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the outside world (a christmas story).
"They really are, Carol. And so easy to make. You can find
these supplies at any local craft or art supply store, and
it really only takes a few minutes to paint and an hour or
so to dry."
"Wonderful, wonderful."
Carol and Judy are the two ladies on the craft show that
happen to be on the television when I come into the
room. I was mean to change the channel after I get to the
couch but after I get comfortable in the crack between the
two big cushions I notice the remote is across the room
and suddenly don't feel like doing much of anything. So I
watch Carol and Judy show how to paint wood to make it
look marbelized. They demonstrate on a little round-topped
table, which they decide to be teal with grey streaks. It's
so stupid because you know it isn't real marble, since
the grain of the wood shows through the paint, which by the
way was a color I had never seen marble in before. I start
to think about getting up to find the remote when they go
to commercial break.
But I look at my toes and I get distracted. Really.
My feet are up on the coffee table and when I look at the
TV where they're showing a commercial for a Christmas sale
at some used car place, my toes are blurry. When I look
at my toes, the television screen is blurry. And if I
look quickly back and forth, they kind of do a weird
blurry-not blurry dance in my mind.
Someone comes down the stairs. I hear the thumping, muffled
footsteps of sneakers on hardwood and look up over my
shoulder. Dad stands in the foyer at the foot of the stairs,
zipping his jacket; he stuffs his hands into some gloves
and calls out in no particular direction, "Going to
Wal-Mart, leaving in five minutes if anyone wants to come
join the outside world." He goes out the front door. The van
needs to heat up some.
The house is just as still as it was before. Carol and Judy
come back on and then I hear a dull thump and some muffled
voice coming up the basement steps. Taylor thrusts open the
door the moment after I realize it was a singing muffled
voice. "You can say there's no such thing as Santa- hey,
Jess, did Dad just say he's going out?"
He's singing that stupid song again. "Yeah, he is. And
that song is so gross, Taylor, I swear-"
"What song?"
"That one about the grandma getting run over by Santa's
sleigh or whatever..."
"Oh, this one? Grandma got run ov-" He circles around the
sofa in search of his jacket. I feign tossing a pillow at
him. "Fine. No more. You going with Dad?"
I shrug. I haven't even thought about it. Maybe it will
be better than watching the Home & Garden station all
evening. "I guess I might." He swatts my arm and tosses my
coat at me from the rack. I haven't really seen him like this
in a long time, the way he's so eager to get out even just
to Wal Mart. For the last few weeks he and Ike and Zac have
been pretty much worthless. They came back home talking in
Spanglish from South America, still living in that funny
whirlwind stage from when they did their shows here. They
all said they had colds. Mom said they were just tired. So
the slept a lot and ate and sometimes took showers. And I
think maybe they wrote a song. But really they just
hibernated. I guessed they had earned it, but I really like
finally seeing Taylor this awake.
The van is cold in the middle seat where I sit, where there
aren't vents like the ones on the floor and on the dash and
everywhere else up front. Dad pulls out of the driveway
after one last call in the house and Taylor starts his
crazy fiddling with the radio stations. Zac had figured out
how to program the buttons earlier in the fall and that had
only given us another reason to covet shotgun. I sit and
stare out the window as he punches the numbers. We don't
actually hear a full song by the time we get to the Wal
Mart, which is what normally happens when he's in
charge.
"So, what are we here for?" I ask as we walk from the
parking space to the front doors. The street lamps are
coming on and the sky is that funny blue winter color that
makes everything off in the distance look black. Cold and
black. I walk between Dad and Taylor, my teeth
chattering.
"Stuff," Taylor says just as Dad replies, "A few groceries,
some extra lights for the tree to replace the ones Mackenzie
removed for Zoe's Lite Brite, and birdseed."
"And Christmas presents."
I'm really impressed. My brother Taylor Hanson is
actually thinking about Christmas presents three weeks
before Christmas. It's the first time ever.
