Burns' Sense of Snow
They entered the auditorium and Smithers took to the stage and sat at the grand piano there. He donned a pair of heart-shaped glasses, cracked his knuckles, and hovered his fingers above the keys. "There's nothing I can buy that's worthy of you. So, I wrote you this song. I call it, Our Song." He began playing a delicate, romantic tune and sang:
I'm a little bit dizzy... I'm reeling inside
I'm not good at hiding; Lord knows I have tried
Don't have a fortune but boy if I did
I'd buy us an island or a castle near Madrid
If I was a surfer but then again no
Or a man who pays pensions between writing rondeaux
Oh I know it's not much but it's the best I can do
My gift is my song
And this one's for you
And I won't tell anybody this is our song
Some say it's quite sinful but I know it's not wrong
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind
That I wrote down this verse
Celebrating life since you've been in my world
I lie in my bed and dream of my boss
Well I've weathered your curses, well now I'm at a loss
But I burned quite brightly
While I wrote this song
It's for you, sir, the one who
Makes it burn on
So don't blame me for getting the courage to coo
You see I have tried but I can't seem to get through
Anyway the truth is though you can be mean
You have the sweetest soul I've ever seen
And I won't tell anybody this is our song
Some say it's quite sinful but I know it's not wrong
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind that I wrote down this verse
Celebrating life since you've been in my world
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind that I wrote down this verse
Celebrating life since you've been in my world
Smithers awaited his response with bated breath. "Well, sir? What do you think?"
"Smithers, that...that was so sweet...so sweet I'm shocked it didn't give me diabetes! I've heard better ditties on Folgers commercials. Whatever made you think I'd enjoy such a trite tune?"
"I...I don't know, sir." Smithers winced. "Oh, I've been such a fool! What was I thinking?"
"Clearly you weren't."
Smithers sniffled. "Excuse me, sir. I have to go. I have something in my eye!"
"I've had an eye wash station installed down the hall, twenty-third door to the right." Smithers ran off. "Oh, dear. I've made a terrible mistake! It's the twenty-third door to the left." He ran to the hall entrance. "Smithers! Smithers, I'm afraid I misdirected you..." he said, entering the hallway. Noting that Smithers was nowhere in sight, he said, "Smithers?" He heard a faint whimpering sound emanating from behind his closet door. The closet itself was larger than most master bedrooms, lined with racks of suits, coats, and costumes. Smithers sat curled up between a rack of teal suits and one of navy blue suits, sobbing into his knees. "Smithers...?" He spread the suits to either side, exposing Smithers to his gaze.
"Ah! Mr. Burns! Leave me alone," he said, his voice broken by weepy gasps. "I don't want you to see me like this!"
"Smithers, what is the matter with you?"
Between heaving wails, he said, "N-nothing!"
"This is about what I said about your song, isn't it?" Smithers nodded quietly before bursting into tears again. "For God's sake, man! So I didn't like your song. That's no reason to turn on the waterworks! Why does it bother you so?"
After letting out an anguished, tear-broken sigh, Smithers spat out, "Because I love you and you don't give a damn about me." His pupils narrowed in fear.
After a prolonged silence, Mr. Burns sat beside him and placed his hand on Smithers' shoulder, Smithers' crying easing up into a spate of sniffling gasps. He said, "That's not true. You know that's not true."
"Then prove it."
He ran his hand down Smithers' neck and squeezed his shoulder, causing Smithers to whimper. "For one thing, I wouldn't bother trying to comfort you if I didn't care."
"That's true."
"We have fun together, don't we?"
"That's true."
"I undertook a treacherous journey to Canada to save your life, didn't I?"
"I remember...mmm - I mean, that's true."
"I like you, Smithers. I like you a lot. I guess sometimes I take you for granted. You have always been there for me, and your performance record is so immaculate that sometimes I forget you have the same human frailties as anyone else."
"I do. And...I like you, too, sir. A lot. And I'm not just saying that because you pay my salary."
"I know."
"I just...I poured my heart out into that song, and I really hoped you would like it. I can't stand failing you like that. If I can't even give you a decent present..."
"It was a good present, Waylon."
"But...but I thought you hated it."
"I did at first...but I hate everything at first. I can't get that sentimental melody out of my head, and it's been growing on me. Play it for me again."
"I don't know..."
"Please?"
Smithers smiled. "How could I say no to you?"
Once again seated before the grand piano, Smithers prepared himself to sing again. It was much harder to get into the proper state of mind after his emotional state had been so thoroughly ravaged, but all it took was to focus on Burns' tender touch and words.
"Don't start yet," said Mr. Burns as he got on the stage. "Maybe I just couldn't hear it well enough the first time. My hearing isn't as sharp as it used to be." He climbed on top of the piano and lay there. Smithers stared at him with a smile and serenaded him again. As he concluded his piece, Smithers glanced apprehensively up at him, then after a few seconds with no response, shut his eyes for a moment and looked to the ground. Mr. Burns put his hand around the side of Smithers' neck and shored up a compliment. "Well, it certainly is heartfelt."
"It is, sir."
Mr. Burns' eyes drifted and he aimlessly yet intently looked into the distance. "I don't mind."
"Hm?"
"Your song. You said you hope I don't mind. I don't."
"That means the world to me, Monty."
