Ep 4 - A Christmas to Forget to Remember! - SERIES: Adventures of A&J

Did I ever tell you about the time I got amnesia on Christmas Eve?

The Christmas of 1952 was a doozy. It stormed for three days straight. The adults thought we’d be snowed in for the season. Then, by some holiday miracle of nature, the storm lifted on December 23rd.

My cousin Jeremy and I were only thirteen years old.

Jeremy, in all his excitement for the grandest holiday of the year, combined with his propensity for shenanigans on any given day, was going to convince me that we had to go down to Tellers Pond and spend the whole day having outdoor winter fun.

“C’mon Arnold,” Jer whined. “When it’s this cold and packed with snow, it’s perfect! And it’s Christmas Eve to boot! We can pass away our time ice-skating on the pond, building snow forts in the glade nearby. We might even be able to start a snowball fight!”

“I don’t really the cold,” I protested.

The truth was, I was terrified of skating on the ice. Rumor was, a few years back before I was born, some kids went out. The day was too warm and one had fallen in, got trapped under the icy water, and drowned. My father had told me the story when I was old enough to go out alone and play in that area of town. It scared me pretty bad.

Honestly, my father was a worry-wart and there wasn’t anything to stress about. After that incident, our small Americana town had put fail-safe measures into place, to ensure another tragedy like that would never occur again.

On weekends, local law officers or firefighters would check the ice. They had created a wooden sign where the safety status of the pond was displayed. The sign either read ‘Safe’ or ‘Unsafe,’ and that was that. If the wooden carved sign was turned to the green-painted words, ‘Safe,’ then it was fine to skate. Red-painted words, ‘Unsafe,’ and you weren’t allowed. Anyone caught out on the pond when the sign was red would be tattled on and likely grounded for life. No one ever tempted fate.

My logical brain knew I had nothing to worry about, and yet, I still worried. It was just how I was when I was a kid.

Jeremy kept on his sales pitch to me. He would until I caved in. “Look, if we stay home, our moms are going to rope us into making cookies with them, or something like that. This would be much more fun to pass the time. We’ll be so worn out that we won’t have trouble falling asleep tonight. Then Christmas morning will come that much sooner. How can you argue with that, buddy? It’s a win-win!”

I sighed, cringing when Jeremy said the phrase, ‘win-win.’ It usually meant we were fated for doom and disaster. Don’t ask me why that always was. It just was.

“Okay, okay, let’s go. I might not go on the ice though. I might just watch.”

“Nah, you can’t sit on the sidelines on a cold day like this. You’ll freeze up for sure. If you keep moving, you’ll stay warm.”

“We’ll see,” I sighed. 

We bundled up, putting on the layers as our moms insisted on, then headed out to Tellers Pond. Nature’s little rink was brimming with screaming kids of all ages. At first I sat on the fallen tree that served as a bench for those resting from over exertion on the ice. Then, much to my annoyance, I realized after ten minutes that 15 degrees outside was too cold to be sitting on the sidelines.

I pulled my skates on and made my way onto the ice. It was the first time out this season and I wobbled a little trying to remember how to move my body. Muscle memory took over, and in no time, I was quickly gliding around with Jeremy and the other boys in a game of ice-tag. I was having a pretty good time, when suddenly—WHAM!

I ran smack into another kid and went down hard on the ice. I must have blacked out, and when I came to, it seemed as though every kid on the pond was there, forming a giant circle, hovering over me.

Of course, I spotted the most familiar face first in the sea of concerned looks; Jeremy’s.

“Hey, bud, you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?”

I clutched my head and tried to sit up. “Uh, two,” I said. I instantly felt dizzy and fell limp back on the ice again.

“Man, you hit your head hard!” one kid yelled.

“What happened?” I asked. 

“Oh, boy,” this kid from another grade said. I recognized his face but couldn’t remember his name.

“What’s, oh, boy?” Jeremy asked.

“He probably has amneesa,” the kid said with such grave concern, you’d think he just diagnosed me with cancer.

Jeremy slugged the boy. “It’s amnesia, not amneesa.”

“Ow, Jeremy, that hurt!” the kid rubbed at his arm.

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “You don’t have amnesia, do ya, Arnie? What’s my name?”

“Jeremy,” I replied, choosing not to point out that the kid whose name I couldn’t recall had just said it.

My head was throbbing, but the pain was ebbing. I think the ice was helping to numb it.

“What’s his name?” Jeremy pointed to the kid next to him, and I looked back and forth between the two of them with a blank expression.

“Oh, boy,” the two boys said in unison.

“Maybe you do have amnesia!” Jeremy said, with a hint of excitement in his voice. “We should get you back home and maybe my mom should call ole’ Doc Harrison. Make sure you’re okay.”

“Alright then,” I said.

We made the walk back home slowly, and I worried that maybe there was something wrong. I’d heard about people taking a crack to the ole’ noggin and have a memory wipe for some time. I was a little scared.

