Kaleidoscope Tree

As they sat on the carpet, their eyes mirrored the sparkling, blinking white lights. The ornaments reflected their images across the globular surfaces, making their faces seem bigger than they were. Fisheye round, like a fun-house mirror.

“I wouldn’t do it if I were you,” he said, shaking his head and arching a judgmental eyebrow.

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” she said.

“Might I remind you of last year?”

“You might not,” she said, tilting her head in opposition.

He shifted, blocking her view of the tree, and glared into her eyes. “Last year, you broke four ornaments. Four. One of them was Mom’s great grandma’s–like a hundred years old.”

She winced and broke eye contact. One shoulder shrugged, feigning indifference, but she felt a pinch of remorse. Yet, breaking things is in my nature, she rationalized silently, closing her eyes a little too long.

“A priceless ornament,” he said, rubbing in the guilt like a face full of dirt.

She stood, sauntered to the couch, and nestled into a blanket that was half draped over the armrest and half on the seat cushion. By not sitting on the floor in front of the tree, ogling the colorful, shiny ornaments and glimmering lights, she avoided temptation and impending catastrophe.

He rolled onto his back and was staring up through the branches. “It’s best when you look at it from this angle. Like a kaleidoscope.”

“Stop it.” She repositioned on the couch to face away from the tree and him. “You’re taunting me,” she hissed.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are t–” She sighed. “Grow up.”

“I’m the grown up here. The one tryin’ to stop you from gettin’ us in trouble.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Two words. Last. Year.”

The clock on the living room wall ticked and the refrigerator motor hummed. “I forgot about us getting in trouble. We were restricted from going anywhere for a week.”

“Yeah, so… Leave the tree alone. Got it?” He padded out of the living room and into the kitchen for some water.

She watched him sipping on water and sighed again. She didn’t want to be bad, but temptations were everywhere. Especially during the holidays. Distracted adults, which created infinite opportunities for mischief. Charcuterie boards left on the counter with smoked salmon. Delish. Gifts under the tree? Yes, please. Why wait for Christmas morning? Nothing like the present.

Presents. Her eyes were saucers.

She pivoted on the couch to face the tree and the presents stacked under it. Alluring twinkles. Gleaming ornaments. Enticing wrapped gifts with crinkly bows.

“Don’t even think about it,” he called from the kitchen.

“What are you? The tree police?” She huffed and shifted her weight on the couch. “I can’t look at the tree?”

“You can... But you shouldn’t.”

He was right. He also was a joy killer. She hated that. She jumped off the couch and wandered into the kitchen. “How come you never told Mom it was me that broke the ornaments last year?”

His upper lip twitched in irritation. “How was I supposed to do that?”

“I dunno. Dumb question.”

He paced the floor. “I’m hungry.”

“I smelled something yummy wrapped in pretty, pretty paper under the tree.”

“Don’t do that.”

Her eyes widened. “Do what?”

“That.” He swatted the side of her head, near her ear. “Tempting me to rip into a gift.”

“You know you want to. They’ll never find out. We can hide the paper. Get rid of the evidence.”

He took a few steps. Backed up two steps. Advanced again. Side by side, they strolled into the living room.

“Which one?” he said.

“You mean which one is the yummy snack?” She pointed toward green, red, and white striped paper. A parcel shaped like a snack bag.

He strolled toward the parcel and sniffed. “Yup...”

Paper flew left and right. The ripping sound was almost violent, feverish. He tore open the plastic bag and pulled out a morsel. “Mmm.” His tongue passed over his upper lip. “Mmmm.” He pulled out another and chewed loudly. “Yum.”

“Lemme in there.” She pushed him away from the snack bag and pulled out one, then two, then three. Eating without tasting.

Her heart raced from the exertion and endorphins–the neurotransmitters sending feel-good messages throughout her central nervous system. Sparkly lights. Kaleidoscope. Shiny ornaments.

Before she or he could stop her, she knocked presents out of the way and climbed into the lower limbs, corkscrewing her way upward as if she was on a spiral staircase. Branches swayed, pendular ornaments dangled, and the tree trunk leaned. The further she climbed, the further the trunk tilted.

“Oh, Lily. Oh man. The tree is swaying. You better get down.”

“Shut up, Tiger.” She could feel the trunk bending, getting weaker as she wound near the mid-point. She clung to the bark, swayed right, swayed left.

A pop and then a tinkle like chimes stopped Lily’s ascent. Tiger groaned. “That’s ornament number one. Lily! We’re gonna be in so much trouble.”

“Almost there. I’ve seen this in cat videos and I wanna make it to the top.” She’d spent many a content morning, lying in bed with Mom, watching cats on Mom’s iPad.

Another pop. Another tinkle. “That’s ornament number two.”

“Lily. Get down.” A human voice froze Lily in place. A female voice she recognized.

“Mom is home,” Tiger said.

“No, she’s not.” Lily scanned the walls, the shelves, and the fireplace. She spotted a space helmet looking thing, like an eyeball sitting on the mantlepiece. “It’s a security camera. I overheard Mom and Dad saying they were gonna install one.”

“How is she talking to us?”

“There’s speaker next to the space helmet thing. Her voice must be–”

“Lily,” the female voice said. “Get down now.”

Climbing up was a breeze. Getting down, with her face leading? No way. She rotated her back end like hands on a clock, her paws gripping the bark as she shimmied her butt downward. Her rear paws floating until they found the next branch down. A paw slipped off a branch, then she was tumbling the last few feet, taking two ornaments with her, and thudding on the floor.

“At least you’re consistent,” Tiger said. “That’s four again this year.”

“I guess we’re going to be restricted to the crate in the kitchen again,” Lily said, as she brushed off shards of ornaments from her fur.

“Yup.” Tiger glared at Lily. “No more pretty lights. No more kaleidoscope.”