Joy to the world
If he could have, Johnny would have explained to his lovely aunt Cheryl how much he hated Carols by Candlelight. Somehow, perhaps because she routinely mistook his grimace for a smile, she had got it into her head he loved Christmas carols. Thus when she performed her annual sisterly-duty and took care of her nephew for one week at Christmas, this is what they did. It was a shame really, since she hated the obnoxious carollers almost as much as him. All she enjoyed were the candles. She got to hold two since Johnny couldn’t be trusted with his. This year she had been disappointed by the discovery that they weren’t even real candles, because apparently no once can be trusted with them anymore.
Johnny didn’t like the concert because everything was loud and chaotic. Children ran about screeching and leaping over his wheelchair. People always stared, even though they were supposed to be watching the stage. Cheryl seemed to think he couldn’t tell, but you don’t have to be a brain surgeon to feel people staring at you. Staring in that way that people do when they purposely look away.
“Gross, that man has drool all over his face.”
“Shush, we don’t say things like that.” We think them.
Johnny’s favourite person in the world was his carer Robin. Johnny called her “Ahhn.” She had been a carer at Johnny’s home for two years. He liked her because she always smelt nice, a bit like his mum used to. Robin called him Little John. “Hey Little John, how’s life treatin’ ya?” she’d ask. It made Johnny laugh, which unfortunately tend to make him drool more. He also liked her because even when she had trouble understanding what he wanted she was patient. “Water hun? Is that what you’d like? No? Ok then Little John,” she’d say, squatting down beside him. “Tell me again, I’m all ears.” His aunty only got frustrated when he asked for something. Frustrated because it made her miss her sister who had always seemed to understand her son perfectly, and frustrated because it made her feel inadequate when she didn’t know what to do.
“LLooo, derr,” said Johnny, pointing to where Robin was standing in the distance. He hadn’t know she would be there and he was excited to see her.
“Shush now Johnny,” said Cheryl. “We’re listening to the carols.”
**
“Mum, is Santa real?” asked Pippa. Crap ,thought Julie. Surely three years old was too young for this kind of philosophical question. Ask me anything else Pippa, anything at all. Ask me where babies come from, ask me why you have two mummies – don ‘t ask me to lie to you. Pippa of course knew exactly where babies come from, that was old news. Babies came from eggs. She had a pet chicken – it was as easy as one, two, five for her. She also knew why she had two mums, “It’s because I’m extra lucky,” she had told the inquisitive Frank at day care. She wanted to know about the fat man in the red suit.
“What do you think Pippa, you tell me.” Julie replied. Pippa looked very thoughtful for a second.
“I think so,” she said finally. “But he must get really hot in that suit.”
“Yes he does,” said Julie with relief. “That’s why he changes into his boardies and singlet when he gets to Australia.” Julie assured herself this wasn’t strictly lying, it was playing along. She shifted herself to a more comfortable position on the picnic rug and turned her attention back to the stage where South Bay Catholic Primary Schools year 4’s where singing Santa Claus is Coming to Town. The smell of burnt sausage was overpowering, Julie cast a wary eye over towards the sausage sizzle, just to check the tent hadn’t caught fire. Next year, she found herself thinking, there would be no Christmas. She’d simply buy a calendar that didn’t have it, and then Robin simply couldn’t force her into going to bloody Carols by Candlelight. Tradition gave her the heebie-jeebies. Robin had started calling her the Grinch.
“Mum, mum,” Julie felt a small sticky hand tugging on her sleeve. “The candy cane is stuck in my hair.” Julie sighed as tears formed in Pippas tiny blue eyes.
**
Ben had burnt the sausages. “Burnt the fucking sausages,” he cursed. “A god-damn moments inattention and you’re up shit creek without a friggin fire extinguisher.” His wife would probably sauté his balls if she caught wind of this. “Oh and Ben,” she had said not an hour ago, “don’t burn the sausages this year, please.” He resented the fact he had to barbeque at all. Give him a wok, he’d knock you up a killer stirfry. Give him a cartoon of eggs and it was one fine omelette coming right up, but barbeques and him just never seemed to get along. More than that, he was here to enjoy Christmas and he wanted to watch the Christmas carols. He resented that while his eight year old son with the freakishly angelic voice was up there belting out Away in a manger, he was sweating away and staring at onions. Pissed off, he scooped up the sausages and threw them in the bin.“Gary!” he yelled, suddenly seeing his opportunity to escape. “”Here mate,” he said, flinging the apron across the table. “It’s your turn.”
