CHAPTER 2:
O Tannenbaum
"Let me get that for you." I hurriedly climbed the stairs that led into my building and opened the door for Scott, whose arms were occupied with a box full of records and cassette tapes. He had moved in two apartment doors down from mine a few months ago and I adored him. He looked every bit the musician he was, from his long uncombed hair to his faded jeans that were frayed at the cuffs and sported holes in some interesting places. His eyes were an intense blue-green and he had the thickest, most beautiful eyelashes I had ever seen on a man. I liked his fingers best though. They were long and graceful, perfect for a pianist. Sometimes I could hear him playing his keyboard (just something to hold him over till he had a place big enough for a real piano, he told me) late into the evening, but the guitar was my favorite. He liked to sit barefoot in the hallway and strum at the instrument until he had created a new song. Some days when I returned home from school to find him that way he would greet me with a wink and play the chords of an old country song, making his voice twangy and deep as he sang, "Hello, Darlin'. Nice to see ya. It's been a long time... you're just as lovely as you used to be..."
Most guys of twenty-two, or any age for that matter, ignored skinny, flat- chested, mousy haired girls like me, so I delighted in the attention I got from Scott. He didn't treat me like a kid, which was what attracted me to him the most. Other people seemed amused or freaked out by my serious grown-up side, but Scott just took it in stride.
"Thanks, babe," Scott said with a grunt, brushing past me and dropping the box onto the floor where it clattered loudly and stirred up a cloud of dust. Catching his breath, he stooped over with his hands on the torn knees of his jeans.
"Did you rob a music store?" I asked, eyeing the box and its contents.
He straightened and grinned at me, showing off his perfect teeth. I wondered if he'd worn braces at my age.
"Sorta feel like I did," he answered excitedly. "The one on Vine Street is going out of business and I got all this crap for practically nothing. Aretha Franklin, Gershwin, The Beatles, Patsy Cline, you name it I got it. Have a look."
I knelt to brush through the eclectic mix of music, recognizing a handful of the bands and singers but mostly puzzling over who the rest were. "You like a lot of different stuff, huh?"
"Hell yeah. I don't limit myself to any one genre," he explained. "People can get so stuck on a certain type of music that they never branch out and listen to all the other great stuff that's out there. I like rock 'n' roll as much as the next person, but I'm not gonna listen to just that, you know?"
I nodded and dropped the Sex Pistols cassette I had been studying. Scott saw and chuckled a bit.
"You like them?"
"Kinda," I replied, hating how shy my voice sounded.
"Take it." He reached for the tape and held it out to me. "My Christmas gift to you."
"Really? You sure you don't want it?"
"Nah, I think I've already got that one anyway."
My cheeks were already rosy from the cold walk home, but I could feel them getting redder when I took the tape and my fingers grazed Scott's. He winked at me. "Merry Christmas, Nightingale."
He'd taken to calling me that after Maggie stuck her head out our apartment door one day and yelled "Abigail!" into the hall where I was singing along as he played his guitar. Later when I asked where he'd come up with it, he said the moment he heard my full name it reminded him of "nightingale," which, like me, was a pretty little songbird with brown feathers, or hair, in my case. We didn't use nicknames much in my family, so the one Scott had for me seemed all the more special and private. Maggie could flirt with him as much as she wanted; he still hadn't given her a nickname.
"Thanks, Scott. Merry Christmas." I tucked the Sex Pistols cassette into my pocket and raced towards apartment 17, my heart pounding like the thump of my feet on the floorboards. Finally I was starting to feel some of the excitement of being on break with Christmas right around the corner - and Scott living two doors down.
Eric was nowhere to be found on the walk home from school, so I wasn't surprised to see him sprawled across the couch when I entered our apartment. I pulled off my black cap and gloves, raking my fingers through my hair to tame the static electricity that made it stand on end. "Did you run all the way here or what?" I questioned him, letting my backpack slide to the floor. He just looked at me sulkily and nodded.
"What's wrong?"
He pointed towards the hall that led to the bedrooms. "Mom's got a guy back there. I knocked and asked when she's coming out so we can go get a tree, but she said, 'Not today' and told me to go watch TV. Abby, we were supposed to get one TODAY," he whined, looking at me expectantly and working up some tears to emphasize his disappointment.
I often had to take charge and be the responsible one when Maggie wasn't herself (whoever that was) and I think my brother had come to see me as the head of the household, which meant talking sense into Maggie when she pulled a stunt like this. Most of time I didn't mind, but once in a while I would have liked to simply be a thirteen-year-old kid who could depend on her mom to keep promises about buying Christmas trees.
I could hear giggling on the other side of Maggie's door when I reached it and prepared to knock. She brought boyfriends home frequently and I guess this was her newest, because I didn't recognize his voice. The last one had been kinda funny, though not very bright. Half the time he was too stoned to remember his own name. Eric and I made a game of throwing popcorn at his open mouth while he lay zonked out on the couch. The first to make it in got to watch whatever they wanted on television.
