Holiday Tensions

Each second was an eternity as Henry forced himself to sit still at his desk. Just fifteen more minutes and he’d be on his way home for the holidays; no more meetings, coffee chats, files, or spreadsheets for the two weeks he’d get to spend at home with his family. He eyed the clock above the watercooler as inconspicuously as possible. Tick tock, tick tock, it went, with the festive snowman plastered underneath staring upwards, seemingly watching along. A sour mood had set the tone for Henry’s day at work, as his anticipation for the day’s end turned to desperation with the introduction of a new to-do list in the morning staff meeting. He knew, deep down, that the relevant project had been doomed to fail since Ted, his manager, had expressed his reservations with a series of hmmmm’s and oh’s? at the initial pitch. Only the support of two senior managers had dragged the project across the starting line, with Ted having no choice but to swallow his complaints for the sake of the upcoming promotion season.

Henry had felt particularly stifled today as Ted sat directly across from him. He’d had to hide his longing glances towards the clock and woeful sighs since the day had begun, resulting in a dense ball of frustrations forming in his chest. With each smothered sigh, the ball grew and tightened, threatening to burst, until an immediate soothing was found in thoughts of leaving come work day’s end. And so, Henry persisted, teetering between calm and rupture as the seconds ticked away.

It was five o’clock; Ted stood from his chair. “Hey Henry, I’m heading out now. Merry Chr-”

“Bye Ted! Happy holidays!” Henry sat on the edge of his seat, feet flat on the ground, cursor on the logoff button. Ted needed to leave before he did, for the sake of Henry’s own chances at a promotion.

Ted nodded and walked, excruciatingly slowly, out the door and into the parking lot. Henry stood, but didn’t yet move as his eyes followed him like a hawk. He waited with baited breath as Ted stepped into his car, a chipped old sports car, and sped away from the office. Finally. Henry shut off his computer, grabbed his bag, and rushed to his car as fast as he could. Turning on the engine and placing his hands on the steering wheel, he felt a giddiness overcome him, sending a tingling sensation running from his fingertips through his torso and down his legs, starting to melt away the tension in his chest. Henry was ready to go home.

----

The road to Orchid’s Peak was usually long and boring. With little scenery, save for the towering pine trees that lined the straight roads and extended far beyond, most would find staying awake to be a challenge while driving this route. But in December, when the snow had fallen and the sky was thick with winter mist, Henry found an eerie beauty in the setting. Every year he drove this route back to his hometown, and every year it was like stepping into a snow globe. He turned off the radio and let the silence, save for the quiet rumbling of the engine, permeate. A serene calm enveloped Henry as the sun set slowly, casting an idyllic glow across the road and through the car. It seemed almost as if time had slowed so he could capture this moment and etch it into his brain. The trees, dusted in powdery snow, sheltered him from the now insignificant worries that had plagued him. The city and work were left behind, while his hometown remained ahead of him. Ahead, signage came into view.

ORCHID’S PEAK 12 MILES.

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A small construction site had been set up nearby, with forklifts, drills, and hardhats scattered about but no workers in sight. They must be celebrating with their families already, Henry thought. He turned the radio back on and stepped on the gas. His family would be serving dinner soon.

 ----

Pulling into the driveway of his parents’ home, Henry chuckled looking at the extravagant holiday décor set out by his parents. They’d gone all out this year, judging by the massive blow-up Santa climbing the chimney and tree-shaped arrangement created by an impressive array of Christmas lights. He stepped onto the patio and rang the doorbell; a fuzzy rendition of Jingle Bells played as hurried footsteps moved towards the door.

“…he’s here! Henry’s here!” The door swung open. “Henry! Welcome home, dear,” Henry’s mother stood with her arms open, his father and younger brother, Jackson, following right behind her.

“Hi, everyone. I’ve missed you,” Henry responded, greeting his family warmly.  

“I hope the drive up was alright – with all the snow and frost?”

“It was alright, dad. It was nice, actually,” Henry said, smiling.

“Good! Then hurry, dinner’s getting cold,” his father said, turning towards the dining room.

As they moved towards the dining table, Jackson pulled on Henry’s sleeve and looked up at him. “I wish you’d come home earlier!”

“I missed you too, bud. Did you have fun while I was away?” Henry ruffed Jackson’s hair.

“Mmmhmm. I drew a lot of pictures. Wanna see?” Jackson beamed. “Oh. But those annoying people in the suits came by a lot last week. Mom said I couldn’t play downstairs while they were talking. So I played upstairs.”

