I really wanted this to be done by Christmas, but stuff happens, so here it is a day late. I've been listening to Christmas music all December and I heard this song for the first time and about a thousand ideas popped into my head, which is why this is extremely long for a one-shot. I've been second guessing myself about this piece. There are parts that I love and parts that I hate, I feel like there may be too much dialogue, and I don't know if this will be confusing, a complete mess, or if you will enjoy it. Thanks for reading anyway. ;)
I've had lots of ideas to expand some of the flashbacks, so if you'd like for more of a story on one, please let me know. Merry post Christmas! I hope you all had a wonderful day!
PS- If you don't know, Joesph was a carpenter and he taught Jesus the trade. (You'll understand later.)
I do not own The Outsiders or My Grown Up Christmas List.
Do you remember me
I sat upon your knee
I wrote to you with childhood fantasies
The first time you met Santa you were almost a year old. You don't remember it obviously, but there is a picture your mother puts on the mantle every year that sums up what happened perfectly. Some Santa impersonator sits in his throne-like chair holding you with a smile and crooked glasses on his face. You, however, are not anywhere close to smiling. Your face is bright red. Your eyes are squeezed shut and your mouth hangs wide open. Mom always told you that you hadn't stopped screaming until you were back in her arms. You fist are balled up and your legs are in the air as if you had been kicking, trying to get away. Your first encounter with the fantasy fat man wasn't a pleasant experience.
The last time you had sat on his lap, you where four. The next year you had seen your parents putting presents under the tree and you saw your father shove all the cookies in his mouth at once. Your mother swatted at his hand, but he just laughed, mouth full of sugar cookies, and smiled. Your mother always dragged you to see Santa when she took Soda and later on Pony, but every time you refused to sit on his lap. What's the point in pretending to believe in something if you know it's not real?
You never wrote a letter to Santa because you knew he was made up before you knew how to write good, and Soda never wrote a letter because he was too lazy. Pony, however, wrote a lot. One for each member of the family from the age of four to eight. All of his letters are in a box in the attic because your mother kept them. She never mailed them to the North Pole like she told Ponyboy she had. You never understood why parents would lie to their kids like that. If you tell them from the start Santa isn't real, then they don't get mad later on when they find out he doesn't exist and neither do elves or flying reindeer.
You asked your mom one time why she told you Santa was real and why she let Ponyboy believe in him way longer than you and Soda did. She told you it had nothing to do with wanting to lie to her kids or make them angry. She said Santa was something that gave people hope. People didn't hope he was real, but it was more like they got hope from the idea of him. If a kid didn't have anything to hope for or believe in during Christmas then at least they could hope to hear sleigh bells or wake up to a small gift under the tree.
Hope. When you were a teenager you thought that was bull, but know that you're older and you've thought about it; it makes sense. Even if Santa isn't real, there's got to be someone out there. Someone who could give you the hope you need this Christmas season.
Well I'm all grown up now
And still need help somehow
I'm not a child but my heart still can dream
You watch the smoke ring vanish into nothing and try not to cough from the fumes you had just forced down. It's been so long since you've even lit a cigarette that you've forgotten how to use one. It's probably a good thing that you quit so long ago; you would've never made as far as you did with football if you had kept up with that habit. You guess it doesn't matter now, whether or not you smoked since your never going to make it to the big leagues anyway. That dream vanished just like the perfect smoke ring you blew. You tap your foot on the porch and look up at the moon. You wonder if a man will ever make it up there, or if that's just another dream like yours that will turn into nothing.
You hear the old screen door open, and you know that Pony's come out to check on you. You smile at the thought. You would've done the same if he had been sitting on the porch staring into the distance and smoking like a chimney for an hour.
"Darry?" He asks hesitantly like he's afraid to break you out of your trance. He's too late for that, the screen door was what brought you back. "You alright?"
You look at him and instantly see the worry in his eyes. You wonder if your face looks like that when you're worried about him or Soda. You wonder if he can see through you just like you can see through him. "Yeah. I'm okay."
He stands there with his hands in his pockets, biting his lip. He doesn't know if he should go back inside or stay with you on the porch. You make the decision for him, something you have been doing a lot of lately. "Come 'ere." You motion for him to sit next to you on the porch swing, and as his rear connects with the wood, the rusty chains groan and the swing sways. You both sit in silence for awhile, each waiting for the other to speak. The problem is, neither of you mind silence. If it were up to you everything would always be silent. It's easier to concentrate that way, think things through. But then again, too much silence can lead to too much thinking, and around this time of year too much thinking is something you do not enjoy. You guess Pony is becoming uncomfortable because he is the one to speak first. You've out-silenced him, a rare occasion.
"So, what are you doing out here?"
"Waiting for Soda." That's a lie. You know it. He knows it too.
"It's ten, Darry. He won't be home for a few hours."
You cross your arms. "Guess I'll be waiting for a few hours then."
Ponyboy leans back on the swing. "I've been thinking about them a lot. You know, 'cause of the time of year and all."
You nod and tell him the truth. "Me too."
"This is our first Christmas without them." The way he says it makes him sound like a sad little kid who had been told they couldn't play in the snow. Christmas had always been his favorite time of year. At the Curtis household, there was an endless amount of Christmas traditions and always an endless amount of cookies. The tree was brought home on the first of December, Pony, Soda, and Mom would decorate while you and your dad put the lights up outside. The Matthews and the guys would come over on Christmas Eve for the feast, and Christmas morning was full of hot chocolate and storytelling and a few gifts. You don't know how Christmas will be this year, but it certainly won't be like that.
You look over at him and see a lonely tear making its way down his cheek. You put an arm around his shoulders and pull him closer to you. "I know. But we'll be alright." You don't know if you said the right thing or the wrong thing because another long silence begins. Once again, Pony is the one who breaks the silence.
"Didn't know you knew how to use one of those," he says eying the burnt out cancer stick in between your fingers.
You shrug. "I don't. Almost choked to death. All alone too."
"If you had started choking, I would've heard you," he says, trying to argue.
You shrug again. "Maybe. Maybe not. That would depend on how loud I was choking. Some people choke silently."
He rolls his eyes. You look back up at the moon. You guess he's looking too because the next thing you hear is, "It looked like that. The night they died. It was a full moon just like that one." You know why he knows this, or why he remembers. You certainly wouldn't want to remember every detail about that night. But Ponyboy liked the details. He always had.
"I didn't know that," you tell him because what else were you going to say?
"Yeah." He let out a long sigh. "Sometimes I wish I was still a little kid that believed in Santa. Maybe if I was, I would have something to look forward to this Christmas."
You nod in agreement. Being a kid again would be nice. As a kid, there are so many things that don't need to be worried about, so many things that don't matter. "If Santa were real, what would you ask him for?"
You don't answer your younger brother right away. Everyone knows Santa only gives out toys to children. You're no longer a child, you're an adult. A practical, boring adult with responsibilities like a job and bills and raising two teenage boys. But if Santa didn't just give out toys, and if he didn't just ask children what they wanted, and if he could give out things that couldn't be wrapped, then there is a whole lot you would ask him for.
So here's my lifelong wish
My grown up Christmas list
Not for myself but for a world in need
When you were a kid, your Christmas list consisted of things like Lincoln Logs, Army Men, cap guns, and a red Radio Flyer wagon. As you got older you moved onto things like footballs and cleats. You never did get the Flyer wagon, and your football cleats were never name brand, but you always got something. Even it was only one small thing. You never really minded. You understood that your parents couldn't afford many extras and if you wanted to live in a house, then they needed money to pay the bills.
One year when Soda was six, and you were laying in bed on Christmas night, he complained that he only got two things. He said that the kids at school talked about the giant pile of presents under their trees. You were so mad at him. You wondered how he could be so stupid and selfish.