My first knock got no response, so I made the second louder.
"I told you to go watch TV, Eric," Maggie shouted, tossing something that banged loudly against the door. The new guy laughed.
"It's Abby."
"Oh... what do you want?"
"Could I talk to you... alone?" I stressed the last word. I didn't want some stranger whose face I couldn't even see listening in on my conversation.
"I'm busy. Can this wait?"
"No. It's already been put off long enough. You told Eric we would get a tree today and I think you should stick to your word. You wasted too much time already, the best ones are probably already gone."
"Well, then it won't make a difference if we wait another day, will it?"
That infuriated me, but I kept a level tone. "Yes, it will. It's important to Eric so it makes a big difference."
"Oh, Abby! He's ten, he'll live. I said not today, and that's final!"
I didn't have to see her face to know the exact expression on it. I was proud of how much prettier my mom was than the rest of my friends' moms, but how quickly those soft and innocent schoolgirl features were able to turn sharp and ferocious.
"Get lost, kid," the new guy added, impatient to get back to the liaison I had interrupted.
I turned to see Eric standing at the end of the hallway, tears in his eyes, and this time he wasn't forcing them. It made me want to kick Maggie's door down and scream at the two adults, force them to see how much they were hurting my little brother. Instead, I zipped up my coat and yanked my cap back on my head, storming towards Eric.
"Put your coat on," I said, determined. He watched in shock as I dug into Maggie's purse and pulled out her wallet.
"Are we running away?" he demanded, hurrying around the room to gather the articles of winter clothing he had scattered every which way on his return home.
"No, we're gonna get a tree." I pocketed a few bills from Maggie's wallet, and tossed it back in her bag.
Eric stopped winding his scarf around his neck and looked at me funny. "How're we gonna do that? We can't carry it home."
In my angry haste I hadn't really considered that. Crap! I chewed on my bottom lip and thought it over briefly, throwing out the first idea that came to mind. "We'll take your sled. If we get one that's not too big we can pull it on that."
Satisfied with my plan, he bounded into step with my quick strides, grabbing my hand to make sure he didn't get left behind as we exited the apartment and I slammed the door behind us. Scott was right outside his own door, so I tried to rush us by unnoticed but it didn't work. The number 9 he'd been straightening turned upside down and swung like a tiny noose.
"Hey, where's the fire?"
Eric ran into me when I came to an abrupt stop. I couldn't think of anything to say, but my brother was never at a loss for words.
"Abby stole money from Mom's purse so we can buy a tree and we're making a break for it before she finds out," he said, embellishing a little at the end. He just looked at me when I jabbed him with my elbow.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and avoided meeting Scott's gaze, half-expecting him to give some kind of lecture on the sinfulness of stealing.
"Whoa, you're on the lam," he said, squatting to Eric's level but using the position to look me in the eye. "Want me to drive the getaway truck? It's been at least a week since I aided and abetted any fugitives, I'm kinda starting to miss it."
"Oh, that's ok. You look like you're..." I glanced at his door and the dangling number nine, "busy. We can manage."
"Abby, you dope!" my brother hissed, tugging at my hand. "He's got a truck, that's way better than a dumb ol' sled."
Two pairs of eyes - Eric's big brown ones and Scott's sea colored ones that I imagined saw deep into everyone's soul - stared expectantly at me. Sure, I wanted to go for a ride in his truck, and it was way more inviting than dragging a tree home through the snow, but I didn't want to involve Scott in my family's problems. The less he knew about it the better. And I was sure he already knew way more than I wanted him to, thanks to gossip and Maggie's tendency to yell out her frustration in a building with paper-thin walls.
"It's awful cold outside..." Scott commented.
I licked my lips, chapped from the winter wind, and thought about walking all the way into town with Eric, his teeth chattering like those little wind-up toy kind. Chapped lips and chattering teeth or sitting next to my Scott in a warm vehicle where Maggie couldn't appear to steal his attention away? I decided I could swallow my pride this once.
"Well, if you're sure it's all right."
"Positive. Lemme get my keys," he said, practically falling over the box of records and cassettes he had placed just inside his apartment. Eric and I stifled our laughter as he tried to play it cool and hopped around the obstacle. I could hear his sneakers squeaking against the linoleum in the kitchen and a moment later he returned, twirling his keys on those elegant musical fingers. I wanted to reach out and grab his hand like Eric had done to me, but I wasn't brave enough.
His truck smelled of stale cigarette smoke, thick and suffocating. I let it pull me in and settle on my clothes, feeling like I was climbing into another world, a different atmosphere. Scott's world, where you didn't have to wear a seatbelt when you sat upfront and the upholstery made funny noises when you moved. Eric sat on the hump in the middle since he was smallest and as we rode to town, the old truck rumbling and bouncing me and my brother so hard we almost lifted off of our seats, I reveled in the idea of the three of us being a family. My daydreams were even set to music - the gentle melodious sounds of Scott singing along with the radio.
