April was dead to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register
of her burial was signed by the clergyman, her room mates, the undertaker and the
chief mourner. Roger signed it. And Roger's name was good upon anything he chose
to put his hand to. April was as dead as a doornail. Oh, but she was a tightfisted
hand at the grindstone. A crazy, drinking, slutty little sinner. Hard and sharp
as flint and solitary as an oyster. Roger never scratched out the "AE + RD 4 ever"
that was etched on the kitchen table with a stake knife. There it sat, years afterward
in the old loft. The mention of this reminds me to repeat emphatically that April
was as dead as a doornail. This must be distinctly understood or else nothing wonderful
can come of the tale we are about to relate. Once upon a time, on all good days
of the year. Christmas Eve.
Roger hated Christmas. Always had. Always will. He hated every little thing about
it. He hated the sickeningly fake cheer it brought people. He hated the blinding
lights and decorations scattered all over the city like some 6-year-olds art project
gone awry. He hated the music he heard as he walk down the streets, cold and alone.
As he passed each new building the happy sounds changed. Each one louder and more
annoying than the last.
"Angels we have heard on high. Sweetly singing on the plain-"
"DECK THE HALLS WITH BOUGHS OF HOLLY! FALALALALALALA-"
"Good King Wenceslas looked out on the feast of Stephen. There the snow laid round
about deep and crisp and even! Brightly shone the-"
"Hark the heralds angels sing! Glory to the newborn-"
It surrounded him. Engulfed him in this ugly creepy cheer and he felt himself needing
to get out. Two little children whizzed past him playing some kind of innocent game.
The girl had a large sprig of holly clasped in her chubby fist. Roger stopped and
observed the children chase each other. Nearby a woman with an upturned nose turned
her back on the children while she chattered away on a cell phone. Meanwhile her
kids had decided it would be fun to circle around Roger, laughing and screaming.
Roger growled at the little urchins and yelled at the woman on the phone. "Hey lady!
Control your brats!" The woman didn't even turn around and Roger was trapped on
the sidewalk as the children continued to circle him. "Hey bitch!" The woman flipped
him the bird, and that's when Roger REALLY got angry. He forced his way past the
children and approached the woman. She glanced at him and put her hand on the receiver
of her phone. "This is an important call." She muttered. "Well it ain't my fault
you got knocked up. Control your kids!" He said angry. Sensing anger, the chubby
girl with the holly approached Roger and held the holly out to him. He growled at
her and she screamed and ran behind her mother. Roger continued along the street
muttering angrily to himself.
By some miracle he managed to get home in one piece and without committing a single
murder. He slammed the door of his loft and leaned against it with his eyes closed.
"Tough day?" Mark asked, looking up from his place on the couch. Roger just rolled
his eyes. "I hate Christmas." He muttered. Mark just laughed slightly. Grasped in
his hand was a book. "A Christmas Carol" was written on the front in gold lettering.
He placed it down on the couch and stood, making his way over to Roger. He placed
his hand on his shoulder and smiled. "Well I'm sorry that I won't be able to stay
here and listen to you whine, but the party starts in an hour. Are you sure you
don't want to-" "No!" Roger cut him off. "I hate Christmas and I hate Maureen. Just
go without me." Mark nodded. He'd been trying to convince him to go for the last
three days. With Mimi going to visit her sister in Spanish Harlem and Mark spending
the night at Maureen's place, Roger was going to be alone until the day after Christmas.
Mark was just a little worried. He'd have to trust Roger though. Trust that he'd
be okay by himself. He let go of his shoulder and wandered into the bedroom to get
dressed. Roger sat on the couch and shouted to Mark.
"I don't understand why you're wasting your time with this. Its such a stupid holiday."
"You don't mean that Roger."
"I do! Merry Christmas." The words made him cringe. "We have no food, no medicine,
no heat. What right do you have to be merry?"
Mark poked his head out the door. "What right have you to be morose." He smirked.
Roger glared at him and Mark sighed softly. "Don't be angry Roger."
"What else can I be when I live in a city of idiots? Merry Christmas. Fuck Merry
Christmas!"
"Roger…"
"Mark, celebrate Christmas in your way and let me celebrate it in mine."
"Celebrate it?" He asked incredulously. "But you don't celebrate it."
"Then let me leave it alone! Much good it's ever done you." He replied coldly. Roger
glared at him again, letting his words sink in. How could Mark be so cheery when
with every passing day, the weather got colder and food got scarcer?
Mark sighed and came out of the bedroom, dressed in a red and green sweater and
a pair of jeans. "Last chance?" He said softly, praying that Roger would just get
out of the loft and be with people.
"No." He said coldly and Mark nodded.
"Well…Merry-" Roger growled warningly. "Goodnight." With that Mark left the loft.
Roger sat on the couch and picked up the book that Mark had left behind. It was
one he'd heard about, seen numerous TV specials for it, but the story never really
sunk in with him.
He started reading until he heard a faint knock on the door followed by the entrance
of his girlfriend. She smiled at him faintly and sat beside him on the couch, not
speaking. "You'll be back tomorrow?" He asked softly. "Day after that." She replied.
Roger frowned. "Do you have to?"
"If its convenient."
"Its not convenient and its not fair!" He muttered.
"Roger, she's my sister."
"Fine whatever." He muttered.
Mimi placed a soft kiss on his lips and hurried towards the door. "Merry Christmas."
He rolled his eyes. "Bye Meems."
Roger sunk back into the couch and glanced at the book. He considered picking it
up again and then decided to just forget about it. He closed his tired eyes and
was soon asleep. Not twenty minutes had passed before Roger was awakened by a loud
BOOM! And then another, like a giants footsteps.
"Rooooooooger." He heard. Roger shoot up and glanced around the room. "Roooooger."
The disembodied voice said again. It seemed so cold it sent icicles through his
heart. "Rooooooooger Davis!!!!!" Roger yelled as a familiar figure appeared before
him. He knew this person but he could not place the name. It was the disfigured
shape of a woman, covered in chains.