Читать книгу I'm Your Girl - J.J. Murray - Страница 8

I don’t know why I’m putting up this tree.

Old habit, I guess.

Yeah.

It’s something to do.

There are so many ornaments. Baby’s first, second, where’s the—There it is. Baby’s third. Stevie opened it last year…before tearing into his other presents.

Without a second thought.

He was a kid. He was excited. He opened this bear on a train in about five seconds. He loved his bears. I wanted to get him a plane, or an old car, or even a Harley-Davidson ornament, but Noël said to stay in sequence. “We’re creating heirlooms for him to share with his own family one day.”

One day.

Don’t think about it.

I can’t help it.

You and Noël were just keeping Hallmark in business, you know.

I was getting to like that tradition.

You can’t miss putting together his toys.

They were fun.

You cursed the directions too much.

They weren’t written in decent English half the time.

I look up at the goofy tree topper, a star I picked out at Wal-Mart. Half of the lights have the colors of the rainbow, and the other half are clear white. I don’t know why they keep burning out.

That’s what lightbulbs do.

But they only put in two replacement bulbs. How nice of them.

That’s how they keep you coming back, year after year.

Noël always winced and shrugged when we had completed the tree, but she took the picture anyway with Stevie in front of the tree, all warm in his footy pajamas, his stuffed teddy bear named Mr. Bear in his arms, his eyes sparkling like all the tinsel—

He was a cute kid.

The cutest.

I’m sure Mr. Bear is still in Stevie’s closet. I ought to donate it and all the Christmas gifts Noël bought for Stevie during the year to the Salvation Army. She was always thinking about Christmas, even in July.

You thought she was crazy.

Yeah.

I just can’t open her closet door to get at them yet, mainly because I can’t quite get myself to open the door to that room. My back aches from sleeping on the bottom bunk of Stevie’s bunk bed, and I ought to wash those sheets…but that little boy smell is still in them.

Have I done everything correctly?

Something’s missing.

The train! Why didn’t I put that together before I hung the ornaments? I did the same thing last year. We put up the tree, wrapped it in lights, hung all the ornaments, and threw on lots of tinsel, so much so that it choked Tony the cat.

Tony deposited a very interesting, shiny fur ball in the kitchen the next day.

And then Noël said, “Don’t forget the train”…and here I am forgetting the train again.

There are some outdoor decorations in the laundry room. Don’t forget them.

It’s too late. It’s Christmas Eve.

It’s never too late to celebrate Christmas.

It is this year.

I piece together the track around the base of the tree, getting tinsel in my hair and pinesap on my forehead. “You look silly, Daddy,” Stevie would say. Then I place the train on the track, hooking all the cars together and hitting the switch on the locomotive. The batteries are still good.

Chug-a-chugga, chug-a-chugga.

But where’s the smoke? Oh, yeah. I have to add cooking oil to the smokestack. Maybe later.

Tony the cat hated the train, and I keep expecting him to appear out of nowhere to swipe at the caboose. He left soon after…that day. He’s better off anyway.

You forgot to feed him most of the time.

I forget to feed myself most of the time.

Yeah, your diet should consist of more than alcohol and pretzels.

I wonder if Noël bought me anything before…

You know she did.

But my presents would be in that closet, too. I’ll bet she got me some clothes. Yeah. She was always trying to dress me better.

Anything would have been an improvement.

But I’ve lost a lot of weight. I’ll bet there are ties in that closet. Noël wanted me to look professional on the job—which would be over for a while anyway, at least until after New Year’s, though I’m sure I’d have plenty of papers to grade. I’m on an extended holiday break from teaching. You can’t call it “Christmas break” anymore.

That isn’t politically correct.

And you really shouldn’t say “holiday,” because it comes from “holy day.” So I guess you just say, “Have a good whatever.”

Try putting that phrase on a button and see if you don’t offend anyone.

The school, Monterey Elementary, called me in again to substitute last week. It’s nice to know they’re thinking of me, but I’m on permanent sabbatical, prematurely retired at the ripe old age of thirty-two. I should have gotten hazard pay to teach social studies to fifth-graders, and they want me to substitute? No way, I said, even though subs are now making eighty bucks a day. I’m okay for funds—for now. The life insurance…

I don’t want to think about the reason I have so few debts now.

You will anyway.

I don’t want to, but…they only gave me $5,000 for Stevie! That’s all he was worth! Five thousand dollars for a priceless little life! I got more money from the settlement on the van! A child’s life has to have more value than a van!

Stevie was priceless.

It was as if he were leased to me for a few years, and I could trade him in for…for this…for this.

Stevie was on loan from God, Jack. We’re all only on loan to this world.

It’s just not fair.

I get up and walk down the hallway to Noël’s door. All the times I used to come up from grading or writing, turning this doorknob silently, easing the door open only to have the hinges squeak, but Noël slept through it, even though I bumped a dresser drawer with my knee almost every night.

Your bruises must have healed by now.

They have. I even have a few scars.

It was a sharp dresser. Get it?

Ha-ha.

I’d feel for the corner of the bed on my side, slide in beside her, kiss her cheek, maybe spoon with her a while before returning to the cold side of the bed….

I can’t turn the knob today. I just can’t. Maybe tomorrow.

You’ve been saying that for the last six months.

I know. Maybe tomorrow.

I return to the tree, plugging in the lights. Then I take a picture of…no one with big eyes giggling into the camera.

Oh, God, this is so hard.

No one said it was going to be easy.

I down the rest of my eggnog, toasting the tree and carrying on a conversation with myself while the train chug-a-chugs in circles.