The man in the wheelchair that always greets people at the
front of the store is wearing a Christmas hat and he smiles
and says, "Hello, Merry Christmas," to us instead of just
"Hello." Dad takes a buggy and points it at the produce
aisles and I wander behind Taylor in the direction of his
choice.
The 'outside world' is crazy tonight. Extra displays have
been put up and the asiles are clogged and there are a
million people there shopping. The Christmas music strains
to be heard over the din caused by the shoppers; there are
too, too many people. I catch up to Taylor some and clench
the back of his jacket in my fist, because even though we've had
had a thousand Family Talks about big crowds in places like
Wal-Mart and the mall, I still get that funny knot in my stomach
sometimes. He looks back over his shoulder and half grins at me and then
I start to think that maybe it isn't so bad, that I'm
really over all this and that it will be fine. And if anyone
says anything all I have to do is smile at them and act like
the completely normal person I am. Until then I'll just
follow Taylor.
We wind up in the music department, and looking over the
racks of CDs I can see the main aisle we had just passed
through and it doesn't look too crowded. The clerk at the
checkout counter in the department peers at me,
though, or else at Taylor, who has wandered down to the end of
the aisle I'm on, studying something on the rack
intently. It was a video game. He taps the case with his
finger like he's rapping at a window pane.
"Zac wants this."
"Great," I look over the CDs next to my arm, realize they're
country, then look around at whatever he's talking
about. "Get it for him, then."
He shrugs. "No, I think I'll just wait-"
"Oh, so it's not really Zac that wants it. You want it and
you're just trying to drop a hint-"
"Hmph," he half-laughs, flips my hair down in my face and
moves down the aisle. "Jess the Mess, come on. I've
got to find something for Zoe." And that means going to the
toy department, the last place he should be on a night
like this. There are Barbies and tea sets and most of all,
little girls. And then I know why he had pulled me
along, and I feel strangely honored. I'm supposed to
protect him from gaudy flowered dishes and sticky, grabbing hands
and gawking eyes and pink Malibu jeeps. I hang onto his
sleeve as we slowly enter the toy department, where
children are squealing and begging and we can feel how
excited they are in the air all around us.
I point at the shelves. "Dolls are that way, games are that way-"
He is looking around with that funny expression he gets
sometimes when everything gets crazy. Mom calls it his Mona
Lisa face. He's not really smiling, but you might think he is
if you just look at him quickly. I've never really been able
to figure it out. But here he is, standing with me
clutching the sleeve of his jacket in between two huge crates
of animal-shaped pillows and giant rubber balls. He sniffs
and I think he might sneeze, but he just scratches the end
of his nose and asks, "So, don't they make stuffed animals
any more?"
We find the shelf of stuffed animals and look around for a
few minutes. I hand him a few but he just shrugs. He picks out
a funny blue thing that we decide is a mouse and even though
I don't agree, he thinks Zoe will like it. I think it's ugly. It
has plaid overalls and house shoes and its nose is stumpy. I think I
might protested if it not for the boy that comes up behind Taylor
and taps his arm with a pen and, almost so softly that we
can't hear him, hands Taylor a slip of paper and asks him to sign it.
It's a receipt from the store, I notice. In the hand that
didn't hand him the pen, there's a newly opened plastic
package of three other ones. "It's not for me," the boy
says, and I decide he isn't that much older than
me. "It's for my sister." He moves his stare from Taylor's
hand as it scratches across the paper to me, and quickly
back. "She's scared to come over here. But she bought
these pens just because she saw you and didn't have anything
to write with. She told me to tell you all this stuff but I
think I forgot it all, even though there was something about
you guys having a very good holiday and getting lots of
sleep." He pauses, and looks at his shoes. "But don't worry,
I don't think that means she wants to sleep with you."
Taylor nodds like he knows what the boy means. I fight the
urge to make a face. I hope the boy was right because if his
sister wanted to sleep with my brother she'd be crazy. He
hogs the covers and drools. "What's her name?" Taylor asks.
"Vanessa."
"Cool. Alright. There we go." He caps the pen and hands it
and the paper back to the boy.
