Yuletide
A young man sat on a stack of boxes in a living room of boxes. He leaned against the wall with a pair of dirty cowboy boots propped up on a laundry basket in front of him. With a stylus in hand, he scribbled on a tablet in his lap.
“Pierce? Pierce?” a woman’s voice carried into the room before she turned the corner and found him. “Pierce McCoy, I know you’re not sitting on your backside while I’m over here slaving to unpack all these damn boxes.”
“I’m just taking myself a break. You know you’ll be falling asleep soon enough and I’ll be doing this all by my lonely,” he said in a Texas drawl as thick as hers. He looked up and gestured at the couple dozen boxes across the room. “We’re almost done anyway.”
She shook her head as she walked over to him. “We’re not even halfway done. There are still boxes in the garage.” She looked down at the tablet. “And that would get blown up every single time it’s run.”
“What?” He scanned over the tablet. “This is a guaranteed fifteen yard gain.”
“Maybe at UT where the offensive line will hold up long enough for those routes to develop or the quarterback can make the adjustments.” She leaned down and kissed him on his cheek. “We’re coaching high school kids now, honey. Give the flanker a 5-yard out.”
“Give the flanker a 5-yard out,” he repeated mockingly. “Here I was thinking I was the coach but apparently I’m the coach’s husband.”
“And don’t you forget it.” The woman stood up and walked over to bay windows. “Can you go find us a Christmas tree?”
“Get the one out of the garage.”
“A real tree.”
“We’ve been here for all of two minutes. Where the hell am I going to find a Christmas tree?”
“You can go cut down one of those cypress trees for all I care. You’re just going to go get me a tree because I asked nicely.”
Pierce McCoy looked at his wife and seeing there was no budging, he sighed and put the tablet down. He walked over to her and kissed her on the forehead, a hand on her stomach. She placed her hand on top of his. “Only because you asked nicely.”
“Hurry back,” she said, winking at him.
…
“Do you have a tree that’s like… a tree?” Pierce asked the second attendant he’d come across at the fourth tree nursery he’d been to.
The attendant looked around sarcastically. He then waved his hand in a wide arc. “There are trees all around you, sir.”
“I get that, chief. I’m asking if you have a tree that’s not purple and gold. Trees are supposed to be green. The missus wants a green tree so I’m going to need you to find me a green tree so I can go to sleep tonight and close both of my eyes.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
Pierce sighed. “Do you have a tree that doesn’t have flock on it or not?”
“We got a few left, I’m sure.” The attendant turned around and started walking down the row of trees. Pierce followed him.
After a few twists and turns, they came upon a pair of trees that were barely taller than they were. The trees were on the thin side and it wasn’t a surprise why other trees had been snatched before these two.
The attendant grabbed some of the branches and fluffed them up. “You could make it look a little better if you fluff it up. Get some nice lights.”
“These trees are pitiful, man.”
“Your missus wants a green tree. You shouldn’t have come at the last minute,” the man said. “Do you want one of them or not?”
Pierce sighed and scratched his forehead. “I guess I’ll take the less pitiful looking one.”
“Danny!” the attendant shouted. Moments later a lanky kid came running with a net covering for the tree. “Get this tree in this fella’s truck then get the money from him.”
Danny nodded as the other employee walked off and started pulling the covering over the tree.
“I know you from somewhere.”
Danny looked up. “I don’t think so, sir.”
“Yeaaaah. You’re Daniel Jackson. You played quarterback for the freshman team at Houma Junior High this season. They let 15 year olds work here?”
“Uh, well,” Danny stood up and looked around. “Well. My uncle knows the owner and I just needed some extra money. I donated some of it since I can’t pay taxes because I’m too young but I know it’s wrong but I’m just trying to buy my family nice things for Christmas and I’m sorry for lying—”
Pierce held up his hand, laughing. “Cot damn, boy. You talk faster than a bull running away from the slaughterhouse. Your secret is safe with me. On one condition.”
“One condition?”
“Yep. You make sure you come out for spring camp in a few months. I need a quarterback.”
Danny raised an eyebrow. “At Terrebonne, sir? You’re the new coach?”
“I guess you’ll have to find out when you come out for spring camp in a few months because I need a quarterback.”
Danny shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. I’m not very good at it. I was thinking about switching to corner.”