"Shut up, Soda."
"What'd I say?"
"You shouldn't complain. At least you got somethin'. Some kids got nothin'."
"But the kids at school said-"
"The kids at school," you interrupted, "have rich parents. Now we ain't rich, but our parents love us, and they do what they can. If two presents are all they can afford, then that's all you'll get. Deal with it."
"But the kids at school say Santa brings their gifts."
"Santa ain't real."
"Yes, he is!"
"He ain't," you tell him sternly. "He's made up. If he was real, you would get more than two presents. Now shut up and go to bed."
"But why can't-"
"Soda if I hear one more complaint come outta your mouth, I'm gonna drag your ungrateful butt out on the porch and lock you out in the snow for the night."
He was quiet then. You sighed, satisfied with your work, and rolled onto your side. Soda started humming to the 'Twelve Days of Christmas' song. You rolled my eyes. "Santa should've put coal in your stocking," you mumbled as you fell asleep to his humming.
You think back to all the things you wanted when you were a kid. Things sure have changed since them. The things you want now can't be given. They can't be wrapped in patterned paper. They can't be placed in a red sack or under a tree. The things you want now aren't tangible. They can't be handed out like the candy canes at the grocery store. The things you want now aren't even realistic. The world isn't perfect; it never will be, but if you got all the thing you wanted, then it would be pretty darn close.
No more lives torn apart
That wars would never start
And time would heal all hearts
"How about that one, Dad?" You ask pointing to a nicely filled out tree. Your mother never liked it when you brought home skinny trees with large gaps.
Your dad stands, hands on his hips, and give the tree a once over. "Six foot. Round. Filled out. Nice green. I think you've found a winner," he says patting you on the back. "Let's chop this sucker down, Darry." You hand him the saw and stand back as he lies on his stomach and begins to cut through the pine.
After about five minutes, it falls down and you help your father drag it to the truck. The man who owns the tree farm helps Dad lift the tree into the truck bed and secure it. You hop in the front and slam the door shut, causing the truck to shake. "Chill, Junior. Need this thing to last a few more years," you dad scolds as he gets in making a big show of closing his door silently.
"Sorry," you mumble, feeling guilty. He's always telling you that you need to stop slamming things, whether it's doors or cabinets or faucets. You never realize that you're doing it, it just happens.
Your father shrugs and starts up the truck, it takes two tries, but eventually, you are on your way home. "How many cookies did Mom say she was gonna make?" You ask him because you are starving and can't wait to get home and devour the cookies your brothers and mother are making.
"Sugar, chocolate chip, sand tarts, blossoms, and gingerbread," he informs you. "Cherry, apple, and pumpkin pies too. I can't believe she decided to take on the deserts for the Christmas Eve service this year."
"I don't mind. There's always a bit left over after the service. More for us."
Your dad laughs. "You shouldn't think such greedy thoughts this time of year."
"Like you haven't thought about it," you tease him, knowing he has a bigger sweet tooth than anyone else.
"No. I'm being a good husband, thinking about how stressed Molly is and how I should help her with the deserts when we are done with the tree."
"If by helping, you mean taste testing."
"Gotta make sure no one will drop dead at the service," he says with a wink. You aren't too worried about that. Your mother makes the best cookies and pies out of everyone in the church committee.
The truck pulls into the driveway, and you notice a red car parked on the side of the road. "Looks like the Matthews are here," Dad says before turning off the engine. "Let's go inside and get Soda and Keith to help us drag the tree inside.
When your father opens the door he yells, "Molly Bell! We've found the best tree in the entire world! Wait 'till you see it."
Your mother comes out of the kitchen, hair a mess and eyes red. She runs over to your father and wraps her arms around his neck. "What's wrong," he asks, instantly aware that something isn't right. it's then when you notice there are no kids in the living room. "Where are the kids? Are they okay?"
Your mother nods into his should and pulls away. "They're in the boy's room. It's Katie. Richard's gone."
"What do you mean gone?"
"There was a huge fight. He hurt her. He was drunk...he- he left. He said he ain't coming back. I don't know how to help her. I need to help her." Tears run down your mother's face and you've never seen her so helpless.
Your dad wipes the tears away with his thumbs and kisses her forehead. "Calm down. You can't help her if you're a mess." He continues to talk, but you leave to go to the kitchen.
You see cookie dough and cookie cutters all over the table. At first, everything seems normal, but then you can hear cries on the other side. You walk around the table a see Miss Katie sitting on the floor, eyes puffy, cheek bleeding, and multiple bruises all over. She sees you and frantically wipes her eyes and stands up. "Sorry for looking like this, Darry."
You shake your head. "I'm sorry," you tell her, and you mean it. You've known Miss Katie your entire life. Your mom and her had been friends since first grade, maybe even before, and in your fifteen years, she's been like a second mother to you. You had only met Richard about five times because he was never home, and Keith mostly hung around your house. But you've overheard your parents talking a couple of times, and Keith has never seemed to think too highly of his father, so you assume he wasn't that great of a guy. How could he be? Miss Katie was tiny, five feet to be exact, and Mr. Matthews was probably around six foot five. You knew he drank a lot, and sometimes when he was really drunk he would hit Miss Katie. Being so much larger than her, a lot of damage could've been done.
Miss Katie has always been strong. She always wore a smile on her face and she was really laid back, but now as you look at her, she seems absolutely helpless. You feel so bad that you go over and hug her. She seems a bit shocked at first since you hate hugs, but she soon relaxes and hugs you back. After a minute she pulls away and cups your face in her hand. "You're a good boy, Darry. I'm glad Keith has a friend like you." Tears are streaming down her face as she says it, but she manages a small smile. You nod because you don't know what to say; you're not very good at comforting people.
Your father and mother enter the room then. "Darry, go back with the kids. Give her some space," your mother scolds.
Miss Katie walks over to her and wraps an arm around her waist. "It's alright, Molly. He didn't do anything wrong. You've got yourself a good boy."
Mom relaxes and smiles at you. Your dad grips your shoulder. "That we do, Katie."
You nod at all of them and leave to find Keith. You go to Pony's room and see him reading Susan a book on the floor. Soda is sitting on Pony's bed watching them. Susan looks up when you enter the room. You don't see her that much because she's so much younger and Keith never wants her around. She isn't crying, but she looks tired and scared. "Hi, Suzie," you say trying to sound cheery.
"Hi, Darry," she mumbles.
"You guys know where Keith is?" You ask your brothers.
"Our room," Soda says, "He said he wants to be alone."
"Whatever. Y'all good with her?" Your brothers nod and you leave the room.
You open the door to the room you share with Soda. Keith is lying on your bed, throwing a baseball up in the air and catching it. "Hey," you say when the baseball is in mid-air. It falls onto his chest. "Sorry."
"Don't say that. I don't need your pity."
"I was talking about scaring you, making the baseball fall."
"Oh. It was my fault. I'm distracted."
"I could imagine." You sit on the edge of the bed. "You okay?"
"Grand," he rolls his eyes."Living the dream. I mean how many people can say their father got fired, got drunk, beat their mother, and left his family all in one day. I got the full package, man. Early Christmas present. Life is great." He's trying to be funny. Make light of the situation. That's what he always does when something bad happens. That's his only defense. That's how he keeps from breaking down. You know better though. You've seen him like this before, and he is definitely not okay.
