Christmas Without Snow

In the South, there is no snow, no real prayer for an authentic Christmas. It was my first winter away from my old home in Vermont and I couldn’t imagine that I’d really have to hear an air-conditioner in the background while drinking my eggnog.

There I was, a punk lesbian in a really long-distance relationship with a chica from back home, amidst my six-foot-tall goofy goth guys who got fucked up all the time. I was a straight-edge vegan. There were probably hanging out with so I could be a good story. "I hang out with a girl who’s the funniest walking cliché ever…"

They were better than nothing.

We were walking through an abandoned part of our suburbs when Eric asked if Kristian and I wanted a tour of the Haunted Hotel.

"Shithead," K replied. "That place is full of birdshit and hobos."

"Usually they close places like that," I said.

"Gets rid of the hobos," Eric and K countered simultaneously.

"Let’s go," Eric insisted. "Go! Go, go, go!" He had a tendency to not only speak, but twitch, like a speed fiend.

He started walking frantically, K and I following irritably.

"My name’s Eric, and I like to get stoned and sing," K called out to Eric, who was about a block ahead of us, and turning a corner.

Eric stopped and waited for us to catch up to him. "My name’s K and I like to dance naked in front of mirrors!" he replied.

"My name’s Eric and I drink Metamucil!"

"My name’s K and I get drunk and cry about my lack of girlfriends!"

I knew from experience that their banter could go on for hours. I trailed behind them, looking at the rusty, closed-up buildings. Though Christmas Eve, I wore cotton plaid pants, a ripped tank top, and sandals and failed to feel cold.

"We’re here," Eric sang, and pulled on my mohawk.

It was huge, imposing building with smashed windows and a vomiting mouth of a front door. I wanted to be home drinking a Sprite and reading a Cat Who book.

Eric pranced inside.

"The cops must care," I insisted, pulling on one of K’s belt loops.

He shrugged sullenly and followed Eric. They were basically Siamese twins attached by a chemically altered invisible umbilical cord. You are what you smoke, but you’re also whom you hang out with. I followed.

The walls smelled of piss and there was spray paint all over. Sounds were coming from inside some of the doors. Some rooms didn’t even have doors. I tried not to think of whores and drug deals. I was walking into the world I’d self righteously been avoiding my entire life. If I got jailed on Christmas, my parents would forgive me, but probably make me shave my mohawk.

"Hey, kid," Eric whispered, hopping into a room.

"Shit," K said, taking my hand and following.

"Alone in the room on a bare mattress, a mentally disabled kid was watching a miniature television. His nose was bleeding. He stared at us expressionlessly. He smiled, allowing some of the blood to drip into his mouth. Gruesome.

This wasn’t good. One always knows that the adorable bear is just a sign that

.a gun was shoved into my back. I squeaked and the boys turned around. They gaped and simultaneously stepped back like they truly were conjoined.

A voice that just oozed hatred asked me if I needed anything.

"No?" I asked uncertainly. I was going to make my grades better, get along with my parents, and finish buying Christmas presents.

The boys were looking even more pale and lanky than ever. I didn’t actually feel nervous, like I never felt scared when in the car with a noticeably inept, or even risky, driver.

The gun was taken away and I turned slowly around. A little lady with grey hair and a flowered dress scowled at me. She was holding a KFC take-home bag. It was, I realized, startled, a grandma.

"Sorry, madam," I whispered, and ran for it. I didn’t care what happened to the boys. I didn’t care what happened to the hotel. I wanted to light it on fire and rise from it anew like a phoenix.

I got home half an hour later, around midnight. I was shivering, aching, and alone. The boys had probably attempted conversation, to explain themselves, to make friends, even. All I cared about was air conditioning, my stuffed animals, and my innocent khaki-clad parents.

I let myself in the front door, locking it behind me and leaning against it, tears dropping to the ground.

My mom had stayed up for me, as she often did. Tonight she wore a Santa hat.

"Merry Christmas," she called to me from the kitchen. "Everything okay?"

I cried harder for a moment, then wiped my face with my sleeve and walked in.

"Merry Christmas to you, too, Mom," I said finally, sitting down across from her at the table. "As my present to you, you may have my mohawk."

"You mean, not on your head?"

"I mean, shaved off and in a box."

I left the room and lay down underneath the tree beside the presents. I fell asleep instantly.