**
On the other side of the oval, in the dark that gathered at the edge of the scrub, Hamish was busy trying to hold Bec’s hand. Or rather, he was busy trying to not stuff it up. He was sitting so close to her he could feel her warm breath tingle against his face when she turned and spoke, yet it felt like the Grand Canyon lay between them. Do I just reach out and grab it? He asked himself. The sea breeze rustled through the scrawny gum trees overhead and a cloudfull of rain hovered nearby, waiting. Hamish, oblivious to anything else, was busying wishing the gum trees were mistletoe like they have in the Christmas movies. He really needed that little plant to step up and make the first move for him. “Jingle Bells, jingle bells,” Bec sang along whole heartedly, her Santa hat flopping around mischievously on her head. She smiled and despite the darkness Hamish knew where her dimples were and his stomach surged like a king tide. He wanted to take her hand, gently lock her fingers in his and lean over and kiss her right there on her dimple. Never before in his 17 years had he ever wanted anything so bad. Instead they sat there shoulder-to-shoulder drawing faint patterns in the grass with hot wax.
**
Harold wasn’t quite sure why he had insisted on coming. He wasn’t sure what had made him do it, but he knew as soon as he had unfolded his chair and eased himself into it that he had made a mistake. The empty space beside him where Mauve would have sat pressed into his heart like a knife. Harold supposed he should be grateful for the magnificent thirty years that they had spent together, for all the Christmas carols they had heard together on fine summers evenings in the park. But he wasn’t, he was drowning in his despair. It was the little things fondly remembered that hurt the most, the little places were love hid. There was no reason to tiptoe over the creaking floorboard in the hall in the early morning anymore. No reason to fill the teapot for two when just one teabag would do the trick. It had always seemed to him as if the house had sung when he arrived home. Now it just stood there cold and morose, almost as sad as he. The faint scent of her lavender perfume was slipping away, seeping out the cracks in the windows, slipping away from him just like she had. His study lay under a heavy layer of dust which Harold had noticed that afternoon when it occurred to him that it had never been that way before. It felt to him like even the bees had left their garden, it had no charm left. Harold opened his ginger beer and sighed. Suddenly he became aware that his breast pocket was ringing. “Dad, it’s me,” said his only son. “Barbara and I are here with the boys, where can we find you?” Harold couldn’t honestly remember the last time Shaun had brought his family to the carols. Before Mauves funeral, he couldn’t remember the last time they’d all been together in one place. Mauve had been in charge of remembering. “Here Dad,” said Shaun as he plonked his chair down in the space beside Harold. “Hang the rules, let’s have a real beer.”
**
Ben nearly hid when he heard the MC apologise for the temporary hold up at the sausage sizzle. He promised himself that next year he would refuse when his wife volunteered him for P and C duty. It was ludicrous that a school he paid thousands of dollars to educate his children should also need him to fundraise for them, he decided. In the meantime though, he thought it best to fly under the radar for awhile, to avoid his wife. Instead he scanned the crowd for his kids. Bec was nowhere to be seen, that concerned him a little. But he was distracted by the sight of his son wandering towards him, his pristine white choir-boy shirt now stained red from tomato sauce. “Geez Big Ears, you have made a mess of yourself haven’t you.” Tom grinned through his mouthful of sausage sizzle. “It’s not burnt Dad. Well done!” he said happily.
“Thanks,” said Ben nervously. “ Hey you did great up on that stage Tom, you made everyone else look average in comparison!” He hoisted his son up onto his waist and messed up his neatly combed hair. “You have fun up there? What was the best part?” he asked.
“We got to wear make up!” said Tom proudly.
“Jesus Christ,” muttered Ben under his breath.
**
“Found you!” said Robin as she collapsed onto the picnic rug between Julie and Pippa. “I tell ya, all I wanted was a bloody..”
“Don’t swear,” interjected Julie.
“.. a real candle.” said Robin, rolling her eyes. “Real candles are so much more fun than these plastic things Pipsqueak – oh hey, whats up?” she asked, suddenly noticing Pippa’s tear streaked face.