You look down at your hands and wring them together. You open your mouth but Keith doesn't let a word escape. "Don't say you're sorry. Don't even dare. I told you I don't need your pity. Maybe my mom and sister do, but I don't." He sits up and looks you in the eye. "I'm glad he's gone. Never liked him anyway. Not like he ever did anything for us. Not like he was an all-star father. Not like we need him." Denial. That's another thing he did when he was really upset. He makes himself believe that whatever happened was a good thing. Or that it wasn't a big deal and everything would be okay. He squeezes the baseball so hard that his knuckles turn white. "Wasn't like he was worth something. All he did was drink and yell and stuff." He raises his arm. "He was a deadbeat father. I don't need him. I'm glad he's gone." His eyes are blazing and you can tell he's finished. He's reached the end of the rope. He lets the baseball fly out of his hand and into the wall. It hits your calendar and it falls to the ground. There's a dent where it used to hang.
You place a hand on your friend's shoulder. "You keep telling yourself that. It ain't gonna make it true."
He looks up at you, his eyes brimming with tears. "At least he can't beat her anymore. We're safe now."
"Keith-"
"Guess I must've been pretty bad this year. Santa probably thought coal wasn't enough for me. He had to ruin Christmas too. Don't believe what they tell you about him, he's out to get us all. He just thought he'd get me first." When all else failed, he would begin to blame himself. He wanted to spare everyone else from being at fault.
"It ain't your fault."
"Yes, it is! I pulled him off of her. I told him to leave and never come back. So he did. It's all my fault!" He buried his head in his hands, but he doesn't cry. He just sits there. "Suzie doesn't get it. She slept through it. All of it." He looks up. He's crying now. "How could someone sleep through that? I tried to tell her- explain he ain't coming home, but she doesn't get it. She shouldn't have to. An eight-year-old shouldn't have to understand that her father left. She shouldn't have to understand he's gone. And Mom. She- she..." His voice trailed off and he started at the dent in the wall. "You got a cancer stick?" Once Keith passes the stages of jokes, denial, and guilt, he drowned his sorrows in beer and smoked like a chimney. You suppose that it isn't the best way to cope, especially for a thirteen-year-old, but it was the only way he knew. You would never tell him this, but he got that from his father.
You get up off the bed and dig through your desk drawers. You pull out a cigarette and hand it to him. Your parents don't like people smoking in the house, but you figure just this once it'll be alright. They would probably prefer that to him taking beer from the fridge. Keith pulls a lighter from his pocket and smokes the thing the whole way through. He smashes the butt of it between his thumb and forefinger.
"Three days 'till Christmas. Probably won't even have it this year." He sighs and looks over at you. "Sorry about your wall."
You shrug, sitting back down next to him. "It can be fixed."
"My life can't though," he says with a laugh. Not a funny one, but an exhausted one. "Figures, my life getting torn apart right before Christmas. Just my luck ain't it."
You shake your head. "It'll be alright. Don't worry, man." You put an arm around his shoulders and he fiddles with the cigarette butt.
"Don't tell anyone I cried. I'll kill you."
"I don't doubt it."
And everyone would have a friend
And right would always win
And love would never end, no
This is my grown up Christmas list
You're shocked to see Johnny sleeping on the porch swing when you open the door Christmas morning. His lips are blue and he is shivering in his sleep. There are fresh bruises on his face, and a cut on his neck. It's not bleeding anymore, but it doesn't look like it's been cleaned. You hope it doesn't get infected. You're used to seeing Johnny banged up but on Christmas? Seems like his parents never give it a rest. Why wouldn't he come inside? You set the trash bag down and shake his leg. He wakes up with a jump and looks around with wide, terrified eyes. "Sorry, Johnnycakes. Didn't mean to scare you."
He takes a deep breath. "That's okay."
"Why don't you come inside? You look freezing."
He shrugs. "I didn't want to interrupt your Christmas."
"When my mom finds out you've been out here in the cold, she'll freak. Go on inside." You pick up the trash bag and walk it out to the garage. When you return, Johnny is still sitting on the porch. You laugh and shake your head. "Inside. Now." You stand by the door and wait until he stands up to open it. Everyone in the living room looks up when they hear two sets of footsteps.
"Johnny! It's great to see you!"Your mother says with a smile and gets up to hug him. He never hugs her back, but he doesn't tense up when she touches him like he does with everyone else. She pulls away and with her hands on his shoulders she asks if he's alright. He nods, but you know he's lying, everyone does. You ignore it. It's what you've learned to do.
"There's tons of leftovers in the kitchen if you're hungry," your father tells him. "Ham, potatoes, corn, pie. You can have whatever you want."
"That's okay. I'm not very hungry."
"Are you sure?" Mom asks. She always feeds people when they come over. It's her thing. She lived in a house full of boys and she would always say, "The only way to a man heart is his stomach." So whenever she would sit down and try to get through to one of the guys, she gave them something to eat.
Johnny nods. "I'm okay."
"You're just in time for the retelling of "It's a Wonderful Life.' You're going to love it!" Ponyboy tells him excitedly. Johnny nods and sits next to the younger boy on the couch. Your mom sits on the other side of Johnny while Soda sits on the floor and your dad is in his regular spot in the recliner. You sit down next to Soda, ready to hear your dad tell the story. You may be eighteen, but this is a Christmas tradition that never gets old.
"There once was a man named George Bailey who lived in the town of Bedford Falls…"
When you father finishes with a bow, all of you clap and cheer. "That was great, Dad." Pony says.
"Thank you. Thank you very much!" He bows about fifteen more times causing everyone to laugh. You look over to Johnny to see if he enjoyed it, but he's fast asleep.
"Mom, the kid's sleeping."
"I know. I figured he must be pretty tired. Who knows what happened at home." She brushes Johnny's hair out of his eyes, but then she lays her palm on his forehead and her face clouds over.
"What's wrong?" You ask, concerned about Johnny.
"He's burning up. Darrel, bring him to Ponyboy's bed. Cover him up with lots of blankets. I need to get a few things." Your mother rushes out of the room and your dad scoops up Johnny.
"Kid's as light as a feather," he mumbles as he walks down the hallways. You don't doubt it. Johnny is all skin and bones. Ponyboy follows your dad, but you and Sods hang back in the living room. Soda doesn't like being around sick people, and you figure that your parents have it covered.
Soda can never sit for long, so you're not surprised when he jumps up and goes over to the window. You are surprised though when he stands there and stares for a good fifteen minutes You go over to him and place a hand on his shoulder. "What're you looking at?"
He doesn't look at you. He just keeps staring with a wild look in his eyes. "I just wish I could go down there and knock some sense into them. It was Christmas Eve last night. He can't even catch a break on Christmas Eve."
You nod in agreement. "I'm with you on that. No kid should have to sleep outside Christmas Eve."
"He could've come inside."
"You know him. He thinks he's around too much. Interrupting our lives or something."
"He knows he ain't."
"I know that. And you know that. But he can't seem to get it through his head."
"It ain't right. Any of it. Something should be done."
"Doesn't matter if it's right or not. If the cops haven't hauled that guy in yet, then they aren't ever going to."
"What's right is what should be done. That's the way it should be," Soda says as if he's trying to convince you. But you're not the one that needs convincing.
"We don't live in a perfect world, Sodapop. There will always be people like Johnny's parents out there. We can't do anything to stop it." You probably sound like a jerk, but you're only telling the truth. Not even Christmas could stop people from hurting people. Nothing in this world could.
Soda gave a long sigh. "I wish we could."
You squeeze his shoulder. "Me too, man. Me too."
As children we believe
The grandest sight to see
Was something lovely wrapped beneath the tree
Christmas morning at the Curtis house was always everyone's favorite day of the year. Even during the winter of 1958. You were thirteen years old and seem to be the only one of your brothers that actually remember the full truth of that Christmas morning.