I tried to remember if there was anything I couldn’t remember. But that’s like trying to think of a color you’ve never seen before. In my young mind, I couldn’t figure out a way to self assess whether I’d forgotten things I knew I shouldn’t have. Part of me felt like I should know that kid’s name, but I also wasn’t entirely sure that I just forgot his name because I didn’t interact with him all that much at school.

Jeremy was uncharacteristically quiet on the way home, which caused me to feel more unsettled about my possible amnesia. I didn’t want to have a blank memory on winter break, and during the holidays none the less.

We arrived home and my mother was all a panic when Jeremy announced what happened. She got ole’ Doc Harrison to come over right away.

We sat in the kitchen, and he examined me. He said I didn’t have a concussion, which was good news. But Jeremy was quick to interrupt, saying, “I think he might have amnesia, Doc!”

“And what makes you think that?” the doctor deadpanned.

“He couldn’t remember one of our classmate’s names. It’s a kid we know pretty well, too! It made me concerned for my cousin here.” He pointed at me like I was a specimen in the science lab.

“I see.”

The doctor turned to me and was about to ask me a question when Jeremy interrupted and said, “Hey, Arnold, do you remember what we did right before school got out?”

“Yeah, we had a spelling test. I knocked it out of the park.”

Jeremy quickly fired off another question. “Do you remember what we did over the summer?”

“We had paper routes, and we got in trouble because you wanted to be spies?”

“Do you remember what we did last Christmas Eve?”

I paused. I couldn’t remember. I felt certain I should remember, but I couldn’t. I considered that I should probably remember my previous year’s festivities and my schoolmate’s name. Maybe I did have amnesia. I started to panic.

I guess the doctor must have read my expression loud and clear. He put a calming hand on my shoulder and said, “Now, son, not to worry. You might have a little spot of amnesia, but nothing to fret over.”

“Oh, Doctor, should I be worried? What should I do?” my mother trilled.

Doc turned to her. “It’s probably nothing, Mrs. O’Leary. It’ll resolve itself. Just being around familiar things will bring his memory back. Bring him in after the holidays if he’s still having symptoms. Otherwise, I’m certain all will return to normal within the next few hours. Not more than a day at most.”

My mother turned around and pulled a foil-wrapped loaf off the counter. She had cakes wrapped in tinfoil, lined up and looking like Christmas ammo for an arsenal of goodwill waiting to be distributed. She turned back to the doc and said, “Okay, thank you, doctor. Here, take some fruit cake with you. And you’ll be comin’ to the party tonight, I hope?”

Doc graciously accepted the cake and nodded. “We’ve got a few parties to visit, but we’ll be dropping in for a moment or two. Boys, try to stay out of trouble.” He poignantly looked at Jeremy. My cousin had a reputation in town.

My mother turned on the two of us no sooner than the door closed behind the doc. “No more outdoor games for the two of you! I swear I can’t leave you alone for the life of me. You’ll be staying close to home. Our house, or Jeremy’s only. No ifs, ands, or butts! That’s my final word!”

Jeremy knew not to argue with Aunt Eileen when she said ‘final word.’ He huffed, grabbed me by my arm, and we went upstairs to my room.  

Jeremy wasted no time. He began the interrogation to determine just how bad my amnesia really was.

“So, Arnie, remember last Christmas we got snowed in and had to bake cookies with Aunt Eileen all day? I hate baking cookies with your mom, cause she won’t even let us lick the spoons or sample the goods. It’s torture. But you remember, don’t you?”

I thought for a minute, looking up at the ceiling as if it would jog the memory. I could remember that we’d baked cookies with my mother on many occasions, but I don’t recall that’s what we did last Christmas Eve. I couldn’t remember what we did. Yet, Jeremy seemed to be pretty clear on the memory of baking, so I thought I should remember too.

I shook my head a little too vigorously and stopped. The motion caused my head to throb a bit.

“Okay, what about Halloween? You remember what we did?”

I thought hard and remembered that it was the same as always, as far as I could recall, so I wasn’t sure.

I recounted our autumn festivities out loud. “Trick-or-treating, then the party down on the town green. And—”

“Do you remember what we dressed up as?” Jeremy cut me off.

“Oh, yeah, we were cowboys.”

Jeremy’s eyebrows drew down into a “V” of concern. “No, Arnie, we were spacemen. We did cowboys the year before.”

“Oh,” I mumbled. Damn, maybe my amnesia was worse than doc thought.

We were both quiet for a while and then Jeremy said, “Hey, Arnold, let’s go back to my house. I got an idea!”

“Okay,” I said. I was feeling pretty glum. I didn’t want to have amnesia on Christmas Eve.

We walked down the street, a few houses until we reached Jeremy’s place. We unceremoniously dumped our winter gear into the mudroom, and I followed him into his living room.

I sat down on the couch and watched him pluck an ornament off his Christmas tree.

“Do you remember this? Surely, this will jog your memory?”

