Hey all! Long time no see. College has been busy, busy, busy!

Thanks to Coldplay for the song Christmas Lights, which helped me write this.

CHRISTMAS LIGHTS

"Put a hat on, Ponyboy."

Pony's green eyes settle on Darry's from where our oldest brother sits on the couch, pulling on heavy work boots. "Why? Soda ain't wearing a hat!"

"Your ears are gonna freeze with this wind," Darry replies, and with a sharp look at me says, "He can afford a cold – you can't. Not with how sick you've been since Thanksgiving."

I watch as my brother grumbles under his breath and moves over to our coat rack. Though he's almost seven, the kid can't seem to grow another two inches to be able to get his winter coat and hat by himself. Pony looks at me, and Darry does too, both of them wrestling to see if I'll actually do as Darry said. I sigh and shove my winter hood over my hair, watching with half-closed eyes as Pony grunts with the effort of trying to get his hat from the rack. He's jumping now, his fingers just short of grabbing at the small thread of string that's now come out of its seam from how much Darry's made him wear that hat.

Darry mouths a thank you to me as he finishes tying his boot. "Come here, kid," he murmurs to Pony, who's now just stuffed his red hair into his even brighter red cap. The puffball on top makes me chuckle, for when he walks, it bobs up and down. "Lemme help you get your boots tied up before you walk out into that snow without any on."

I smile at his words, knowing how much they remind us all of our father. November had been a difficult month; a month since Mom and Dad died, and our first Thanksgiving having to figure out what to make without the assistance of our parents.

It's been a month, but God, it never gets easier.

Now, December is in full swing, and Darry and I both know how lonely Christmas is going to be. Not so much for us, but for Pony.

Darry cares for Pony more than he does me. And maybe it's just because I'm older, or because I can do most things myself while Pony, though age six, still lacks skill, but I know it's because he wants to be there for Pony. It's as if he's trying to make it seem as if Dad isn't gone; and it isn't hard to do, with Darry looking identical to him and having the same, deep Southern voice that booms when he talks.

"There," Darry's voice brings me back. They've switched places; Pony's sitting on the couch, Darry leaning on one knee with Pony's foot on top, squeezing it into the boot and tying it tight. He pats Pony's knee as a signal to get up and get his stuff to go to school.

"Watch out for him today," I hear Darry muttering to himself as he writes out a letter to Pony's teacher. "I don't know how well he'll be feeling coming back, but if he looks sick or says he isn't feeling well, give me a call. I'll come pick him up."

I hear him fold up the note and quickly shove it in the front of Pony's rocket ship backpack as our brother comes back into the kitchen. Darry stares at him for a moment before leaning down and giving him a kiss on the top of his head. "Be good today," he murmurs.

Pony nods and Darry moves to me. "Don't do anything stupid," he says with a good natured laugh, "But I know it's bound to happen." I can feel him shaking as we embrace. He's scared for us; not for himself, when he probably should be more worried about building roofs than us sitting at school. There's more to go wrong with him; but with us being as young as we are, the focus is on us.

We watch Darry's car disappear through the front window. With Pony's hand in mine, we set off towards school in the snow.

Christmas break comes faster than I want it to.

There's many things to make us happy today. Snow on the ground; pancakes in the morning wafting through the house; our house is decorated from head to toe with Christmas lights, at Pony's begging and Darry's doing.

Pony's been screaming in Darry's ear about going to see Santa at the mall. "Apparently, that's all he wants to do today," Darry says as we do laundry.

"We have more important things to do," I hold on the shirt I've been "ironing" for the last ten minutes for emphasis.

Darry laughs and hands me another shirt to work on. "I couldn't exactly say no."

As if he's been summoned by our conversation, Pony comes dashing through the laundry room, nearly knocking the ironing board over. "Come on!" he shouts, running between here and the kitchen. "Let's go already!"

Darry and I sigh in unison, but we grin all the way to the mall.

Ponyboy's already bouncing out of his boots.

"Stop jumping around," Darry warns under his breath, holding his hand out to press it against the top of Pony's puffball.

I nudge Pony playfully. "You're gonna fly away if you keep it up!"

After two hours, we finally manage to stumble up front. Pony's grinning from ear to ear at the fat, old lump that sits in a chair that looks like it could break under his weight. "His beard isn't even the right color," I whisper to Darry as Pony scampers up to him.

"Shut up," Darry says, chuckling at the comment. "His suit isn't exactly the same shade of red."

We don't need to hear "Santa" say anything.

"Can you bring my parents back? That's all I want for Christmas."

I hear Darry whisper something like, "Oh, dear God... no..."

As if we had signs saying We're His Brothers! on top of our heads, he looks right at us. There's pity in his eyes. It's as if every kid was told to shut up at his words, for the entire mall is silent. I can feel the eyes, the pity, the remorse as if it's part of my skin.

"I-I'm sorry, little boy," "Santa" says, "b-but I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"I just can't. I'm sorry."

"You're not Santa! Santa would do it! You're a fake!"

"Pony, come on," I say, my voice cracking on his name. Darry moves to take Pony off of "Santa"'s lap, apologizing for the question and keeping Pony on his hip, we all move to the bathroom. Pony's crying now, tears running down his face in rivets.

I wipe Pony's tears as Darry speaks softly to him. "Honey, why did you ask that? You know that isn't something to ask."

"I-I just wanted y-you to be h-happy," Pony murmurs between sobs. "I thought h-he could really d-do it!"

Darry's eyes are sad as he looks at me. "Pony," he says, his eyes still locked with mine, "Momma and Dad aren't coming back. We've talked about this."

"I thought Santa c-could do anything..."

I suddenly speak, taking all of us by surprise. "He can't, baby. No one can bring them back."

Pony doesn't respond, just rushes forward and buries his face into Darry's neck. "I'm sorry," Pony says over and over again, as if it's his fault our parents won't come back. Darry holds him as Dad used to which only makes him cry.

We sit there until Pony falls asleep in Darry's arms. As we walk back to the car, Darry says to me,

"I told you I couldn't say no."

We drive home in silence, passing through neighborhoods to pass the time, and trying to not let our tears reflect through the bright Christmas lights.