You woke up frozen. You were so cold that your skin tingled and you could see your breath when you peeked out from underneath the pile of blankets you slept in. The cold air in your bedroom stung your face and you groaned and threw the covers back over your face. You didn't know what time it was, but you figured it was pretty early because there was no light streaming through your windows and the house was completely silent. Scratch that- the house wasn't completely silent; you could hear Soda moving around in his bed, adjusting the covers and mumbling to himself. You wonder if he's awake, he talks in his sleep and moves around a lot in his sleep, so it's hard to tell. Your younger brother doesn't leave you wondering for long though. Pretty soon you hear him jump out of bed and run to yours.
"Darry?"
You don't answer. The moisture inside your mouth is frozen and it's impossible to talk.
"Darry?" Soda asks again. When you stay silent, Soda groans and you hear him go back to his bed. You sigh in relief and hope he will go back to sleep. However, your hopes are crushed when you feel the weight of your ten-year-old brother on top of you.
You grumble and uncover your face. "Get of Soda."
"Nope. I'm sleeping with you. It's cold."
"Go be cold in your own bed."
"I've got my blankets. We'll be really warm."
"No. Leave."
He didn't leave though. He just threw his covers on top of you and pulled all of the blankets back. The frigid air shocks you and you almost scream. Instead, you settle for whisper-yelling. "Soda! I'm gonna kill you!"
He didn't say anything. He just laid down beside you and pulled the covers up. "Already warmer," he said with a smile. You roll your eyes and turn on your side.
You'd probably been sleeping for an hour when you wake up to the sound of the door opening. And then shutting. You hear a light pitter-patter of feet across your floor. You open one eye since you are too tired to open them both,(and you're pretty sure that your left eye had frozen shut) and you see Ponyboy walking awkwardly toward your bed. You glance down at his feet and see that he had about ten pairs of socks on. His cheeks, nose, and ears are bright red and with the dumb looking wool hat he had on he kind of reminds you of an elf.
He sees you watching him. "Darry, it's cold."
"I'm aware."
"Can I sleep with you and Soda?"
"Go sleep with mom and dad," you tell him.
"Please?"
Soda is awake now and he sits up to see what's going on. "Hey Pony. Wanna sleep with us?"
Pony nods and when Soda lays back down his tongue pokes out of his blue lips. You heave a heavy sigh and tell Soda to scoot over. Pony snuggles in between the two of you, his head on Soda's shoulder. "You know, normal kids don't sleep with their older brother," you say so that they are aware of how annoyed you are.
"Guess we aren't normal then," Soda replies with a shrug. "Besides, it's Christmas. Family time and all that. You should be grateful for this quality time with your brothers."
He sounds so much like your mother that you want to barf. But you're pretty sure if you barfed it would freeze before making it to the ground, so instead you opt for closing your eyes and trying to focus on anything other than the cold.
The next time you wake up there is light seeping through the blinds on the window. You can hear your parents in the living room.
"Darrel it's freezing!" Your mother complains.
"I know. Just let me get this fire started Molly."
"The tree lights are out. Nothing is turning on. We don't have power."
"The storm probably knocked a power line over."
"And it's still snowing. It's about up to the windows! We might now have power all day. How are we supposed to make breakfast? How are we supposed to watch 'It's a Wonderful Life'? How are we going to have Christmas?"
"We'll be fine Molly. We can have cereal since we don't want the milk to go bad and we can have cold ham sandwiches with the leftovers from last night. And we don't need to watch a movie to have Christmas. The boys don't even like it anyway." That's true. Your father doesn't like the movie either. Your mother loves it though, so every year all of you are forced to sit down and watch with her.
"But it's tradition Darrel."
"Traditions, additions, submissions." You can tell just by the way he talks your father is rolling his eyes. "Everything will be fine. We can still have Christmas. Trust me, Molly Bell." Dad would sometimes call Mom by her first and middle name. Usually when she was stressed or tired or something was going wrong. Mom had told you that he started calling her that when they were dating. Dad said he liked her name, that it sounded good. He said he liked the way it rolled off his tongue. "Why don't you go wake up the kids. I'll finish up with the fire."
You can hear the sound of your mother's quite footsteps walking down the hall. Dad always said she walked as if babies were sleeping. Dad said she walked light because she had been a dancer, but she claims it's just the way she walks. You don't know who's right, but you do know that even when she's in heels, her feet don't make much sound.
The mouse-like steps made their way to your room and the door creaked open. You hear your mother sigh and she whisper-yells, "Darrel, you have to see this!" The heavy footsteps of your father approach and he says, "Well ain't that something. Packed together like bunnies trying to keep warm."
Now as a thirteen-year-old you did not appreciate being compared to a bunny, nor did you appreciate that your parents had found you sleeping with your little brothers. You keep your eyes closed and lay completely still so they think you're sleeping.
"Wake up boys!" Your father yells. "It's Christmas!"
You open your eyes a crack and send a glare his way. Well, as much of a glare as you could muster within the frigid, early hours of the morning. "Yeah. It's also negative a hundred degrees."
He flashes you a smile. "We're getting that sorted out, Junior." Soda and Pony shuffle beside you.
Mom comes over and reaches across you to shake them awake. "Wake up. There's snow falling, and there is a fire waiting for you all."
Ponyboy opens his eyes and looks around as if he's trying to figure out where he is. Once he realizes he's not in an igloo but in your room, he grins wide, almost like Soda, and says, "Merry Christmas!"
"Merry Christmas, Pony," Mom says. "Wake your brother up."
Pony decided that the best way to wake up his older brother on Christmas morning was to throw the covers to the foot of the bed and begin jumping like a madman. "Soda! Soda!" He cries. "Wake up! It's Christmas!"
"I know it's Christmas," Soda mumbles. "Feels like I'll be spending it on a ship in a storm."
"Yeah, kid. Quit yer jumping," you say.
"Keeps me warm."
"Go keep warm somewhere else then." Everyone in the room picks up the annoyance in your voice.
"Darry, be nice," Mom tells you. "Pony, please stop jumping." There was no point in telling him that. He had stopped right after he heard the snip of your voice. Your dad peels his back from the doorway and walks over to his family.
"I think there's presents for you out there," he says with a crooked smile. "But there's one thing missing."
"What is it?" Pony asks.
Dad puts a finger on his chin and looks around the room with a serious expression on his face. He snaps his fingers. "I've got it!" He then grabbed Pony by the waist and slung him over his shoulder. "You'll look perfect under the tree!"
"Put me down!" Pony shrieks through laughter. Your father carried him out of the room and Soda hopped out of bed to follow.
"Come on, Darry. It's warmer in the living room."
"I'm good," you tell your mother and close your eyes.
She kisses your forehead. Her lips are cold. "Get up."
"Don't feel like it," you grumble.
"Oh, bah humbug. You've left me no choice Mr. Grinch." You have no idea what she's talking about until you can feel both of her ice cold hands on your neck. You swat them away.
"Fine. I'm coming. Spare me your ice fingers."
"Your Highness, Molly Bell," Dad calls from the living room. "The king and his noble knights await the presence of her majesty. Come forth with the peasant!"
"One moment! This peasant is quite stubborn!" She looks down at you. "I'll spare you my ice fingers since the punishment of the king is far worse. On second thought, maybe he'll let you live since it's Christmas."
And so you join your family in the living and have the most memorable Christmas of your childhood. There's cereal, ham sandwiches, and candy canes to eat. Mom told the story of the birth of Jesus even though you all had heard it the night before at church. You watched the snowflakes fall from the sky and cover the world. Your father told the story of 'It's a Wonderful Life' since you couldn't watch it. He was an excellent storyteller. He had a different voice for each character and his arms went wild as he told the story from his recliner. It was way better than the movie. You played Monopoly and Go Fish and had endless arm wrestling matches. The whole day was spent in the living room with your family, crowed around the fire.
