12-13 naps

Dec 26th, 2024 — Day 7 Since She’s Gone Away

Finally getting out of the house today. I meet Toby at our usual corner place. He seems strung out, his scraggly ginger hair more scraggly than usual.

“God, do I hate the holidays. I got chased by fucking Barbara’s psycho kid the entire day yesterday.”

Trance-like, his eyes are intensely fixed on a tiny bird that just landed on the tree across the street. I am thoroughly bored by the vision.

“I feel empty, devoid of any masculine energy,” he continues. I roll my eyes. He shakes his head and seems to get back in the loop.

“But let me live vicariously through you! How was your first Christmas alone? Did you stuff yourself until you couldn’t move? Sleep for 14 hours straight? Tell me aaaall about the dream!”

He gives me an all-teeth smile.

“Sure, I slept. But it was mostly a very long series of naps. I guess it was like… 12-13 naps? As for the food—well, I didn’t feel like eating quite so much.”

His extremely gluttonous self looks at me like I’m crazy. I interrupt him before he can yell WHY NOT EAT? EATING IS THE BEST THING IN THE WORLD—

“Dude, I’m sad. And when I get the sadness going, I can’t eat much.”

He stops mid-yell. I think he is embarrassed. Emotions are a difficult topic for Toby.

“Do you miss her?” he finally asks.

“Of course I do,” I say after a pause.

“I’m sorry. When is she getting back from the hospital?”

“I don’t know. That’s what’s most frustrating. They just won’t tell me. I…” I pause. “I’m afraid she might never come back.”

“Ah.” He seems to have lost his words. I can see the little cogs in his little brain working hard to find a way to cheer me up.

“But think of the nasty holidays you just escaped! Aren’t you glad you could skip all that noise and ruckus? Look at me here—I’m balding from the stress.”

You gotta understand Toby: he is not very bright nor introspective, so that’s the best he can do.

“Toby. I have a confession,” I start, and I feel him getting tense. He doesn’t like confessions. But I have to get this off my chest today. “I… actually love Christmas. I always did.”

There it is. I said it. I know he won’t believe me. None of our friends would. Complaining about the holidays has always been one of our traditional group activities, and I always played my part.

“You’re joking,” he says.

“I am really, really not,” I sigh, looking up. “Was there never any part of you that enjoyed it? How warm the house gets? The smell of roast turkey baking in the oven? Don’t pretend you don’t like the turkey!”

“I respect the turkey,” he admits.

“Isn’t it funny how these random people—the ‘relatives,’ basically strangers—just show up on this day? The stories they tell! This one guy, Uncle Jared, came all bronzed straight from Hawaii last year. Turns out, he permanently moved there months earlier to live by the joys of the surf and the sunshine. And nobody knew!”

“Dope,” says Toby, a little bewildered yet amused by my pathos.

“Also, kids are not so bad. I know you hate them, but my sister Becky’s daughter is just a natural phenomenon, and I love witnessing the storms she conjures. Especially on Christmas Day. Usually, she starts off thinking all presents are for her. When she finds out this is not true, she spends the next five minutes doing pattern recognition of the different wrapping papers to figure out which ones are hers. And she’s almost always right! Such a smart girl.”

“Okay, I gotta ask now,” says Toby. “If you love Christmas so much, why didn’t you go to Becky’s house this year?”

I pause. My chest tightens, and words struggle to come out.

“I wasn’t invited,” I’m finally able to say.

Toby stares at me, unsure of what to say. I can tell he pities me. Neither of us likes it.

“I think it’s because…” I try to explain, “it’s because I never showed it. I was never really a part of the scene, just a sideline observer. I’m also averse to too much noise, like you, so often I retreated to another room to relax. But I could still listen in and enjoy their fun.”

“Maybe I can understand that,” Toby says after a moment. “I hate the noise and I hate Barbara’s kid. But even if I’m overwhelmed, I’m happy that they are happy.”

“Exactly,” I say. “If I had just let them know, maybe I wouldn’t have been alone this Christmas. But I’m too proud to do that.”

“Yup,” Toby snickers dryly, “that makes two of us. It’s probably in our DNA.”

A wry smile comes to me. “Becky came to visit just now, you know. But it just feels like it’s a chore for her. She comes by to see that I’m alive and well, then straight up leaves again. It’s hard to feel appreciated and to show vulnerability when you’re just a line on somebody’s to-do list.”

“Fucking Becky,” mutters Toby, “treating my man like a task.”

I hear somebody call my name from afar. It’s Becky. I ignore her. She calls my name again, and I know she’s closer. When she finally reaches us, we both give her a good, hard glare.

“There you are!” she says. “Are you having a friendly neighbour chat? How cute!”

She picks me up. “You’re all wet! Have you been standing in the snow this whole time? Well—you’re lucky to have so much fur to keep you warm!”

The day is over. She carries me back in the house, points at the freshly filled bowl of food like I’m too stupid to understand when she talks, plants a kiss on my head, pets me exactly twice, and leaves. She even locks the door.

I stare at the food bowl. I still don’t want to eat.

Time for a nap.