I stepped into the warm ambiance of Xavier's home. The soft smell of sugar cookies wafted from the kitchen, leaving tendrils of lingering warmth hanging heavy in the air. Loud music greeted me at the door, enticing my limbs to dance. Xavier's voice carried into the living room from the kitchen, just slightly off key. The whole situation made me feel weird. It wasn't that I hated the happy scenario, it was just that I was new to the whole lighthearted milieu.
"Xavier?" I stepped around the corner of the half wall, a small fraction of my mind wondering if he was replaced by a an alien. The strong smell of sugar cookies and wine curled under my nose, both welcoming and shunning. This was Xavier's happiness, not mine. Yet I couldn't help feeling envious of his carefree attitude.
What met me in the kitchen was definitely a sight to see. The eighth wonder of the world- Xavier being fun. A huge plate piled high with cinnamon sugar covered cookies sat in the middle of the table. A bottle of aged wine was right next to it, its silky red interior beckoning. Music filled the entire room from a radio. Xavier was bent over, reaching inside the oven for yet another batch of sugar cookies. He set them on a cooling rack, and turned around, glass in hand.
"Ehi, è Chrissy! Vuoi un po 'di vino?"
"I don't speak Italian, Xavier." He just laughed and grabbed another glass from a cupboard. While he was distracted, I lifted the wine bottle and glanced at its contents.
"Have some wine," he said. His breath smelled slightly acidic and floral. "It's oak barrel aged Cabernet Sauvignon wine. Imported from Francia to Italía." Xavier mixed both languages together, giving me the hint that he had been drinking for a while.
"This is 35 percent alcohol." I put it down and fixed him with a disapproving stare. “How many glasses of this have you had?”
Xavier ignored my question entirely. "Here." He handed me the glass that was filled halfway with a beautiful red liquid. The wine swirled with the slightest touch, leaving behind a light red tint on the glass. When I rose it to my nose, I could smell rose petals, earth, and wood. “Merry Christmas,” Xavier cheered over the music, lifting his glass. I just stood there, baffled.
“It’s Christmas?”
“Tomorrow is Christmas. Today is Christmas Eve.” He rose his glass even higher, the wine dangerously close to spilling. “Merry Christmas!” he shouted again.
“But where are the decorations, the Christmas music, the festive foods? Where’s the tree with Christmas ornaments and the cookies shaped like stars and gingerbread men? Why aren’t there Santa’s and Christmas choirs?” My eyes were searching, seeking for any hint of festivity. There weren't any whatsoever. "... Where’s the Christmas I always dreamed of?"
Xavier looked at me with pity as he lowered his glass. “Things aren’t like they were.” He picked up the huge plate of cookies. “But I made cinnamon sugar covered cookies!” The cookies no longer felt inviting, but a failing attempt of restoring the past. I set the glass of wine down slowly, gingerly, on the table. Rather than scurrying off to the bedroom, I took a seat in the living room, closing my eyes and imagining a real Christmas.
They’re just legends, Chrissy, I told myself. You should have known not to get your hopes up. My head rolled against the leather. Legends.
Xavier walked over, as much as a person that has been drinking for a while can walk. He took a seat next to me and sighed. Xavier had abandoned the wine, but the music still blared loudly. “You owe me a drink together," he said bluntly. A few seconds passed with Xavier dancing on the couch while I pondered about Christmas. The silence wrapped around us, tightening until I could hardly breathe. “You got the wrong tattoo, Chris." Xavier’s voice sounded both lively and tired.
أنت تقرأ
World War Four
الأكشنMeet Chrissy Staris, eighteen year old prisoner since the day she was born. Though confined to a small cell, she isn't about to let the men have their idiotic ways, no. She breaks out of the facility to start another revolution, one that this time w...