Mom had always called the blizzard of 1958 a blessing in disguise, and you guess in a way, it was. You were never forced to watch 'It's a Wonderful' life again.
But Heaven only knows
That packages and bows
Can never heal a heartached human soul
It seems strange that the least memorable part of Christmas 1958 was the presents. You remembered every detail about that Christmas, but not what you got. Your family was never rich, so Christmases, when your parents could afford to get gifts, were special. But that year the twenty-fifth was special for a different reason. You guess that proves your parents were right. It wasn't the presents, but the people you were with.
You figure that applies to lots of things, not just the holidays. Presents can't fix people, but people can fix people. You've been so concerned about being able to get your brothers gifts this year. It was something you wanted to do to distract them. But maybe the best gift you could give them was you. Maybe that's what they needed. Maybe they needed more than you buying food and paying the mortgage. Maybe if you wanted the real them, you'd have to give them the real you.
None of you would stop feeling the pain of losing your parents, but maybe you could make the pain more bearable. You've all been somewhat broken ever since your parents died, and the holidays are breaking you even more. Maybe you all need to stop relying on yourselves. Maybe you need to help fix each other.
No more lives torn apart
That wars would never start
And time would heal all hearts
Christmas was always the happiest time in the Curtis household Your mother always went crazy with decorations and desserts. From the day after Thanksgiving to the twenty-fifth she was preparing. Almost every day she would be in the kitchen baking pies or cookies or fruitcake. She always thought of another person to give Christmas food to, and she was always sending you and Soda to the neighbor's houses to bring them cookie tins and handmade Christmas cards. There was never any downtime during the holiday season at your house.
One of your favorite things you did every year was the Christmas Eve dinner. When you were younger the Matthews and the Randles would come over. When you all met Johnny he was added to the list of guest, and later on so was Dallas. When Steve was eleven, his mother passed away and his father didn't want to come to the dinners anymore, but your mother always made sure that Steve would be able to come over. Mr. Matthews had only come to two dinners over the years, so when he left no one really noticed his absence. In the most recent years, it's just been the guys, Mrs. Matthews, and Susan.
You don't know if you'll be having a Christmas Eve feast this year. If you did, you would need to ask Miss Katie for help and you don't want to bother her. Even if you do have it this year, nothing will seem right. Your parent's chairs will be empty and then there will be the absence of Johnny and Dallas. You guess Dallas wouldn't mind missing it. He never wanted to come to the dinners, but your mother always insisted he come. If he didn't then she would go out and drag him to your house. He didn't believe her threat one year, and she showed up to pull him out of Buck's. Your tiny mother dragging a hood out of Buck's bar was a sight to be seen on Christmas Eve.
She flings open the door of Buck's and barges right in with you and Two-Bit are right behind her. "Where would he be?" She asks over the loud music.
"Probably pool or bar," Two-Bit informs her.
"Show me."
Two-Bit places a hand on her back and helps her weave through a sea of hoods. You walk right behind them and keep an eye out for trouble. Now that you're here you're glad that your dad forced you to go along with your mother in search of Dallas Winston. You're also glad that Two-Bit offered to come. He knew his way around better than you did, and you can't imagine what could happen to your mom if she had shown up alone.
There's a couple of pool tables and a bunch of people have games going on. You glance over the crowd and tell Two-Bit that Dallas isn't there. He nods and leads you guys over to the bar. At first, you hang back, searching the row of people, and eventually your eyes land on a head of shaggy, snow-like hair. You put a hand on your mom's shoulder and point. "Over there. With Tim Shepard."
She nods and takes a deep breath. She straightens up, trying to look as tall and intimidating as possible. For your five-foot-three mother, this is impossible, but you guess the look on her face makes up for it. You've only seen your mother seething three times by your sixteenth birthday, and this event added a fourth. She shrugged you and Two-Bit off, and marched over to Dally. He had his back to her and he jumped when she flicked his ear. You've had your fair share of ear flickings, and you've never figured out how you mother's soft hands turn into weapons as she lets her pointer finger fly from her behind thumb and onto an ear. One time a flicking left your ear bright red, and you couldn't sleep on your left side for three days.
Dallas and Tim Shepard turn around at the same time. Dally's eyes go wide when he sees your mother. He glances past her and when he sees you and Two-Bit he rolls his eyes. "Can I help you?" He asks, snip in his voice. His face is red and any dumb human would be able to tell how mad he was. Even at fourteen, the hood had a reputation, and a middle age woman showing up at a bar to scold him like she was his mother did not fall into the criteria he was known for. It certainly didn't help that Tim Shepard, Tulsa's second most wanted, was sitting right beside him.
"What're you doing here?" You mother demanded, hands on her hips.
"Enjoying a drink. What're you doing here?"
"Getting you. Get off that stool and walk your sorry a** to the car." Whenever your mother started cursing, she was serious, and you would advise any fool to listen.
However, Dallas was dumber than a fool, and he just shrugged, rolling his eyes. "Make me."
She took another step towards him and leaned in, her forehead only centimeters away from his. You and Two-Bit moved closer. You couldn't hear what she said to him, but whatever it was, it made him shut up and follow her. She held onto his arm as she leads him to the front door, and he kept his head down as people watched and whispered. It took everything in you not to burst out laughing at how pathetic he looked. "Looks like a five-year-old that got caught in the cookie jar," Two-Bit said with a laugh. "Never thought I'd see the day were that criminal got dragged out of a bar with rosy red cheeks."
"I kinda feel bad for him," you admitted. "Imagine if that happened to me or you."
"I'd handle it with grace."
"Yeah right." You roll your eyes. "You'd probably tell everyone that the older lady only dragged you away 'cause she wanted to have some fun."
"I'd only say that if she was blond," Two-Bit said with a grin. "I wonder what they're all gonna say to him the next time he shows up."
"It'll probably be all over the city by tomorrow."
"'Tulsa's Most Wanted, Dragged Out of Buck's With His Tail Between his Legs.' That'll make a great headline. Bestselling story of the year. But people will probably forget by next week." Two-Bit shook his head with a sigh. "Time sure does make people forget the good stuff."
"Or it can make them remember the bad stuff."
Two-Bit clicked his tongue. "Why you gotta be so negative Darry? Time fixes things."
"Like what?"
"Well, I don't really care that my dad is gone anymore. And my mom and sister are fine too. I'm sure one day time will fix something for you."
"Why am I having a deep conversation with you as we watch a hood get dragged out of Buck's?"
Two-Bit slapped you on the back. "I'm always up for a serious conversation, man. But maybe you're right. We should be laughing about Dal right now. Or calling the reporters or something. Think they'll pay us for giving them a story?" You laugh and shake your head as you walk out of the bar.
At the time, the conversation had seemed meaningless. You didn't even remember it until Two-Bit brought up the 'Dally Drag' a few months ago. That's what the guys had started calling the event as soon as they heard about it. But lately, you've been thinking a lot about it. Two-Bit could be really wise if he wanted to be. He was right, time did fix things. It hasn't yet, but maybe one day you'll be able to remember your parents without it hurting so much. Maybe one day Christmas will be a reason to celebrate instead of drowning in your sorrow. You can only hope that the wise words of Two-Bit will eventually be proven true.
