroomas my father yelled at my brother as Bryan walked out of the house inonly socks, she has witnessed my father driving away just as we areabout to open presents because my mother has wounded his soul with anoffhanded remark, and she has always seen things patched up in the endso we could have a proper holiday. Cancelling our wedding ceremonywon't be the thing that sets my family off this year.

Even through the dissolution of our engagement, Emily and I are doingthings together as a couple. She sighs that the idea of selling herwedding dress and ring on eBay-the only chance she would have to recoupa fraction of what she spent-makes her feel like white trash. I laughtoo, keenly aware of how that must look from an outside perspective,how this alters the perception of herself Emily tries to maintain. Ican see how all of this is funny, with enough distance. How sometalentless hack kicked out of the Writer's Guild would find in thissituation the fodder for at least one half-hour sitcom to follow "Twoand a Half Men." I am chagrined to admit that I am loosely basing afuture story or novella on this, coupled with a situation involving afriend I only encounter by phone, not because it is funny but becauseit is therapy.

I supported her when she told me that she had an interview for a jobwith Amnesty International, even when she informed me that she wouldhave to move to the city should she get this opportunity. "We'll dealwith that together," I told her then and I meant it. It was toowonderful a chance to pass up and I certainly would not keep her lockedin the lowest tower in Anemia when her destiny lays on the other end ofthe train tracks. She gave a marvelous interview, repeating clips ofthe conversation back to me that startled me with being scholarly,lucid, and passionate. Emily can and does rattle on about the plight ofTibetan children as though it were the plot of an episode of CSI,effortlessly drawing in the socioeconomic and political antecedents. Ican frankly think of few people more passionate and well versed inwhatever Amnesty International could want. I cannot conceive of asolitary subject I know as much about as Emily does internationaleducation and program development. She didn't get the job, though Ihonestly feel this was a mistake on the part of Amnesty International,but I was prepared.

"Why does Santa hate me?"

For the entirety of this semester, as I dealt with the pampered spawnof kings of industry, I looked forward to this Christmas break withher. So much in our lives seems to force us to spend time apart--andrarely particularly happy time-and I was eager to start reconnecting.On my birthday, we went to see the Radio City Christmas Spectacularwith tickets I bought her for her birthday. The show was sweet enoughto honestly make us both cry with childhood's tears, and it was perfectto be sharing it with her. It was my first day of break and auspicious,as I spent it with Emily enjoying a small portion of her daily worldand her favorite holiday. And there were Rockettes, which is always abonus.

By the time Bryan returns home Christmas night, my family is stuffedwith tacos and chili (the festive dinner of champions) and we are allslightly irritable. Were this a normal Christmas, we would all be onour ways to our individual homes and exhausted by the season, ready tostuff it in the basement until next December. Instead, we are fidgetingas he tries to prolong the moment by telling us about his day or askingif he can have food. We love him but, unless he would otherwise die, Idoubt we would happily even provide him access to the bathroom. Thenieces begin crawling over the presents and stockpiling so they canreduce the magic of opening them to the blink of an eye. Speaking ofeyes, my sister-in-law Becky wears a patch over one of hers, as well asbeing lightly drugged, because her one-year-oldplayfully slashed open her cornea with a fingernail earlier in the day.She is pained and half blind, but putting on a brave face to slogthrough this. My allergies kick up, along with the dust and dander,making me an inwardly surly human being trying his damnedest not to bethe bastard who comes closest to ruining Christmas this year. I try notto take it out on anybody, though breathing gets increasinglydifficult. Emily says I confined my annoyance to the nieces and theirtypical exuberance, which is regrettable but not surprising.

Emily finally finds the gift she got me and stuffs the small metal boxinto my hands. She was worried that I won't absolutely love herpresent, though I assure her that it doesn't matter, that she didn'tneed to get me anything. But I understand that she needs me to adorethe present. What she doesn't know is that she has already given me theonly gift I really wanted when, while on our way down to my parents',she tells me that she will love me forever and always. She has been nomiser about saying it or showing it, but this situation has makes mefar from secure. I want that level of commitment, to be loved foreverand always, and so nothing material is possibly going to compare. Ofcourse, I did not realize what an awesome Fossil watch she got me whenI decided love was enough. What is earthly love next to a timepiecewith flickering gears?

Greeting cards talk a good game about the holidays being a time forfamily, but it's true. No matter how imperfect the arrangement is, whatdraws us together at this time of year is not the threat of a plethoraof gifts, but spending time with loved ones who, either throughbiology's choice or your own, have become family. When Emily broke offour engagement, what hurt me was not that she didn't want to have amassive, overpriced prom with me, but that I thought she was telling methat she no longer wanted to be a member of my family, let alone themember to whom I devote the lion's share of my effort. But no matterhow much they hurt you, either an infant scratching your eye or a loverbruising your heart, nothing ceases the kinship. They might not seemperfect, but I couldn't ask for anything more than their love. That isthe gift I desired and got.

Though, again, a nice watch is a close second.

Originally posted at http://www.xenex.org/journal/20071225.php