“The angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of God shone around them, and they were struck with great fear. The angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you the good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Messiah and Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.’ And suddenly there were a multitude of the heavenly host with the angel, praising God and saying:
‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace on those on whom his favor rests.’”
The Gospel of Luke [2: 9-14]
THIS CHAPTER IS FROM SASHA'S POINT OF VIEW.
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When people tell the nativity story, it is, more often than not, told from the perspective of some third person. Mary and Joseph did this, and Mary and Joseph did that, and the Three Wise Men came, blah blah blah.
What I would like to know is what they felt. What Mary felt, now that the task that has been laid onto her is almost done. What Joseph felt, now that he was about to play father to a son who is not his. What the shepherds felt to be so scared, then to find someone so precious.
Maybe, that way, I can relate better.
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I am sitting in the middle of Ethan’s bed, watching Ethan get dressed. All of his drawers and cabinets are opened. I can spy his clothes, pressed and carefully folded inside. I grin at the ROYGBIV arrangement of shirts in one drawer, and the way they are perfectly stacked.
“Ethan, honey, what are you so worried about?” I ask, fingering the material of the button-down shirt that he has just rejected. “It’s just a Christmas dinner at your dad’s house.”
He ignores me at first, taking out several shirts out of his closet and laying them on top of each other on his bed.
“I appreciate the sentiment behind being called honey and other sticky and saccharine foodstuffs, Sasha, but I would appreciate it more if you called me by name,” he tells me tersely, letting me know he is really on edge about this dinner. “You love me, and yet the incessant use of nicknames speaks of a peculiar insincerity on your part.”
I feel myself blush. While I certainly feel strong emotions for Ethan and he – well, I can’t really gauge on what he’s feeling, ever—we haven’t really discussed much of anything concerning the prospect of a relationship. Thus far, we’ve slept together and haven’t brought up the fact since prom night.
And now that has me blushing.
Ethan, who is absolutely no good at picking up any kind of social clue – not even if it is screamed to his very face – smiles bashfully at the sight of me all red in the face.
“Stop it,” I say, feeling my blush run deeper.
“I’m not doing anything!” Ethan protests, frowning all of a sudden. The moment is over before I can treasure it, much more fragile than spun sugar.
I stand up from his bed and touch the clothes he has laid out. I pick up a nice, long-sleeved, and blue button-down and I set it against his chest. I smooth out any wrinkles, careful that I do not touch his bare skin with mine. He watches while I do this, and he is very still.
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Teen FictionEthan seems like your regular teenager. Except he arranges his clothes according to color. He segregates the food on his plate so they don't touch. He knows Crayola colors you've never heard of. He has a strange fascination with Jesus Chirst. He doe...