And everyone would have a friend
And right would always win
And love would never end, no
This is my grown up Christmas list
When you were growing up, you always hated being the oldest. Your parents would tell you that it was an important role and whatever, but you always saw being the oldest as a chore. You always had to watch your brothers when your parents went out, you had to be responsible, your dad always called you first when he needed help with something, you had to set a good example, you had to be responsible, you had to watch out for your brothers, you were forced to go with them to the park even though you were so much older and had outgrown the park. You had to let them sleep with you when they were scared, you had literally done everything. Sometimes you felt like you were the one raising your brothers instead of your parents, but now that you actually are the one raising them, you realize how much they had done. You don't look at being the older brother like it's a chore anymore; you look at it as a responsibility. Because that's what it is. It's your responsibility to take care of them now. You thought being an older brother was hard, but being a brother, guardian, parent, and provider- that job could just about kill you. It hasn't yet though, so hopefully, you'll make it to Ponyboy's eighteenth birthday.
You never were responsible for just your brothers though, it was the gang too. They were all yours to take care of. You were always constantly watching out for them, making sure to stop all dumb decisions possible.
"Darry you're walking too fast," Soda complains.
"It ain't my fault y'all are slow pokes."
"You're the one that made us carry the sleds," Steve grumbled.
"Yeah, 'cause you are the ones going sledding. I don't even want to be here." You walk even faster just to annoy them.
"Why not?" Soda asks.
"The last thing I want to do on my last day of break is take two ten-year-olds Squeaky's Hill to go sledding."
"Sorry, we're such a burden. We can go by ourselves," Steve said. You knew he was trying to get rid of you, but you wouldn't let that happen. As much as you didn't want to be with them, you couldn't leave. You promised your dad that they'd get home in one piece. If you left those two together, one or the other was bound to do something stupid, and you'd be the one to get in trouble for it.
You don't answer Steve, nor do you talk the whole way to Squeaky's Hill. You ignore the complaints that come from the younger boys as they struggle up the hill with the sleds, and you refuse to help them. Dad always made you carry your sled when you wanted to come up here, so you made them do the same.
A lot of other elementary kids have decided to spend their last day of break sledding, so once you get to the top of the hill it's already full of people. There are tons of sled tracks and footprints going up and down, and it's really loud.
"Don't sled to close to other people," you tell the boys. "And stay away from the pond once you get to the bottom. It might look like it's frozen, but the ice is thin. Got it?"
"Got it," Soda replies, saluting to you like a solider. Steve only nods. You let them run off and you find a tree stump to sit on. It's in the perfect location so you can see the entire hill. From there you'll be able to keep an eye on the boys the whole time, no matter where they are.
You watch they sled down and climb back up over and over again. You can't believe that you used to enjoy doing this. What's the point of using energy to go down if you'll have to use even more energy to go back up, only to do it all over again?
"Hey, Darry." You look up in search of the voice and see Paul Holden standing beside you. "Were you forced to come here too?"
You nod. "Yeah. My dad made me bring my brother and his friend." You and Paul aren't best friends or anything, but you can deal with him. He's not like all the other rich snobs.
"My mom made me bring my little brother and sister. It's the last day of break and we're stuck here."
"Yeah. It sucks." You put your chin in your hands and breathe onto them. It's cold and you forgot to wear gloves. You see Steve and Sodapop making their way back up the hill.
"Wanna have some fun?" Paul asks.
"Doing what?"
"I know this hill ain't anything special, but I'll race you to the bottom. Loser buys hot chocolate for the winner and the younger kids." If you lose, you'll have to buy hot chocolate for five people, and you don't know if you have enough change in your pocket for that. However, you're pretty good at sledding and you are bored out of your mind.
"Deal." You stick out your frozen hand and Paul shakes it. Soda and Steve reach the top of the hill then. "I'm racing Paul. Don't do anything stupid," you tell them, and you walk with Paul over to his siblings who let you use their sleds.
"On your mark, get set...Go!" Paul's younger brother sends you off and pretty soon you are flying down Squeaky's Hill. You look over your shoulder and see Paul is only a few feet behind. You lean forward to make the sled go faster. The wind in stinging your face, you can barely see, and you almost fly forward when your sled goes over a bump, but you make it to the bottom first. You grin and hold the sled high above your head.
"Sucks for you," you tell Paul.
He laughs. "Looks like I'll be spending my Christmas money on hot chocolate for all." He rolls his eyes, but he's a good sport and shakes your hand. "Why don't we round up the kids and go right now. I'm freezing my tail off."
"Good idea." Paul walks off to get his siblings and you search the crowd for Soda and Steve. You can't see them anywhere. When Paul gets back to you, you ask if he saw them. He tells you he didn't so you start looking. You're about to climb back up the hill when Paul says, "Do you hear that?"
At first, you don't, but as you listen closer you can make out someone screaming your name. "It's coming from that way," Paul informs you and he leads you closer to the screams. The closer you get, the louder they are, and the more panicked they sound.
"Help! Darry! Darry! Help!" Finally, the screams are clear as day and you see Soda standing at the bank of the pond. You rush over with Paul and his siblings on your tail.
"What's wrong?"
Soda is crying and he has trouble getting the words out, "Steve. He- his sled. He wanted to get it. I told him not to. I- I- sorry..." his voice trailed off and you hugged him as your eyes searched for Steve.
"Uh, Darry," Paul taps your shoulder and points out over the pond. That's when you notice a sled on the ice and a hole right beside it. You squint and you can see a hand bobbing in the water. The wooden sled belongs to Steve.
Without even thinking you let go of Soda and take off your jacket and your sweatshirt, trying to make yourself as light as possible. "You can't go out there, Darry. It's too dangerous. We should call 911," Paul says.
"He won't live that long," you say as you take off your belt. Steve can't swim. He lacks the ability to stay afloat in water for over ten minutes, not to mention the water is freezing.
"Darry, you've gotta save him!" Soda cries. "He- he can't...It's my fault!"
"Soda I need you to calm down. I'll get him. I promise." You place one foot on the ice and press down. Nothing, not even a crack appears. You place your other foot down and you stand there for a couple seconds. You slowly lower yourself to your knees and then lay the whole way down on your stomach.
"Darry, this isn't a good idea," Paul warns. You block him out. You block everything out. You use up all your concentration on making your way to Steve. You army crawl, placing one arm in front of the other, holding onto the belt in your right hand. In your long sleeve shirt and jeans, you are freezing, but you don't have time to think about how cold you are. You need to get to Steve.
After what feels like years, your about a yard away from the hole. You inch forward another foot and stop, afraid that if you go any farther the ice will break. Steve is treading, but his body is giving up and he bobs under the water every few seconds. Every time his head is above the surface he gasps for air. "Steve! I'm here. It's Darry. I need you to grab onto this!" You throw the belt over the edge of the hole, hanging onto the buckle with a monster grip. Steve fumbles to grab the belt. His teeth are chattering so hard that he can't say anything. He gets it with one hand. "Both hands, buddy. Come on!" He grabs onto it with his other hand and you begin to scoot back on your stomach. Steve's grip isn't strong enough and he loses the belt. The sudden loss of weight your pulling surprises you and you drop the belt. It sinks down into the water. Steve is struggling to stay above water and you crawl over to the edge of the hole. You reach down and grab his arms.
"Stop moving, Steve. I got you." You crawl backward and eventually, Steve is out of the water. You hear the ice crack. Your mind is racing and the only thing you can think about is how you need to get out of there as fast as possible. You stand up and then pick up Steve. The ice cracks more.
"Hurry Darry!" Paul yells from the shore. "Go right! The ice is thicker!" So you begin walking right. You don't look at Steve who is shivering in your arms; you only look at the stretch of ice ahead of you. The ice continues to break. "Darry, you gotta run! You ain't gonna make it if you don't!" You don't think you'll make it if you do either, but you listen to Paul and take off. Once your foot goes through the ice and you figure you're a goner, but somehow you manage to keep going and you make it to safety. You can't even comprehend what's happening as you place Steve into Soda's sled.