I took the ornament as he handed it to me. It was a carved and painted wooden rabbit on skis. I shook my head ‘no.’

Jeremy’s shoulders slumped dramatically.

“I thought for sure you’d remember this! My mom bought it for yours after that year we went on a Christmas vacation.”

I shrugged. I didn’t remember.

“It was the year we went skiing! Remember? And you hated it? We took lessons for the bunny slopes and you tried and tried but still couldn’t get it right.”

I shook my head. I didn’t remember one bit of that. I bit my lip hard, as if the pain of it would jog my brain into some crumb of remembrance.

Jeremy sighed. He seemed devastated, and I felt a surge of irrational guilt that the ornament was leaving me blank.

“What year was that?” I asked.

“Two years ago.”

“I don’t remember.”

Jeremy handed me ornament after ornament, followed by detailed story after story. It was the same thing. I couldn’t remember one iota of details. This was far worse than I thought!

“Jer! Maybe my mom should call the doc back!”

“Don’t panic. I got more ideas. Remember doc said it might take a full day?” Jeremy reassured me.

This convinced me I should delay my panic for at least 24 hours.

We spent the rest of the day attempting to bring up memories that seemed completely blocked. I was still hopeful something would help me remember all these good times that Jeremy was bringing to light.

At 3 pm, my mother called Jeremy’s informing me that I needed to come home and get dressed for the big party. Our two families took turns hosting a big Christmas Eve party, and this year it was my family’s turn. Mom wanted me back to ensure we had plenty of time to get ready. Considering the party was at 6, and it would take us all of ten minutes to clean up and don our Sunday best, I was unsure why we needed three whole hours, but we didn’t argue. Jeremy stuffed his best clothes into his pack, and we headed back to my house.

At 6 pm the guests started arriving, and by 6:30 the entire house was teeming with guests, music, and lots of holiday cheer.

We made our way to the table laid out with an assortment of many festive and fragrant holiday dishes. We piled our plates high with food. I passed over my mother’s holiday ambrosia salad. She would dye the whipped cream green and put a generous helping of maraschino cherries in it to give it a fun red and green color. I always thought it was very appetizing looking, but I couldn’t stand the coconut or maraschino cherries.

Jeremy reached for the spoon and held up a scoop. “Aren’t you going to have some? It’s your favorite?”

“What? No, it isn’t?”

“Sure it is! You eat so much of this every year, your mom has to put a ration it for you.”

I gave Jeremy a dubious look.

He dumped a scoop on my plate, and I shrugged. It had been a strange day. Maybe Jeremy was right. Maybe I did enjoy my mother’s holiday salad.

As we sat down on a few empty chairs that lined the walls in the living room, my uncle and ole’ Doc Harrison were standing nearby, swishing around the brown whiskey in their tumblers, exchanging stories about their work woes.

I had eaten everything on my plate except the salad when Jeremy looked at me and said, “Go on, eat it. I’m sure this will finally bring your memory back.”

I was doubtful but thought, what the hell. I took a generous amount onto my spoon, put it in my mouth, and gagged.

My uncle and the doc, hearing me, looked down with concern.

“Why are you eating that?” Uncle Barry hissed at me quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“I love my sister-in-law, but every year she makes that damn salad and no one eats it. It’s horrible. Most of all you, Arnie. You hate that stuff.” Uncle Barry roared with laughter.

I still had the awful salad in my mouth and no choice but to swallow it.

I looked at Jeremy and suddenly it all hit.

Jeremy’s shit-eating grin confirmed it. Before I could even respond, he clapped a hand on my shoulder and said, “Merry Christmas, cousin! Now we’re even for you spoiling my snow day fun!”

He then quickly excused himself and ran off, mumbling something about the dessert table.

Uncle Barry and Doc seemed to have understood the practical joke that Jeremy had played on me. My face was likely three shades redder than the cherries in my god awful salad.

Just then, my mother walked by and said with shrill delight, “Oh Arnold, you’ve gotten a taste for my salad. That’s lovely, son!” She glared at her brother-in-law, made an indignant ‘hmph’ sound, and said, “See, Barry! Not everyone hates it.”

***

I looked down at my grandson sitting on the couch next to me. The soft glow of our family Christmas tree illuminating the shining adoration in his eyes.

I promised him another story. He loved to listen to the wily adventures I’d had growing up with Jeremy.

“Poppa, did you have any amnesia at all?”

“All Jeremy mischief through and through!” I laughed at the ‘better-told-than-lived’ memory of it all.

Chase grinned up at me.

I patted him on the head and said, “And the moral of this story—that is how you learn to love the cooking of the woman you love, even when you don’t love her cooking!”

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To listen to Ep 4 - A Christmas to Forget to Remember!

Narrated by me on my YouTube channel Black Rose Reads:

https://youtu.be/kS-Cwp7I3T4

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For Ep 1 of The Adventures of A&J, visit my bio! :)