"I have a present for you, too. Get us some nog, with rum and cognac, and meet me by the fireplace," he said, getting down from the piano. After a few minutes, they met back on the sofa by the fireplace, Smithers with two glasses of spiked eggnog and Mr. Burns with a large box that looked like it was too heavy for him to carry. He set it down on a table by the fire. "I put a lot of thought into this, so you had better like it."
"It's from you; of course I'll like it!"
"Of course," he said as Smithers untied the ribbon, revealing the familiar pink packaging of a Malibu Stacy doll.
"Nuclear Technician Stacy?"
"I know you collect them, but I didn't know which ones you had, so I had them make up a new one. This one isn't even on the shelves yet."
"Oh, Monty, you did that for me?" He hugged Mr. Burns. "Sorry, sir, I just was overcome with emotion."
"As is your propensity."
"This is the best gift I've ever gotten."
"Look in the box. There's more." He reached into the box and pulled out two more doll packages. Doll versions of themselves. Smithers' jaw lowered as he emitted a flabbergasted gasp of awe. "I had these made specially. They are the only ones in existence."
"I'm so conflicted! Do I keep these unique, incredibly valuable dolls mint in box, or do I open them and markedly decrease their value? Oh, who am I kidding? Nothing's more valuable than the enjoyment I'll get from playing with a gift from you." He opened the packaging and moved the Smithers doll, saying, "Thank you for the present, sir." He moved the Burns doll to say, "I'm glad you enjoy it." Then he had them shake hands.
"Oh, that's not how you play with them! Here," he said, taking the Smithers doll. "I love being your lickspittle, Mr. Burns. Perhaps I'll write another mawkish melody to tell you how much I love it."
Smithers took the Burns doll. "I wouldn't like that, Smithers. God only knows why, since I can't get enough of you stroking my ego."
Mr. Burns put the Smithers doll down, while Smithers clutched his Burns doll more tightly. Mr. Burns laid his hand on Smithers'. "I'm sorry, Waylon. You didn't deserve that. When I insulted you, I mean."
"Thank you, Monty. That means a lot to me."
"I really don't mind."
"Don't mind what?"
"The way you feel about me."
"You don't?"
"No. I don't."
"I'm terrified to ask, but...how do you feel about me?"
"I'm very fond of you. Not as fond as you are of me, but...very fond."
Smithers blushed and looked shyly to his feet. "It'd just be redundant by now, but I long to say it. I need to say it." He took Burns' hands in his own. "Monty, I love you, with all my heart." He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, relishing his scent.
"I'm glad you do." He withdrew his hands from Smithers' to take a sip of his nog. "This needs more cognac." Smithers took the glass and approached the bar, then got the cognac out.
He followed Smithers in the direction of the bar, stopping in the doorway as Smithers added the cognac. Smithers handed him his glass and watched nervously as he took a sip. "Excellent, Smithers."
Smithers stole a glance at his face, then blushed and looked down to Burns' feet. "I suppose now I can tell you...you are too beautiful for this world, sir."
Mr. Burns looked up, then down to his shoes where Smithers' eyes were fixed. "We're standing beneath the mistletoe."
"I understand if you don't want to kiss me this year."
"You don't get to tell me what I want to do," he said, setting his glass on a nearby shelf. He looked back up at the mistletoe. "How many berries on that sprig?"
"Eight."
"Brace yourself," he said, though it was unclear to Smithers whether he was talking to Smithers or to himself. He took Smithers' hands in his and held them low between them, pulling Smithers' arms slightly down as he puckered up and leaned forward. Smithers turned his face, presenting his cheek for kissing. Mr. Burns brought his middle and index fingers to Smithers' chin and turned his face back to face him, then put his hand around the back of Smithers' neck and pushed their lips together. He kissed him eight times consecutively, opening his lips each time yet inviting only the edge of Smithers' lips between his. It was not the kissing with abandon characteristic of libidinous passion, but the fragile, tender zone between comradely and romantic love. Smithers moaned and kissed him between kisses.
"Those weren't pity kisses."
"No, they weren't."
"Then, uh...what kind of kisses were they?"
"Affectionate. I have no intention of hopping into bed with you, but...I like doing that." Smithers stopped breathing and his hands started shaking. In short order, his eyes rolled back and he fell straight back to the floor in a faint. "Smithers!" He came to in about ten seconds and tilted his head up.
"M-Mr. Burns? What happened?"
"I told you I like kissing you and you fainted." Smithers' head plopped back onto the floor as he lost consciousness again. The second time he came around, Mr. Burns was at the ready with his eggnog, holding his head up to allow him to drink. Swabbing Smithers' forehead with a damp cloth, he said, "I admit, I am awfully flattered to be the cause of your swooning."
He finished a sip of eggnog and said, "You're a fantastic kisser."
"You're just kissing my ass."
"Oh, I wish!" Mr. Burns shot him a look of disgust. "But seriously. I would rather kiss you than have sex with anyone else. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. I can't tell you that often enough. I have to make up for twenty years of not telling you."
"Get up already," he said, taking Smithers' hand and leading him to the sofa to lie down. He sat on the edge of the sofa seat, still holding Smithers' hand. "I enjoy the way you touch me. But I don't want to have you the same way you want me." He caressed the back of Smithers' hand and looked away from him. "But someday, I will."
"Huh? But sir, that doesn't make any -"
"I'm scared, Smithers. I'm scared because sometimes I think someday already came."