Pierce laughed, slapping his knee. “Son, you’re 100 pounds soaking wet. You need to stay your ass in that flak jacket and away from taking hits. Come out for spring camp in a few months. I need a quarterback.”
“You said that already, sir.”
“Yep. Just repeating it until you remember. Now, c’mon and get this tree in my truck. My wife’s waiting for it and my first life lesson to you will be to never piss off your wife.”
“Uh, yes, sir. I guess that makes sense?”
-*****-
A group of teenagers stood around an old Chevy Impala from the ‘20s in the cul-de-sac of a dinghy, rundown neighborhood block. A homeless man pushed a grocery cart down the opposite side walk and a couple dope boys stood on a corner up the street pushing their wares.
“It’s colder than a motherfucker out here,” one of them said.
“It’s December like a motherfucker, dumbass,” another said.
“I know what month it is, nigga.”
“Then you should know why it’s cold, nigga.”
“Ease up on him, Black. You know his mama was on crack when she was pregnant with him. That nigga brain been fried ever since,” a third voice added.
“Man, fuck both of y’all. My mama wasn’t on no fucking crack. Erik, you the smart nigga out here, tell these boys why it’s so damn cold and that it ain’t just because it’s December.”
Erik looked up from his phone and at his friends. He rubbed his temples for a moment and sighed. “Do I look like a fucking meteorologist? It’s cold because it’s cold. Get on your phone and check the weather like everyone else in the world. That’s why they sell jackets, so your big ass doesn’t get cold.”
“You ain’t no help, bruh. Look, it’s one of them cold slips the white folks be talking about.”
“It’s a fucking snap. A cold snap. Cold snap,” Erik said, snapping his fingers for emphasis.
Black laughed. “Erik can’t never let no one be at peace with they wrong statements. If Tremaine think it’s a cold slip then fuck it, let that man think he out here slipping on some cold air like a bird or some shit.”
“Yo, could you imagine that fat ass motherfucker trying to fly?”
“Fuck you, Black. And fuck you, Dwayne,” Tremaine said.
“Hey, don’t be saying my government name, nigga.” Dwayne looked around, pulling the strings of his hoodie.
“Ain’t nobody calling you Dolo, negro. Your rap career ain’t going nowhere,” Black said, laughing. “You need to get a better line to get some pussy, so you don’t want to worry about these hoes knowing you got that lame ass name.”
“Says the nigga named Wilkie Donacious Johnson,” Dwayne said.
“I was named after a famous black judge. You were named after a wrestler. C’mon now,” Black said. “At least I ain’t got that white boy name like Erik. Even spelled like a white boy would with that K at the end.”
“That can be translated to, I won’t have to worry about a job application being deleted without being looked at,” Erik said, tapping away on his phone and not looking up.
“It’s a lot of niggas in the NFL with wild names. I don’t think any of us got to worry about working for the white man,” Tremaine said.
Their conversation stopped as their attention was drawn to a luxury car rolling slowly down the street.
“Must be one of them street kings,” Black said, nodding toward the dope boys.
But the car kept coming and slowed to a stop a few feet away from them. Erik sighed, pushing away from the car and walking over to the driver’s side.
The window rolled down to reveal an older white man, his eyes shifting from Erik to the rearview mirror and back. The man reached into the glove compartment and pulled out an envelope, holding it out to the kid.
“Merry Christmas from Oklahoma State, son,” the man said.
Erik snatched the envelope from him and signaled for him to wait. He opened it up to find two banded stacks of hundreds and ten tickets to the Cotton Bowl. He read the tickets, on the 50-yard line. He took the tickets out of the envelope and shoved them in his hoodie pocket before taking out on stack of hundreds, peeling out three or four bills and shoving the money back in the envelope.
He threw the envelope back at the man. “Fuck Oklahoma State. And fuck who sent you here. I already committed. I’m not changing my mind.”
“I don’t know who you think I’m here for, but I came on my own.”
“Please. I’m not fucking stupid. Now get the fuck out of here before those gangsters from up the street come rob your white ass.”
As soon as Erik stepped away from the corner, it peeled away, hit the cul-de-sac and flew down the street the way it’d come.
Erik walked back over to the guys and retook his place against the car.
“Who the fuck was that, man? You dealing?” Dwayne asked.