Steve's is shivering, his teeth are chattering, and his face is blue from the cold. He's coughing up water and you peel off his soaked through jacket and put your sweatshirt on him. "Give me your coat, Soda." He hands it to you and you put it on Steve, followed by your own jacket. You aren't about to take off Steve's pants, so you peel off his boots and socks. "Boots, Soda." He doesn't even question you as he pulls off his boots and replaces them with Steve's. All of Steve's clothing is dry except his pants and you tell Soda to push the sled as you pull it.
"Where're you going?" Paul asks, following you with his siblings.
"Home."
"That's too far. My dad is in his car about five minutes from here. Come on." And so you drag the sled and Steve over to Mr. Holden's car. He offers to take you to the hospital, but you figure since he's not dead or passed out, your parents will be able to take care of him, so he drives you and Soda home. As soon as the car pulls into the driveway, Soda jumps out to get your parents, and you pick up Steve and run up the porch steps without even thanking Mr. Holden for the ride.
The moment you enter the house, you dad takes Steve from you and your mother rushed around to help him. Soda stays with Steve the whole time and your dad tells you to keep Pony in his room. Pony keeps asking you what's going on, but you only tell him Steve's sick. You entertain Pony for about four hours before your parents enter the room.
You jump up off the floor. "Is he okay?"
"He's sleeping now in Soda's bed," your mother tells you. Then both of your parents are silent and you figure they're trying to figure out how to begin laying into you, telling you how you should've been paying attention, and how it's your fault, and that something like this would've never happened if you didn't take your eyes off of the boys.
You decided to get a word in before they do. "Look, I'm really sorry. I know I should've kept a closer eye on them and I know that this is my fault and-" Your surprised when your mother wraps her arms around you.
"It's not your fault Darry. Not at all. Soda told us what you did. You saved him. None of this is your fault."
Your father came over and patted you on the back. "You did good today, Darry. I'm pretty sure Steve appreciates having a friend like you."
"More like an older brother," your mom says as she pulls away. "Thank you."
After that, you didn't mind being the oldest as much as you used to. Sure it was still annoying that you had to do everything, but after that day at Squeaky's Hill, you realized how important your role was. Maybe that's part of the reason you decided to take custody of your brothers. Maybe if you had never saved Steve, you wouldn't have ever looked at your role in a different light. Steve's thanked you for saving him from the pond, but maybe you should be the one thanking him for falling into it. Without him doing that, you may have been too scared to take on your brothers. Maybe instead of living at home, your brothers would be separated and living states away from you. It's strange to say that Steve falling into a pond paved the way for your brother's future, but maybe, just maybe, it's true.
What is this illusion called the innocence of youth
Maybe only in our blind belief can we ever find the truth
Sometimes you can't believe that at one point in time you actually thought Santa was real. Who was stupid enough to believe in a man that lived in the North Pole with short people that had pointy ears and made toys for children all year? Who would believe that reindeer were able to fly? Who would believe that one man and his magical reindeer could fly around the earth in one night, delivering gifts to every single child? How would all of those gifts even fit onto a sleigh? How could a fat man fit through a chimney? If he made it through the chimney, how did he not die from the fire below? What if someone didn't have a chimney? Did he just break in through a window or the front door? How did he know what every child wanted and who they were? How could he be in five different places in town at the same time? How did he even survive in the North Pole?
Children are always asking so many questions. Questions that adults would never think to ask. Questions that adults don't know how to answer. Why don't children question the existence of Santa? Why didn't you question the existence of Santa? How could you have been so stupid to believe in such a man? That's what you wondered when you were a teenager, but now as an adult, you realize something. You weren't stupid. You were just innocent. All kids are born innocent. Some lose their innocence faster than others. Some are exposed to the truth of the world too soon, but everyone starts out innocent.
Kids don't think about the future or where they might go the next day. They don't care where life takes them because they don't realize the things life can do to them. They don't realize that everything they love could be taken away. They don't realize that one day they will have to grow up and face the world alone. They don't realize that one day their innocence will be taken away. That's dangerous. Because if you don't know your innocence is going to be taken away, once it is you won't be ready, and you'll be thrown into a ball of fire, and if you aren't careful, you'll get burned.
You feel bad for kids. It's so easy to manipulate them. It doesn't take that much convincing for them to believe in something adults tell them. They are quick to jump on and agree with the idea of Santa Claus and the tooth fairy. It's so easy for them to believe people when they tell them that everything will be okay. It's easy for them to get back up when they fall. They have everything, and then one day their innocence is stripped and they have nothing. You feel bad for them, but you also envy them. You would do anything to be a kid again. To have your parents back. To play football. To think that you heard sleigh bells at midnight. To not have to worry about bills or work or raising two teenage boys. To not be concerned about how you are going to survive Christmas, the most wonderful time of the year.
You would give anything to be innocent again.
No more lives torn apart
That wars would never start
And time would heal all hearts
And everyone would have a friend
And right would always win
And love would never end, no
"Darry?" Your youngest brothers voice breaks you from your trance.
"I don't know what I'd ask him for if he was real," you tell him. That's a lie. You know exactly what you would ask the fantasy fat man for, but you don't feel up to explaining it all to Ponyboy. You stand up and stretch, cracking your back. "Let's go inside. Soda'll get home just fine."
He follows you inside and sits on the couch opening a book. You smile and shake your head. The kid always has his nose in a book. You sit down and reach for the paper, but as you try to read the sports section, you can't focus. The empty corner and the bare mantle stick out like hot dogs in a fancy restaurant. The day after Thanksgiving your mom would have both of those spots filled with decorations. Now here you were, two weeks before Christmas and the spots were bare.
You throw the paper down on the coffee table and get up. Pony doesn't move. You walk over to the attic door and head up the steps. When you pull the string that turns the lights on, you have to blink multiple times because it's so dim. As you search for a certain box you cough up a storm because of all the dust accumulating in your throat. When you finally find the box you're looking for, you pick it up and give the attic a once over. The last time you were up here was when you packed away all of your parent's things a month after they died. Ponyboy didn't want you to get rid of it, so you stashed it up here. You pull yourself away before you start going through everything and go back downstairs.
The box makes a loud thud against the coffee table and Pony finally looks up from his book. He stares at the box for about five minutes before he gives you a confused glance. "Don't look at me like that. Mom would've had this out weeks ago."
"Yeah," he agrees, reaching forward and running his hand over the top of the wooden chest. Dust is left on his hand and he wipes it on his jeans. "I used to love this when I was a kid. It was my favorite part of Christmas."
You nod remembering how excited he would get when your dad brought the nativity chest down. It was a four by five wooden chest that your father had carved a stable and a star into on the top. On the sides, he had carved stable animals, and on the front, there was a manger with baby Jesus. He had made it for you mom for their second Christmas together. Inside the box was the gift that he had given her on their first Christmas together.
Pony looks up at you, almost as if he is asking permission. You nod letting him know it's okay. He flips the latch and pushes the lid up. Inside there is a custom slot for each piece of the nativity. You reach in and pull out Mary; your mom had always pulled her out first. You turn her over in your hand and rub your thumb on the smooth wood. Your father had carved each and every piece of the nativity set.
Before he was a roofer, your dad was a carpenter. When your mom used to complain that he wouldn't go to church with her, he would say, "I don't need church, Molly Bell. I'm already following the path of Jesus." You mother would sigh and shake her head, but she wouldn't argue because she never argued with anything in the bible.
"Mom always got Mary first because she would start the story with her," Pony said looking at the piece in your hands. You nod, remembering when you were little and helped your mom put up the nativity. That job was passed down to Soda and soon after that, Pony. You hadn't arranged it in so long that you weren't quite sure where to start, but you remembered that your mom always started with Mary.
