Storied By Josh

“You know we have to listen to Christmas music on Saturday.” She says to me. I look at her from the couch. She’s beautiful in the glow of the kitchen lights. In our apartment that just isn’t quite big enough, the living room opens feet from the kitchen and it’s just enough for her and me and I’m quite alright with it. After all, nothing in America seems to be quite big enough. It doesn’t matter the size of the yard or house or car. It is never quite large enough is it?
Alright. I reply.

This is the first year in a while we’ll be spending Christmas at home instead of going to our parents’ small town or traveling. I’m fine with it. I feel my time is nearly over for heading to a too cold place to hear the same tired questions about when we’re getting married, when we’re having children, when we’re going to buy a house…whenwhenwhen. The quiet condescension of it. It’s in their eyes. It says “isn’t it about time you stopped being children and start acting as adults?” Time, it says, to start joining the rat race of having children and buying these things and falling in to line to do what we all seem to do before we die.

I’m not much for it and neither is she. It is one of the things I love about her. I’ve never dealt well with people telling me how I am supposed to be. I’d rather be what I am and maybe in a way they would to, so it hurts a little to see someone doing what they’ve wanted but were too scared. I don’t envy them or worry about how they live their lives. I only wish the same in return. But it is all something we do in our weakest and most boring moments, quietly comparing our lives to others. It is a condition of being human.

Our Christmas this year will be different, more of a week-long affair. Three days of seeing our most special friends and family. Three days of gift giving and beer drinking. Conversations beside our four-foot tall tree that doesn’t quite have enough ornaments. Laughs and jeers. These ones, the ones we choose to spend our time with do not puff their chests and beat them. They do not ask us silly needling questions and there is not a judgement. There is no competition of who is this and who that must be. We simply are here together and this is enough for us. We are our company and in this world where there is a constant need to look better than the car next to us, it is a very dear respite to me. We precious few here.

My parents are the first in and they bring food and tidings. We sit in the living room that is much too small for all of us, yet we fit alongside each other as fingers in a glove. The laughter warms the room and the chatter grows louder and the guffaws longer. My brother sits next to his new wife. My mother smiles to herself and the world when she sees them. His wife is beautiful and her fire fits well here. She says somethings and they reply and I am quiet for a moment. My littlest brother, the most innocent and tender of hearts tells me of secrets to his games. He tells me about his trials and about his friends. Jonathan says something a little facetious and I laugh. David smarts back and they are here so I am glad.

There is a small spot though that is empty. It is where my sister and her boyfriend should be. And there is a little gone from tonight. He is a good man, a true Alaskan who has a plan for anything. He can take the world from his small home. He even took a punch from my oversize brother who is here also. In my opinion, if anyone can take a punch from a Miller boy and stick around…well that says something about them.

My oversize brother and I take a smoke break and we can hear the calls and joyous proclamations from the deck. We talk about the things we usually do when we are alone.

Anna’s parents visit from their cabin in the woods. They are transplants from down south who care more for the land than most and grow things in the summer. About them, I say a thing now and then. It goes something like: I didn’t know that one could enjoy food and eating as much as I do now before I met Anna. Before it was something I did so that I wouldn’t starve.

But through her guidance I’ve become a food aficionado. When we spend time with them, the dinners are a family orchestra, perfectly timed as a dance. Anna does this her mother does that and her father does this other thing. I sit at the table so as not to get in the way. I can solder pipe, but cooking is foreign and my bumbling hands are not meant for this art.

Anna’s coworker, a beautiful soul, eats dinner with us and more presents are opened after. They quip at my gift wrapping skills, which leave a little something to be desired. I gift her father a knocker that farts when it is used and he laughs. We drink entirely too much wine and beer and watch a terrible film about aliens and models and saving a world. It is a good evening and Anna’s heart is forlorn the next morning when her parents are gone into the cold to see to their cat and home she’s spent her life in. We exchange pleasant farewells and their car is gone and it is quiet.

She hugs me for a little longer when the door closes.

 

The day is young and we are waiting to see the newest film in the theatre. She suggests we go to our close friend’s house in the meantime. We open the door and she is playing a video game. Her cats jump on my lap as I watch from her bed. They purr and do these things and we talk after she wins (of course she wins). We decide to go to the movies early and I replay my childhood in the arcade as I wait for my brother and his girlfriend. We finish our film and discuss it as only film critics can, between smokes outside of the theatre. We agree to meet at our place for dinner and a few online videos. It is subdued more than usual tonight, but that is only because the holidays can be so exhausting. All special times with special people are.

After dinner we sit and watch poorly dubbed videos on YouTube. We talk and show each other things from social media websites. It’s already nine thirty, my brother’s girlfriend says and slowly, one by one they are gone to sleep and the world enveloped in a perfect silent night.

 

On Christmas I awake early and she, as always, a little later. Our Christmas is all but over and we have dear friends we did not see this year, some just down the road, some a world away and I am with them, I hope they know this.

She drinks her coffee. I kiss her softly and she smiles to me.

She wraps her arms around me and
“Merry Christmas.” She says.