“No, motherfucker,” Erik said as he took his phone out of his pocket. He also pulled the tickets out and threw them on the trunk of the car. “Here, y’all go to the Cotton Bowl. Or sell the tickets, either or.”
“Shit, I’m going!” Black snatched the tickets up from the trunk before the other two started arguing with him to give them each one or two.
Erik just went back to texting.
-*****-
“You’re welcome, ma’am. Hope you have a Happy Holidays and a Happy New Year.”
Devin grabbed the grocery basket and took a step to walk away, but the gray-haired old woman grabbed the side of the basket.
“What’d you just say to me, young man?” she asked, anger in her voice.
Devin looked around thinking that one of his friends was playing a joke on him and had whispered something just loud enough for the woman to hear that he wasn’t paying attention to. “What did I say?” he asked, pointing to his chest.
“Yes, you. What did you just say?!”
“Uh, you’re welcome, ma’am? Hope you have a Happy Holidays and a Happy New Year?”
“It’s Merry Christmas!” the woman shrieked
“What?”
“The holiday! It’s Christmas!”
“I’m lost. Does happy holidays not include Christmas or something?”
The woman shook her head, blue curls flopping on her head. She took her hand off the basket and pointed and accusing finger at him. “This is what this country lost when President Trump left office. Everyone’s gone back to trying to be politically correct and persecuting Christians. The holiday! IS! CHRISTMAS! Now, say it.”
Devin held his hands up. “Alright, alright. Sorry, sheesh. Merry… Holidays, ma’am.”
He all but ran away as the woman shouted behind him that she’d be reporting him to the manager for being disrespectful to her – after he’d offered to carry her groceries out and put them in her car – because he wouldn’t say the proper terms.
Gina sat on a bench in front of the store as he pushed the buggy in with the rest of them.
“Looks like Mrs. LeBlanc wasn’t too happy with your services. Did you do some dumb shit like put the eggs and bread under the meat?” she asked.
“Apparently saying happy holidays is a crime.”
Gina tutted and shook her head. “You should know better, Mr. King. This is a Christian country and the only holiday is Christmas. I mean, how else would companies make a killing for six weeks if it wasn’t because our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ? He’s the reason for the gluttony.”
“I hope you keep that to yourself when you’re up in there on the register. I don’t think they want to spring for a hospital bill when those old women come over the counter on you.” Devin laughed.
“I don’t know,” Gina said, scratching her chin. “I think I could take ‘em. Those old bats look like they can throw a punch, but osteoporosis definitely has them with weak chins.”
“You don’t look like you’ve ever been in a fight either. You sure you can take a punch?”
She shrugged. “I’ll let you think I’ve never knocked a bitch out.”
A car pulled up and its horn sounded. Gina looked over and rolled her eyes before picking up her keys and standing.
Before she stepped off the sidewalk, she turned back to Devin. “What’d you get Carla for Christmas?”
“Just some bath bombs and shit. Nothing fancy,” he said. “That should be enough, right?”
“You should’ve gone to Vicky’s and gotten her something that you and she will enjoy. If you do go, I’ll just throw out there that I wear a medium panty. Not a lot of ass, not too little ass, juuuust right,” she said, winking at him before going and getting into the car.
He shook his head, and while he would never say it aloud, she did have a fairly nice ass. Sighing, he headed back into the din of the store a few days before Christmas.
Ralph caught his attention and then pointed to the cases of ice where Hasan was trying to refill them while people were taking bags of ice out at a much faster clip. Devin trudged over, dreading handling the bags without gloves on.
“This motherfucker need to give us double time for this shit,” Hasan said when Devin was close enough. “I ain’t tryin’ to be up in here fightin’ these suburban white people over some damn ice but the shit comin’ if they don’t start takin’ bags off the pallet.”
Devin tapped on one of the bags. “It’s frozen too hard. They don’t want to wait too long for this shit to thaw enough that you don’t need a damn ice pick to use it.”
Hasan stopped. “Nigga, they got ice picks on aisle 8. If they need one, buy one. They got the money.”
“Fair enough. Your brother back in town for Christmas or y’all going back to Florida?” Devin asked as he started throwing bags of ice into the case.
“Nah. Don’t know where he at. Bart said I could go over to Jamie house with him, but I don’t know if I’m tryin’ to be around no kids like that on a holiday. You know they gonna have all them noisy ass toys and shit.”
