A Day In December #4

Triple glazed windows keep without the crisp, December night, whilst within, thermostatically controlled heating, fails to thaw miserable, glacial hearts. The Christmas tree—imported from Viking country—is dressed in lights and baubles, with the tinsel—like faith and loyalty—sparingly weaved amongst its scented stems. On the mantle, festive cards display scenes of Santa Claus and Reindeer; of snowmen and winter landscapes, a Robin in a Holly bush, and the Nativity. Prosperity and peace with best wishes for a happy Christmas are scripted within, but not meant; by family and those friends-for-hire, alike.

In the echo chamber of the living room, she wraps gifts for the undeserving, using each parcel as a block in a pyramid of charity she’s constructing next to the tree; her attention to precision would shame the ancient Egyptians. The most undeserving of any gifts leaned into the door frame, bloated with contrition, watching. He’s not a ‘builder’ like her or the Egyptians. He breaks things you see?

A clumsy child grew into a clumsier man-child. From snapping toy soldiers and train sets, he’d progressed to crushing promises and fracturing hope. He’d broken everything he’d ever wanted, ruined everything he ever had—and he’d had a lot—whilst she’d had enough: of him. Her forgiveness, which normally flowed easily, was much like the snow-jammed, motorway traffic: creeping and cool, and going nowhere fast.

Tonight, thinking about the day before, I realized I was wrong.