The boy pauses again, and purses his lips. He looks at me,
squinting. "She wanted me to tell you something, too. She
says she figures you're a really nice girl even though she doesn't know
you, and for you to make sure your brothers stay safe and be
smart and write more good music for her. And she said to say
thanks, and for me to thank you, too. So thanks." And then he
walks off.
Taylor puts the blue mouse under his arm like a football and
nods at the boy as he turns the corner of the
aisle. "Ready to go?"
"I guess so." We make our way through the people, somehow
managing to find Dad just about to check out in line. Taylor
sets the mouse in the buggy and gives the customary
I'll-Pay-You-Back-Later nod.
Dad sifts through his pocket. "You guys want to go wait in
the van?" He tosses Taylor the keys. "I've only got a few
things, so it won't be much to handle." Taylor nods at him
and tugs at my sleeve.
"We're gonna go cruisin, Jess," he tells me in a dorky
voice. "Cruisin at Wal Mart." We're crossing the parking
lot. It's colder now.
"Are not," I contest, squinting as we walked under a
glowing orange street lamp. The van is just a few places
down.
"You want to sit in the driver seat?" he asks as we
approach the car. "Or are you just too big for that
now? See, I'd say you think you're too big-"
"I think you're right," I giggle as he unlocks the sliding
door. He slides into the passenger seat up front, sticks the
keys in the ignition and turns the heat on full blast. I
warm up, slowly. He doesn't talk any more until I say,
"Taylor?"
"Huh?"
I fiddle with my unbuckled seat belt. The metal is cold and
I wish I had gloves. "Do people like that bother you?"
"Like who, that guy? He was nice enough about it. You just do
what you have to do, though, Jess. I can't let that bother me.
You know that." He turns the heat down a notch, then looks
back at me. "Does it bother you?"
"I don't know. Tay, what would you have done if I wasn't
there? Would you have talked to him about his sister or
something?"
"Maybe."
"Why didn't you?" I have no idea why I'ms asking him all
those questions. They're just coming out of me.
He kind of scowls, but not at me- at the thought. "Ah,
well, I might have talked to him if he acted like he wanted
to have a conversation, but he seemed a little rushed. Jess-
do you think I was acting different because of you?"
"Maybe a little bit, but-"
"But what? I was just looking after
you, see. Things can't be the same when I'm alone, or when
you or Ave or even Mom or Dad are there. We've all just got
to know how to act and how to handle things, and how to
handle people in different situations. That boy talked to
you. He probably doesn't know your name. His sister
might. But that's beside the point. Things like that don't
always happen so sometimes those are strange to deal with.
But we've always got to look out for each other." He sounds
like he knows what he means. I nod in the dark.
Dad is coming towards the van with three blue plastic bags
in tow. Taylor pops the back and Dad greets us as he sets the bags down.
"You guys not frozen?"
And it really never was too cold
because that just doesn't happen here. But we both say no and
then he comes back around and slips into his seat. He pulls
out of the parking space and drives across the lot, then gets
onto the road. We pass the junior high on the way home; it's
seven o'clock and there are a thousand cars in that parking
lot because they're having a holiday dance. And maybe I could
have gone if I talked to one of the girls down the street I
knew that go there but I didn't. Dad asks us about Christmas
presents and Taylor tells him about the blue mouse but not
about the boy and his sister.
We keep on driving in the dark and even though my hands are
kind of cold there's a funny feeling inside me. But it's not
the funny nervous feeling I get sometimes. Up front, Dad says
something and even though I don't hear what it was, Taylor
laughs and that makes me smile. And I think that maybe I'm
happy because things seem normal, even though they aren't;
for this second everything seemed permanent, even though they
aren't. I have my brothers back and they're happy not tired
and it's Christmas again.
Taylor turns around and looks at me. "Do you think Zoe is
gonna like the mouse, Jess?"
I nod and smile because I think he thought I didn't know if
she would or not. "Yeah," I tell him. "I think she'll love
it."
This story was written in December 2000 for the 2000 Hanson Advent Calendar. Thanks to Amanda for asking. Merry Christmas to all.
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