You bounce up and down excitedly as your mother opens the nativity chest. This is your favorite part of Christmas right next to decorating the tree. Mom pulls out Mary from the chest. She is sitting on her knees, right in front of you and your two-year-old brother, Soda. "Now boys, listen carefully," she tells you in a quiet voice. She always started the story the same way. "The story of baby Jesus starts out with a young girl named Mary," she holds up the figure and then hands it to you. You hold Mary very carefully and Soda leans on you to get a better look. You turn Mary in your tiny hand so Soda can see every part of her.
"An angel of the Lord came to Mary one day and told her that she was to have a son, and he would be the son of God. Mary asked how that could be, and the angel told her that God had placed the baby in her stomach."
"Like baby in tummy?" Soda asks pointing at the small bump in your mother's mid-section. She had been about three months along with Ponyboy at the time.
"Yes, Soda. Mary was going to have a baby just like I'm going to."
"How you know? Angel?"
Your mother laughed. "No sweetie. Momma didn't see an angel and this baby certainly isn't the son of God." She looks over to your father who is sitting in the recliner half watching, half reading the paper. He grins at her with his crooked smile and she rolls her eyes.
"How baby get there?"
Your mom bit her bottom lip. Your father laughed. "Momma and Dad love each other so much, that there was extra love, and all that extra love turned into a baby," your father tells him. Soda nods like it makes sense, but you don't really know if you should believe your father. He likes telling stories, some that aren't true, but you don't question it because your mother pulls out Joesph and continues with the story.
"Now Mary was supposed to get married to Joesph, the father of baby Jesus."
"But baby God's son," Soda interrupts.
"But Joesph is the dad on earth 'cause God is up in heaven. Jesus needed a dad on earth," you tell him like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"That's right, Darry. Joesph was Jesus' earthly father. Now Joesph and Mary made their way to the town of Bethlehem..."
You and Soda listen intently as your mother tells you the rest of the story. She lets you hold each figure from the box and then she places them on the mantle, continuing to story as she grabs another piece from the box. Soda asks lots of questions and you're about ready to yell at him, but Mom just answers each one patiently. Dad doesn't have any input the rest of the time, but you know he is listening and watching your mother just like you are. Eventually, the whole set is sitting on the mantle. All except the angel. You don't let her put it up because the angel is your favorite.
The wings on the angel were large and each feather was carved perfectly. The hair cascades down to the waist in bunches of swirls. The angel's arms are angled downward, and the hands are facing palms out like the angel is explaining to the shepherds that a child of the Lord had just been born. The angel is the only figure with a face. The nose is rounded, the eyes are perfectly symmetrical, and the corners of the mouth are turned upward slightly. There was something about the look of the angel that made you feel safe. It looked so peaceful and welcoming and, well, angelic. You asked your mom if you could put the angel in your room.
"Why do you want it in your room?"
"So it can protect me."
"Why don't we put it on the mantle? Then it can watch the whole house and protect all of us," she offers. You think it sounds pretty good because everyone else deserves to be protected too.
You let her place the angle right behind the manager with baby Jesus inside. Mary is standing on the right side of the manger, and Joesph is on the left. They are both looking down at their son, or rather the son of God. "Do you think Mary was scared, Mama?"
"Scared?"
"Yeah. You said she was young. And she was carrying the son of God inside of her. And then she had to give birth in a stable of animals. Don't you think it would be scary?"
Your mother sits down next you on the couch and looks you in the eye. "She was young. In fact, she was a teenager. I'm sure it must've been a little bit scary, but she was brave anyway. She knew what she was doing was important. And that's probably all that mattered to her. She probably just focused on what was in front of her and took it little by little. When you do that, there's no reason to be afraid."
You turn Mary over in your hand one more time before placing her on the mantle. You turn and watch Ponyboy search the box. He pulls out Joesph and gets up to place him on the mantle. You both stand and stare at the two figure for awhile and then you say, "I guess we best put the rest up there. It'll look pretty odd if they are the only ones." Pony nods in agreement and you spend the next half hour setting the figures up and retelling the story of the baby's birth. The story lacked all the details from your mother and the snide remarks from your father, but the basics were said. Mary was to have a baby. Her and Joesph went to Bethlehem. The baby was born in a stable. Angels, wise men, shepherds. You both got the gist of it. As you picked up the angel from the box, Soda burst through the door.
"You'll never believe what happened..." His voice drifts off. He looks to you then Ponyboy and then the manger scene. He has a strange look on his face and you're worried that he's put off by it. That he's not ready or maybe he's upset you put it up without him. But then he smiles wide and his eyes are sparkling. "I thought y'all weren't ever gonna put this thing up."
"Sorry we did it without you," Pony says looking at his hands. You guess he feels guilty like you.
Soda slaps him on the back. "I don't care man. Never was my favorite thing anyway. I'm just glad you guys put it up. There's been no talk of Christmas all month, and I was beginning to think you didn't want to celebrate it at all."
This is my grown up Christmas list
This is my only lifelong wish
The rest of the night is spent in the living room. You and your brothers watch TV and eat leftovers on the couch. During a commercial, you turn to Soda. "I was thinking we should go looking for a tree tomorrow."
Soda nods, shoveling food into his mouth. "Sounds good."
Pony is stirring the food on his plate, not really eating it. Getting the tree was always something Soda, Dad, and you did together. Ponyboy never went along. He would stay home and make cookies and Christmas cards with your mom. You guess he was feeling a bit left out. "You can come with us Pony."
He looks up at you, eyebrow raised. "For real?"
You nod. "Yeah. I figure it's about time you get out of the kitchen. Besides, it's a three-person job." It wasn't. That's just something your dad would tell Soda to drag him away from the cookie dough. You and him always did everything while Soda goofed off, but it was better for him to goof off outside than in the kitchen with eggs and mixing bowls.
Pony's eyes light up and he smiles wide, happy to finally be included in the annual Christmas tree chopping. The commercials end and your brothers go back to watching the show. They laugh at all the dumb jokes and make fun of how stupid the actors look. They look really happy sitting there.
If Mary, a teenage girl, was brave enough to give birth to and raise the son of God, then surely you could gather the courage to face the holidays and raise your brothers. You mother told you Mary didn't have time to be afraid because what she was doing was important. Maybe what you're doing isn't as special as what Mary did, but it is the most important thing to you.
You look over to the mantle and your eyes focus in on Mary. The angel used to be your favorite part of the nativity, but now when you think about it, your favorite part is Mary. She reminds you of your mother. She kind of reminds you of yourself. You smile at the thought of comparing yourself to a teenage girl.
You look back to your brothers, cracking jokes and laughing. "I'd ask for everyone to always be happy," you say out loud, finally answering Ponyboy's question.
They are quiet and both give you a funny look. "Huh?" Pony asks.
"The fantasy fat man. If he was real, I'd wish for everyone to always be happy."
Pony grins at you, understanding, and Soda looks at both of you like you're crazy. "Y'all are nuts," he says, going back to the TV. You wink and Pony and he laughs.
"Learned it from you," he says, jabbing Soda in the ribs with his elbow.
"Well, I learned from Superman," Soda tells him, jerking his thumb towards you.
You shrug. "Learned it from Dad."
"Poor Mom," Soda says, shaking his head, "She had to live in a house full of nuts." You are all silent for a second and then burst out laughing in unison. You take a mental picture so you could remember this moment for a long time.
You knew that you and your brothers would be okay. You didn't have to worry about Christmas this year. Eventually, you all would receive the gift of happiness.
This is my grown up Christmas list