“She got her candy cane stuck in her hair,” said Julie.
“Candy Cane? In your hair? You’re supposed to eat it Pipsqueak.” Said Robin, tickling her daughter until she giggled.
“Now, beautiful girls,” she said kissing Julie on the cheek, “Let’s get this party started. Got some matches Jules?”
“Matches? Why would I have matches?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Don’t swear.”
**
Cheryl had struck up conversation with the lady next to her, who kept trying to watch the stage for her little granddaughter, but just couldn’t get Cheryl to be quiet.
“Ahhn,” said Johnny, flapping his arm out like he wanted to wave.
“Stop that please John, stop that now,” said Cheryl, gently pushing his arm down. Johnny of course wasn’t actually just flailing about, he was waving to Robin.
“Hey Little John!” called Robin when she caught sight of the familiar face in the wheelchair in front of her. “I didn’t know you were here! Enjoying the carols?”
“Oh yes, we’re having a ball,” replied Cheryl heartily. Robin looked at Johnny, decked out in a ridiculous Christmas shirt with an ugly elf on it. No, said the look in his eyes. Robin winked at him, if only that boy could talk, she thought to herself.
**
Not even the late hour and the ever growing darkness could give Hamish the nerve to reach out for her hand. Instead he found himself plucking the grass and dividing each blade into tiny pieces. Above them a clap of thunder sounded, drowning out the carols momentarily. The sky let one fat, heavy raindrop fall and it landed right on the end of Hamish’s nose. Shit, he thought. Not now. I might not ever get this far again.
“Oh man, it’s going to piss down.” Said Bec.
“Yeah, suppose we better go find your folks,” said Hamish with more than a touch of melancholy.
“No,” said Bec, suddenly sick of waiting. She grabbed his wrist and he paused, half way up and half way down. She stopped thinking for long enough to lurch forward and kiss him on the cheek. The fish in Hamish’s belly flapped around wildly and he was sure the thump of his heart must be audible. I love carols by candlelight, he thought.
**
Julie checked her watch, nearly 8pm, it had to be almost over. “Mum,” said Pippa, the sound of a question, “What’s this song about?” Julie’s eyes implored Robin to take over the question-answering, but she was intently watching her candle flicker and dance.
“It’s about the birth of a baby called Jesus, the son of God.”
“Where was he born?”
“In a manger, like the song says, with a donkey, some sheep and his parents Mary and Joseph. Oh and three wisemen that followed a bright star to see him.” Pippa rolled over and squinted the way she did when she was thinking really hard. Momentarily, but not for the first time, Julie wished her child wasn’t quite so curious about everything.
“Mum,” asked Pippa seriously. “Did that really happen?” Julie looked at Robin for help.
“I dunno pet,” said Robin. “What do you reckon?” Pippa thought awhile longer.
“I don’ think so,” she said. “Babies come from eggs, not mangers.” Julie suppressed a grin but Robin burst out laughing.
**
Shaun had never seen his Dad’s eyes so hollow, it scared him shitless. It made him thankful his wife had suggested they come to the carols. It also made him regret that it was the first time he had bothered in ten years. He didn’t particularly like Christmas carols, but he enjoyed the atmosphere. The smell of the barbeque, kids giggling and dancing, whole families stretched out on mountains of pillows. It brought back memories. It reminded him of his mum. Shaun watched the kids playing catch with their fake candles in front of him. A curly haired boy lost under a gigantic pair of reindeer ears flung his at his sister. Tears began to slide down her face just as the thunder clapped and the first drop of rain came gently down.
“Grandpa,” said the youngest grandson as he plonked himself down on Harold’s bad knee. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about Grandma.” Shaun inhaled sharply, studying his sons earnest face and his Dads eyes. “I miss her very much. Especially the times we did jigsaws, that was fun.” Little Sam clutched Harolds forefinger in his small hand. “Do you miss her lots too?” Harold tried very hard not to cry. The rain began to fall heavier, dampening the tomato-sauce stained boy’s singing. “Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright.”
“Yes Sam, I do.” Said Harold.
The End
I hope you have a lovely Christmas full of good cheer, grateful for the beautiful people you have in your life. Make a strangers day - wish them a Merry Christmas.
No comments:
Post a Comment