“Yeah, I’d turn that offer down, too. You could come to my house. It’ll just be my parents and my grandparents. My uncle and his daughter might come around, but they never stay for long. Mom’s side doesn’t like dad’s side.”
Hasan scratched his chin. “How old ya cousin?”
“I don’t know. Like 17? 18? Maybe older? I think she’s older. We aren’t close.”
“So you sayin’ I can try to fuck on her?” he asked, laughing when Devin shoved him. “I’m messin’. Until I see what she look like. You sure your parents won’t be mad?”
“I piss my parents off everyday. What’s one more time? Besides, all you talk about is going to college. They’ll love that shit.”
-*****-
Caesar sat on the sofa staring at the Christmas tree that loomed in the corner. His vision swam and he was convinced that the star atop the almost completely white tree – flock, ornaments and lights – was dancing and had grown arms.
With all his friends doing the Christmas thing, he’d gotten bored and finished off the rest of his stock of party favors. The problem was that he wasn’t sure what some of the pills were that he’d come across. A voice in the back of his head told him that he was probably dying, but aren’t we all?
His mother stormed into the living room with her phone to her ear. She began pacing back and forth, not realizing that Caesar was sitting in the room.
“What the fuck do you mean I can’t come home for Christmas?!” Candice Jenkins shouted. “You do this same shit every year Louis. I can’t fucking help that you and daddy have a problem with the fact that Deion makes more money than the two of you. Get a better fucking job if it’s so much of a problem!”
She continued pacing, likely as Caesar’s Uncle Louis said something back to her. Watching her was making Caesar feel nauseous. He wanted to tell her to sit the fuck down. That would probably be inappropriate, though.
“I chose this?! I
chose this?! What do you mean I always get a little crazy at family gatherings? I haven’t been to one in years because of conversations like this fucking one!” Her words became tearful. “My problem is that I’m part of your fucking family and you should want us in Oklahoma with you. That’s my damn problem. He’s working. As usual? What’s that supposed to mean?”
She paused for a moment. Then the tears were gone. “Well, fuck you, Louis. I hope you choke on your ham and die, you fat fuck. Tell Hannah that I’m in awe of her ability to make sure your feedings are enough to maintain your body weight on that shoestring budget, the bitch.”
Whatever her brother was saying back was futile as she launched the phone across the room, shattering it on the far wall.
Candice turned around and looked at Caesar. “Honey, can you go get my purse out of the kitchen for me?”
Caesar nodded, slower than he felt he was nodding, before almost sliding to his feet and dragging ass to the kitchen. He hoped his mother didn’t notice him walking with his arms out as he felt like the floor was moving beneath him.
He grabbed her purse from the counter and made his way back to the living room. His mother was standing in front of the tree when he got back into the room. He held up the purse and moved his mouth to tell her he had it, but nothing came out of his mouth. So, he just stood there.
She walked around the tree and reached behind it to unlock the large windows it stood in front of, swinging them open.
Then, with a scream, she shoved the tree out of the window, star flying off the top as it scrapped the ceiling and cords of lights wiping around the plugs ripped from the wall. And as calmly as she’d opened the windows, she shut them – or as best she could with a large tree hanging out of the house.
She came over and took the purse from Caesar. “Thanks, sweetie. Go on and sit down. You look like death.”
He nodded and plopped back down on the sofa. He watched as his mother pulled a prescription bottle out of her purse and knocked back two pills. After, she sat down on the sofa next to him. The two of them looking at the barely lit tree hanging out of the window for a few minutes in silence.
“When you get older,” she started, “you’re going to thank me for being an only child. Only poor people think having a huge family is important. Everything is much simpler when it’s just the three of us and not shit bag in-laws and siblings.”
Caesar summoned as much strength as he could to act normal. “Is… Is dad going to be here-home for Christmas?”
“No, it’ll just be the two of us. He’s in wherever the fuck for whatever fucking bowl game. You know it’s a big time for the business with all the players declaring and graduating.”
Caesar nodded, but said nothing.
Candice patted him on the knee. “Nothing we’re not used to. We’ll do our usual. Breakfast, presents, lunch, movies, dinner. Sound good?”
He nodded again.
“Great. And honey?”
Caesar turned his head. “Ye… ye… yeah?”
“Stop fucking doing drugs. Or at least hide it better.”