December 26, 2010

for years

I know for a fact I will be telling the story of christmas twenty ten for awhile. my kids will say.
"mommy. tell us your christmas eve story!" on the same night in accordance.
and the story I will spin will sound a little like this.

I will never forget the christmas eve my dad bounded into walgreens at eleven in the evening with my tired self at his side and proclaimed, "Hello fellow losers!"

it's getting late. grandmother said when it was abruptly 6.38pm. I laughed in spite of my hopes it was later.
we finished singing our hearts out. my family never sings. I never knew we could. Brenton strummed across the strings of the instrument of what was now a christmas tradition. Rachel organized the nativity.

it consisted of mary getting rejected and then abruptly accepted into an inn.
and the narrator saying loudly, "And lo an angel...and lo...LO! (ugh) YO ANGEL!"
I love.

then my family drove home. santa still needed candy for the stockings. my youngers fled into slumber, and I did dishes. a funny and what seemed impossible thought popped into my head. what if wal*mart is closed? that's impossible. but I still inquired the question to my father. we left around then just in case it was so. and that was the first and only time I'd ever seen that parking lot empty in my entire life.

there was a police officer staked out by the door to make sure there was no riot, robbery, or any of that christmas cheer. my heart fell into my stomach. to think of the children's sugar hungry bodies the next morning.

"There is still walgreens. I'm pretty sure it's open. I hope it's open." the driver dad of the green mini van said. we went around the bend and the town plaza came into view.

that was the first and only time I'd ever seen that parking lot full in my entire life. little walgreens. the store that has two or three cars parked there whenever you pass it, was full. there was a bright green banner hanging that said loudly, "Open till 12 midnight!"

my dad muttered under his breath while walking in the doors, "I feel like such a loser." and then he took a breath and said louder, "Hello fellow losers!"

(I am no longer continuing this, because I no longer desire to do so.)


dp said...

it was 9:30 p.m. but being the deep winter it felt, much, much later.

dp said...
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