Christmas has a way of bringing old memories—both good and bad—back to the forefront for an encore. As the Browns and the Van Pelts cleaned up from the recurring Christmas carnage, it had become abundantly clear to Charlie that this had indeed been the case once again. As the adults had settled in for a round of coffee and Linus and Sally were watching television together, the two elder children had emigrated to the backyard, where they were currently in the midst of a quite philosophical debate.
"I still don't understand why people always insist on giving me gifts every year," said Charlie, tossing a football at Lucy. "I think I've long passed the point where I really want anything."
Lucy deftly caught the ball with one hand. "It's more of a symbol than anything, really," she said. "The whole 'Meaning of Christmas' and all that. I guess it's just a matter of taking what you can get and not being ungrateful." She threw the ball back to him.
"But it's a little unnecessary, don't you think? I mean, once you get to, say, fifteen or sixteen, you really don't have a use for stuff like toys or games. Even clothes, really."
"Still, it's nice to get stuff, isn't it? One less thing you have to buy yourself, right?"
Charlie shrugged. "I guess. Still feels weird, though."
The two continued to play catch in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, Lucy spoke up again.
"You know, I never have gotten what I really want for Christmas. Every year, I've asked for a little plot of prime real estate in a suburb somewhere nearby, but it never happens. I don't see why not. I'm a full-grown adult now, after all."
"What would you even do with real estate?" chuckled Charlie.
"Who said I had to do anything with it? It'd just be a nice, tiny little plot that I could keep up with and develop how I see fit, and then when the time comes and I'm a Hollywood actress in need of a financial boost, I could just sell it off and make tons of money. I wouldn't even need to make movies anymore, really; I'd sell it for so much that it would support me the rest of my life!" She was clearly wandering into the realm of absurdity, and she knew it, but that didn't stop her from cracking a smile as she continued. "And then when I marry Leonardo DiCaprio we can just buy it back for a bargain and retire there. It'd be perfect!"
They were both laughing now. It was almost like they were children again, without having to worry about growing up or moving away or losing touch. It was as though they'd found a way to travel back to a simpler time, one where there was no such thing as "goodbye", no concept of even semi-permanent separation. As far as they were concerned, those few moments were like a time capsule, suddenly unsealed and presenting at last the memories they'd left behind.
They fell silent again for a few more minutes. At last, Lucy, having caught the ball, got an idea. Getting down on one knee, she held the football against the ground. "Hey," she asked, "remember how I used to hold the football for you to kick, and then always pulled it away from you at the last second?"
Charlie groaned. "Don't remind me."
"Heh. Hey…you want to try it one more time?"
Charlie thought for a moment. "Wait. How do I know you aren't just going to do it to me again, the way you always used to?"
Lucy pouted. "Oh, come on. You know I'm not the same way I used to be. I would never do that to you now. Don't you trust me?"
"I remember that the last time I trusted you, I nearly broke my neck. And the time before that, too."
"Pleeeeease?" Her pout had turned up to eleven now. She was obviously doing her best to try and convince him. Could she really be sincere this time?
Charlie thought a bit longer. At last, he gave in. "All right, fine," he said. "But if you pull the ball away, I won't be happy."
Lucy beamed. "Got it! Just head down there and just start running whenever you're ready." She seemed unusually happy—well, unusually in the sense that she was never quite this energetic when he agreed to let her hold the ball for him.
Charlie retreated to the far end of the yard. Had he really gotten himself into this again? When would he ever learn? Then again, as he considered the options, maybe there was a chance she would keep it steady after all. She hadn't been anything resembling openly antagonistic during this trip. There was little evidence supporting his assumption that she'd do exactly the same thing as every other attempt.
Come to think of it, there hadn't been much evidence denying it, either.
He started jogging forward. There wasn't much else he could do, really. She hadn't reached her other hand toward the ball yet, which was a good sign. But did that necessarily mean she wouldn't pull it away?
The gap closed, and he was now only feet away. There was still time for him to cut it short. He debated doing so for a split second, but equally quickly dismissed the idea. He may as well go through with he drew closer and closer, he didn't particularly care whether Lucy pulled it away or not. All he knew was that he'd finally found his true self again, and nothing could ever take that away again.
He was going to kick that ball clear to the moon.