Chapter 3: Not Feeling Festive

Friday 19 December

0900 hours

It had been two days since the funeral, two days since I’d broken down. I was a few days into my life after Mary and I was less than thrilled about existing at the moment. I wasn’t as completely broken as I had been, reality was starting to seep into whatever substituted for my soul now that she was gone.

Beth had been my rock. At first, she’d prevented me from killing myself by simply being there to witness it. She hadn’t left me alone for more than twenty minutes in the following days. She hadn’t left my side. At the moment we were moving back into routine, in the past three years it had become a fact.

Fundamental law of the universe number 65: I had breakfast with Beth.

The cafeteria had closed for the break and so we were at the Diner in Dannon. I longed to return to the campus. It was almost empty, save me and a few others who didn’t bother going home for the break and I enjoyed the quiet. I wasn’t quite up to working or reading yet, but I was able to enjoy the quiet.

She spoke with purpose interrupting my burgeoning thought, “So where are you planning to do for the weekend?”

“Probably stay here.”

“You should come home with me.”

“Darling, I know you’ve decided you need to be my life support system. You don’t need to be around me 24/7. I promise I’m not going to try to kill myself again.” At least not soon.

“You can’t just live your life holed up in your dorm room. She wouldn’t want it that way.”

That was a constant issue. Beth was better than most, but people are really bad at trying to comfort you when you experience a loss. It isn’t that they aren’t trying, they mean well, but the platitudes just don’t work. I had ripped Alex’s head off after the funeral for attempting, ‘Everything Happens for a reason’. If there was a reason for this, I was simply incapable of comprehending it and I would have issues with whomever planned it. Another common one was, ‘At least she didn’t suffer.’ There were two flaws with that one: if she had suffered a bit she would have woken up and still be alive and two: even if she didn’t suffer, I was suffering.

I realized I’d been drifting and answered, “No, I think she’d want to be alive to share it with me.”

She winced realizing that the words had been said differently than she intended, “ ... you really shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Fundamental law of the universe number 24: You’re always alone.

“Then I’ll go stay at the grandmother’s or brave Robert’s house if you insist.”

“I’d rather you came home with me.” I was divided on this issue. I enjoyed having Beth around, as much as I could enjoy anything at the moment, but I was pretty well nuts. It simply wasn’t right for her to be devoting her life to me and I was likely to cause her problems.

“And David and Linda are ok with this plan?”

“I already talked to my parents, yeah they’re okay with it.” ‘Glad to know I’ve the least say in it.

“Let me call my sister. If she’s coming into town I’d want to see her.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you do.”

“How did you figure that out?”

“That first summer, I saw you two together. It was kind of hard to miss. I think most of the girls knew too.”

“Really, they never mentioned it or asked.”

“What did you expect Lis to ask, ‘Hey did your sister teach you that while you were fucking her?”

“No, but I mean our relationship wasn’t exactly normal.”

“Jill and Stacy are cousins, plus the Monica and Tracy thing. I wonder what they’re doing.”

“Remind me when I check my e-mail next time, they’re pretty regular about keeping in touch.”

“Really? You’re still in contact?”

“With Stacy and Jill yeah. I haven’t heard from Mon or Angie in a while, Lis probably wants space, and Tracy is still upset because I wouldn’t take her to prom last year.”

“Anyway, trust me you’ll love it. My family is really into Christmas.”

That sounds like hell. I do deserve hell.

“I’ll try my best not to ruin things.”

“Doz, It’s okay. I don’t know why it’s so hard for you to just be human. It’s okay to hurt, it’s okay to be weak.”

“I know that you’re okay with it.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“You seem capable.”

“Not your best work.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know, you’re trying, but that’s what I’m talking about. You don’t feel like telling jokes, but you insist on trying.”

You’ve never figured out my humor is a defense mechanism?

“That isn’t a question.”

“I never asked about your back. Not the details. You’ve told me stories, but I ... I always thought you had were telling them up; but you weren’t. You were telling the truth.”

“That still isn’t a question. Maybe I should have said ‘no.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Maybe later.”

I dodged the conversation and she began to talk about Christmas as if it was something magical and not just another holiday. I listened to her family traditions, her stories of sled accidents, and lights catching fire.

Saturday

0715

I had loaded my pack, the two boxes, and a duffel into Lucy and driven to Beth’s apartment. I had followed her up the steps at her insistence. I assumed Alex had returned to Sarah’s home for the holiday, which meant I wouldn’t have to deal with her. This was a small fact I was thankful for. I suddenly regretted that it wasn’t Thanksgiving as I would have had something to say at the table even if it was inappropriate. The impending meals with Beth’s parents filled me with a sense of dread, my timing was off. Beth was used to it at the moment. She was used to me drifting out of the conversation. She was used to the fact that my normal responses were muted. Other people wouldn’t be.

I carried the smaller of the two boxes with me and set it on the floor just inside the door. It contained the gifts I had bought months prior for Helen and Alex. Beth’s gift was in my duffle. I was lucky I was so prone to preparation as I couldn’t manage a trip to the mall at the time. “How long are you going to be?”

“Just a few minutes while I pack.”

Translation: two hours.

She ushered into the room she shared with Alex and called back from it, “You said you had to stop somewhere?”

“The grandmother’s to drop of the other box.” The other box contained my gifts for my family and Mary’s gift which would need returned to the grandmother so she could place it back in her jewelry box. I sat blankly on the couch and stared at the print of Degas’ Rehearsal on Stage that hung above the television till she reappeared with two bags and a box of her own and we were on our way.

1100

I stood before Beth’s childhood home. I had my pack and duffel, one of Beth’s bags and her box, and the burden of atlas weighing me down. This was going to be a key moment in my life. This was going to be the first test of whether I could survive losing the most important thing in the universe. This was the test for whether I could ever pass for human again. Each step felt monumental from Lucy’s trunk to the front door. Beth opened it and I could hear the greeting of a normal loving family. It was a novel experience.

The Danvers’ home was warm and inviting. It also happened to be the exact opposite of what I wanted at the moment. It was idyllic and all I wanted was to continue my grieving. I do, however, always attempt to be polite and as such I didn’t want to interfere with their festivities. My attempts to leave were quickly shot down. Sleep was fitful at best. I couldn’t slip from the house for my usual walks. When I did manage to sleep, I found myself searching endlessly for my rose garden, but it would be a while before I got to go back to it.

I had been in the home for four days. I spent some of the time wondering how Beth had gotten so lucky. Her mother was kind, warm hearted, and pleasant to be around. Her father was a burly, well-meaning blue-collar man. Even though her cousin (who is she kidding if you share a home for 8 years, she’s your sister not your cousin) was grating she probably meant well. The traditional activities I was drug to were so heartfelt and family oriented I had trouble believing they were real. First was an hour and a half ride to a tree farm in which they sang the entire way. That would have been torture even if I wasn’t the tempest of emotions I was at the time. I sat quietly trying my best not to interfere.

I followed limply along as they selected the perfect tree for the living room. It was quickly sawed down, paid for and then I carried it back to the SUV. Decorating the tree was an all-day process. There was a precise order for everything; lights, garlands, and ornaments. Each ornament they had was handmade and represented a different event in the four family member’s lives and as each one was hung someone felt the need to tell the story it had been created because of. Beth seemed thrilled. Her glowing smile was the only thing I was capable of considering pleasant at the moment. A new ornament was created to symbolize this Christmas. Once it was completely finished, it did look quite pretty.