Making Christmas last!!!
Welcome to the #12DaysofTwitter blog series! Have you seen some of your writer friends sporting funny Christmas-y names? Well, what began as a simple name change from one twitter writer snowballed, and is now a chance for twenty-four awesome writers to share memories and stories of what Christmas means to us. Click this link for the complete link list of all twelve days.
Angi Black and Amanda Aszman are not only gorgeous, but extremely talented. Today their stories left me wanting more. I'll just let them show you what I mean.
Ten Angs Dancing
I sat at the table, waiting for everyone to finish eating. The envelopes were clutched in my hand. I reminded myself to loosen the grip. I didn’t want them to turn to mush before sharing my news.
I was so nervous. I mean, the holidays always made me a little bit crazy. The stress, the get-togethers, the gift-giving. The ginormous amounts of food consumed that has to be worked off in the new year. But this year, I felt even more. I felt everything. It was the last year I’d miss a holidays. It was the last year I’d be the transplant. It was the last year I’d feel stuck.
The last forks plinked against the plates, chairs were pushed back, and I knew it was my time. I stood on shaky legs, green and red papers crumpled in my hand. I cleared my throat.
How would they take the news? Would they care? Would they think it was nothing? How would I take it?
My friends, the people who were my real family, looked up at me. “I have some news, y’all. I have some news.” I passed around the Christmas card size envelopes. “Just open and read them.”
I watched the rip of the paper, the letters inside being unfolded and eyes drifting left to right as each sentence was read. I watched the realization dawn on their faces and tears fill their eyes. Big smiles made the room glow with love and joy. My best friend turned me, hope in her voice, almost too nervous to ask the question.
I nodded until my brain ached, tears on my cheeks. “Yep. I’m coming home. Next year, I’ll truly be home for Christmas.”
Ten Mandas Musing
Ask me about my sisters, and I’ll tell you how one Christmas they stood flamingo-style by the cold fireplace, all four of them balancing on their left legs, while I threw artificial tree parts like bombs across the living room.
“Can I put the angel on this year?” Sadie, our youngest, asked.
“No one’s putting anything on anything,” I said, “because someone took this stupid thing apart last year without taking the lights off first.”
“Probably Dad.” My oldest little sister was forever saving the muttering of his name for all the worst scenarios, even ones that couldn’t possibly be his fault. Ones he wasn’t even there for.
I kicked the half-empty box of ornaments at my feet and then, on second thought, crushed my shoe into a hundred ugly bulbs. My sisters had already fought over the best ornaments and still dangled their winnings from their fingertips, so the box was all the rejects. Still, I waited for one of them to cry, or threaten to tell Mom.
The four of them swayed together on one foot, waiting for their big brother to flick the glass off his shoe and fix Christmas. “I’m about to shove the whole thing into the fireplace and dig up Mom’s rosebush. We can hang the stupid ornaments on the thorns.”
I once read that flamingos stand on one leg to conserve body heat. Because their environment sucks the heat out of them.
Suddenly, Sadie dropped her right leg and stepped into the plastic pine-needle wreckage. Hauled up the lumpy tree top and stuck it on top of the tree stand. I freed my shoe and dropped to my knees.
“You turned a ten-foot tree into a three-footer,” I said.
Then I grabbed her and held her tight till she yelled to let go, and then I held on even tighter till she laughed. One by one the rest of my sisters joined in, wrapping their arms around Sadie and me until the cold was gone and none of them were standing like flamingos.
*hugs all around*