December 25, 2015
2:20 p.m.
I can’t stand it anymore. Each breath comes in a short, shallow burst, carefully taken in through the mouth. This woman fucking stinks, and I don’t mean in the figurative sense. I’m not sure if it’s her general odor, or perhaps her ancient, rotting breath, but every time I inhale it smells like I’ve got my nose halfway up a doberman’s ass.
Does anyone else even notice?
I know I can’t be the only one who hears her muttering under her breath. It’s unintelligible, presumably nonsense, but the witchy murmurings are definitely putting me ill at ease. Mind you, I probably wouldn’t think much of it if I could JUST FUCKING BREATHE.
It’s the journey back from the movie theater, a family Christmas tradition I’ve only recently been introduced to. This year’s selection: the much-anticipated Star Wars VII. Being the smallest, I’m stuck straddling the awkward hump of a middle seat. Jessica (my stepsister) sits on my left, and the Festering Wonder, pressing a lot too close, sits on my right.
Right turn, screeching, bright lights, the angry scream of metal tearing.
I blink, and it’s gone.
We’ve been in the car for what feels like hours, since the conversation died almost the moment we entered the vehicle and now we’re stuck on a loop of discussing how beautiful it is outside. I’ve taken to staring absently at my phone, unable to actually use it since scrolling through my profanity-riddled Facebook would no doubt ruffle the squeaky clean Benson feathers.
By the time we pull into the driveway, I’ve conceived at least 47 different scenarios I’d rather be part of than spend one more second choking on Aunt Charlotte’s halitosis. I’ve just begun to picture number 48 (getting butt-fucked by a harpoon gun) when the passenger door opens and sweet, fresh air flows across my face.
It takes every ounce of self-control to not throw myself from the car and kiss the ground, sobbing with relief, but I do exit post-haste and make a beeline for the garage.
10:45 p.m.
Robby’s asleep beside me, the air’s cloudy, and in the light of the television I can see trails of smoke dancing across the pixelated palette. After experiencing some awkward moments and a general sensation of discomfort, I can’t really say I didn’t enjoy myself. I’m definitely a black sheep, but I was loved and I was welcomed. It wasn’t really a sense I’d had towards family since…well not since both my grandmothers had passed.
It certainly wasn’t the best Christmas I’d had, but it was almost like a healing balm on a festering wound. Perhaps dreading the holidays didn’t have to be part of my yearly routine. At the very least, I knew I’d have at least one person around who’d make it special.
I lean down and give Robby’s forehead a quick peck before I snuggle down under the blankets and silence King Henry’s latest affair. The day of pretending and silencing the myriad of inappropriate jokes was through. Sadly that meant it was time to rejoin the work force, but oh well. Can’t have everything.
Fin.
A Dark and Strange little place. 