A merry christmas.
It's funny the way we take off our hats every day expecting to put it back on the next. The day was blinded with snow and the sun hadn't been respected in a while. It's a typical christmas in Colorado. Carolers outside hit flat notes and rejoice in a chorus everyone knows. Ever since my wife died in 1999 I have been lazy. The house has not been painted, it's cracks showing on the sides of my snug sanctuary. There is a brick sidewalk that falls infront of the porch, the bricks out of place like a bad set of teeth. Maybe British. I'm not sure.
I press the button on my car starter and breathe into the air. It's been a while since they have called. My parents have always given me the cold shoulder. I never cared much because I had friends, I had my wife. Now I spend my days counting ceiling tiles and ignoring the bunches of bills piled on my couch. Empty liquor bottles line the shelves, a mirror that is directly behind them shows them as a doubled mess.
I get in the SUV and turn on the CD player only to turn it off. I haven't taken out the Journey CD since she put it in there. If I take it out, I'm forgetting her. I have not forgotten her, despite the large amounts of alcohol I have consumed to drown her out. I puke it back up and her image fades back in like an old polaroid. I take off my gloves because the steering wheel's grip has lost it's traction. The gloves make it slide out of my hands. I put it in four wheel drive and head for the other side of the state to meet up with the house I used to sleep in. The blizzard offers no comfort to my already drowning thoughts. I have been on the road for what seems like hours. The snow does it's dance on the windshield but never seems to stick. Probably doesn't like me much.
I take a nap. I don't know why I do it because I'm not tired. I think the hot air blowing on my neck and the constant rumbling of the exhaust made me zone out. I wake up with a snap and notice drool dripping down my steering wheel. I feel stupid and embarassed. I shouldn't have, though. I've been so alone for so long that I have no one to be embarassed in front of. You miss it, to be honest.
I wake up. I was passing by a small strip mall. Wal Mart looked packed and I could imagine why. I haven't shopped for anyone but myself in 6 years. Imagine the surprised look on my face when I rip open the presents I bought for myself! I do wrap my presents, actually. Life is about wasting time. I am in the void of wasting time. My bookshelves have been organized by author, year, publisher, and title.
When I see the headlights of the white SUV I don't react. I was in their lane but my eyes weren't registering anything anymore. They had turned into lights for a slideshow of bad memories and pathetic confessions to an empty vehicle. Oh, what fun it is to ride ...
There was a sound of crunching metal, maybe some tires squealing. It's funny. I didn't really move out of the way or flinch. I kept plowing through like an overweight football player who has been given the ball for the first time. My stiff arm did some damage. My head hits off the steering wheel and blood juts from my forehead. I almost cry but it doesn't hurt enough. I get out, walking with hands in my jeans. There are no other cars for miles. They look to be sleeping. They look so tired. They look so rude. They look like my parents.
I get in the backseat and look at the two of them. They are holding hands and their heads are twisted. I can't believe my parents aren't spending christmas with me. This is bullshit. I don't panic, though. I put them in the back seat, fit myself in the driver's seat, which is hard because the front of the car is dented into the interior. I pull into an empty parking lot and cry for a while. It feels good because I'm not wasting time. I leave them in that parking lot and feel a little guilty. In the back I find a present for me. I don't open it up because I'm not greedy. I walk back to the middle of the highway, get my car, start it up, and start heading back home. I return home in a few hours and the bricks are still ugly crooked teeth and the carols have not stopped. I wish there was a moral to the story, but there isn't. Just remember that every day is a new day. Merry Christmas, whoever you are.
Love,
Jake Cantaram
I press the button on my car starter and breathe into the air. It's been a while since they have called. My parents have always given me the cold shoulder. I never cared much because I had friends, I had my wife. Now I spend my days counting ceiling tiles and ignoring the bunches of bills piled on my couch. Empty liquor bottles line the shelves, a mirror that is directly behind them shows them as a doubled mess.
I get in the SUV and turn on the CD player only to turn it off. I haven't taken out the Journey CD since she put it in there. If I take it out, I'm forgetting her. I have not forgotten her, despite the large amounts of alcohol I have consumed to drown her out. I puke it back up and her image fades back in like an old polaroid. I take off my gloves because the steering wheel's grip has lost it's traction. The gloves make it slide out of my hands. I put it in four wheel drive and head for the other side of the state to meet up with the house I used to sleep in. The blizzard offers no comfort to my already drowning thoughts. I have been on the road for what seems like hours. The snow does it's dance on the windshield but never seems to stick. Probably doesn't like me much.
I take a nap. I don't know why I do it because I'm not tired. I think the hot air blowing on my neck and the constant rumbling of the exhaust made me zone out. I wake up with a snap and notice drool dripping down my steering wheel. I feel stupid and embarassed. I shouldn't have, though. I've been so alone for so long that I have no one to be embarassed in front of. You miss it, to be honest.
I wake up. I was passing by a small strip mall. Wal Mart looked packed and I could imagine why. I haven't shopped for anyone but myself in 6 years. Imagine the surprised look on my face when I rip open the presents I bought for myself! I do wrap my presents, actually. Life is about wasting time. I am in the void of wasting time. My bookshelves have been organized by author, year, publisher, and title.
When I see the headlights of the white SUV I don't react. I was in their lane but my eyes weren't registering anything anymore. They had turned into lights for a slideshow of bad memories and pathetic confessions to an empty vehicle. Oh, what fun it is to ride ...
There was a sound of crunching metal, maybe some tires squealing. It's funny. I didn't really move out of the way or flinch. I kept plowing through like an overweight football player who has been given the ball for the first time. My stiff arm did some damage. My head hits off the steering wheel and blood juts from my forehead. I almost cry but it doesn't hurt enough. I get out, walking with hands in my jeans. There are no other cars for miles. They look to be sleeping. They look so tired. They look so rude. They look like my parents.
I get in the backseat and look at the two of them. They are holding hands and their heads are twisted. I can't believe my parents aren't spending christmas with me. This is bullshit. I don't panic, though. I put them in the back seat, fit myself in the driver's seat, which is hard because the front of the car is dented into the interior. I pull into an empty parking lot and cry for a while. It feels good because I'm not wasting time. I leave them in that parking lot and feel a little guilty. In the back I find a present for me. I don't open it up because I'm not greedy. I walk back to the middle of the highway, get my car, start it up, and start heading back home. I return home in a few hours and the bricks are still ugly crooked teeth and the carols have not stopped. I wish there was a moral to the story, but there isn't. Just remember that every day is a new day. Merry Christmas, whoever you are.
Love,
Jake Cantaram