Sir I want to buy these shoes, for my mama please. It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size. Could you hurry sir? Daddy say's there's not much time. You see, she's been sick for quite a while, and I know these shoes will make her smile, and I want her to look beautiful if Mama meets Jesus tonight.
Roger scowled at the radio and turned it off in disgust. "Why is everything that comes on the radio these days complete fucking crap?"
"It's Christmas music Roger." Esme said from the couch. "It's supposed to be crap." Mark's new girlfriend was a hardcore Wiccan and she disliked everything about Christmas, except getting presents. She was Maureen's cousin after all.
"But I mean come on. Christmas Shoes? That's corny even by sucky Christmas music standards."
Collins rolled his eyes. "It's sentimental Rog." He explained. "The song is about love and selflessness. The boy is out there in the cold using all the money that he has to try to repay his mother for all the shit she's done for him. The narrator is touched by that love and saddened by the lack of it in his life, so he gives the kid the money." Roger and Esme just stared at the professor. "Angel loved that song." He said and went back to his book.
"Well all that aside, I could still write a better Christmas song than that." Roger asserted.
"Oh yeah, you're going to come out of your slump to create a brilliant piece of music. I can just see it now." Esme joked.
"I will!" Roger replied indignantly. "I just need some inspiration. My muse needs to walk through the door." No sooner had he said this than Mark pushed the heavy door to the loft open and came in.
Esme exploded in laughter and Collins joined her. "Uh, hey guys." Mark greeted. "What's going on?"
"Hold still Mark, you're officially my muse." Roger responded.
"Uh…okay?" the filmmaker agreed, confused. Roger stared at him for twenty seconds and then jumped up from his seat in the window, grabbed his guitar and ran into his room, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Mark came to sit beside his girlfriend. "Do I even want to know?" he asked.
"Probably not." Collins replied.
Four hours passed before Roger emerged from his room. He had a brilliant smile on his face and was clutching his notebook and guitar tightly.
"My friends," He began. "I bring you non sucky Christmas music. I've labored for hours and now I am ready to share my masterpiece." He sat down on the steel table and strummed a chord on his guitar. "I give you 'Mark," Roger paused for effect. "the Albino Reindeer."
Mark blushed and groaned as Esme and Collins roared with laughter again. "Is this really necessary?" Mark asked.
"Fuck yeah it is." Collins answered him. "Play it Roger."
Roger strummed another chord and cleared his throat. "Mark the albino reindeer," he sang. "Had a quite unhealthy glow. Eyes that were blue as oceans, and skin that was white as snow. All of the other bohos couldn't help but call him names. Still we always let poor Marky, film us and play drinking games. Then one freezing Christmas Eve, Roger came to say, "Marky with your skin so white, won't you light our loft tonight? Then how the bohos loved him, as they shouted out with glee. Mark the Albino Reindeer; you'll go down in history."
The room was silent for a moment then Collins and Esme burst into thunderous applause. "That was pretty good Roger." Esme told the musician. "I mean you basically just rewrote a classic song made to celebrate a season in honor of an oppressive religious system, but I liked it nonetheless."
"Thank you, thank you." Roger said and took a bow. They all turned to look at Mark.
"You know Roger, just because that was the first song you've written in years I'm not going to be upset." The filmmaker said, though his face was flushed crimson.
"Maybe I should change the title to Marky the Red-faced Reindeer." Roger joked and then ran for his life as Mark chased him around the loft.