Henry stopped and furrowed his brow.

“Suits? Who were they?” Henry hadn’t heard of anybody in suits visiting his parents before. Though they weren’t inept by any means, there’d been several near-miss incidents with internet scammers and phishing that left Henry with a strong sense of skepticism whenever strangers approached his parents.

“Mom? Dad? What’s this I’m hearing about people in suits coming over?” he asked as he sat down at the dinner table. Sensing Henry’s unease, Jackson scampered away to his seat.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, dear, we’ll let you know later. It’s nothing,” Henry’s mother reassured, casting a quick glance in her husband’s direction.

“Yes, yes. Now – let’s eat!” Henry’s father picked up a carving knife and gestured to the Christmas spread laid across the table. Eyeing the table from left to right, Henry felt his stomach rumble, the hours of driving catching up on his empty stomach. Fluffy mashed potatoes, a glistening golden brown turkey, his favorite turkey stuffing, and the same pumpkin pie he’d had since he was a child at his grandfather’s house. It was glorious. Heavenly smells wafted across the table and familiar tastes danced across Henry’s tongue, conjuring nostalgic memories from Christmases past. As the family dined together, the warmth of the holiday season was palpable. Henry smiled as he felt the tension in his chest finally unravel, leaving him feeling lighter than he had all year. He was happy to be home.

----

“I am…” Henry placed his hands on his bloated belly, “stuffed. That was delicious.”

Henry’s family sat around the dinner table, plates clean. Their bellies were full and spirits were high. A rosy glow colored Henry’s cheeks as the mulled wine they’d had shrouded his mind in a soothing fog. Jackson, having thoroughly gorged himself, sat almost unmoving, save for the steady bobbing of his head as he dozed in and out of consciousness. Henry felt himself slipping into a pleasant daze he watched him, and slowly, slowly, he sank into a comfortable slumber.

As he slept, Henry dreamt. From his seat, he rose and walked - left, right, left, right - each step light as he glided from the front door to the driveway and further, until he’d returned to the long stretch leading into Orchid’s Peak. He saw the town’s signage, the towering pine trees, and the snowflakes spinning and swaying with a hypnotic lilt. His footsteps stilled as he stood with his feet against the asphalt, basking in the fading evening light.

“…tell him…or…not now.” Abruptly, Henry was forced back into his body, his parents’ hushed whispers prodding at the edges of his subconscious.

“Alright, tomorrow…or…” 

Henry opened his eyes. “Tell me what?”

Henry’s parents startled. “Oh! Sorry dear, we didn’t know you were awake.”

“That’s okay,” Henry replied. “But tell me what? Is this related to what Jackson was saying about those people in suits?” Henry was growing impatient. Something was wrong and he was the only person clueless. His parents glanced at each other, expressions troubled.

“Well, Henry, we didn’t want to tell you over the holidays, with you being so stressed at work and whatnot…” his father started.

“We’re moving! There – I said it – we’re moving, and so are the Smith’s and the Chen’s! Because that big paper company is building a new mill nearby…” his mother burst, unable to contain herself. Henry looked at her incredulously.

“What? A new mill? Where exactly?” Henry was puzzled, unsure how a mill could fit into their relatively small town. “And where are you going? Why didn’t you tell me sooner??” All traces of holiday cheer dispersed as an uncomfortable chill settled over the room. The rosy glow on Henry’s face faded, leaving him pale.

Henry’s father lowered his gaze, “The Softwoods Papers - that’s the company - people said they’ll be developing the area leading into town. You know, by the signs? Hardly anybody uses that road anyway, and there’re plenty of trees for the mill. And we’ve decided to move to Spain...next month. Jackson is coming with us, of course, but we didn’t want to ruin the holidays by telling you now.” Henry’s father looked into his eyes pleadingly. “Try to understand, Henry, we only wanted to spend one more Christmas here, as a family. You’re always welcome to visit us in Spain.”

The ghostly shade on Henry’s face morphed into an angry red, like wine soaking across a white carpet. He father’s attempt to garner pity only left him more enraged, the tense ball he’d unraveled with such relief earlier rapidly reforming in his chest.

“I can’t believe…” Henry seethed, “you’d keep me in the dark like this. Both of you, my little brother, my hometown…” Henry turned away from his parents, moving towards the door. “I need some air.” 

----

Henry was reeling. Frenzied thoughts, each more resentful than the last, stampeded through his mind. It was unbelievable, he thought, that they’d simply up and leave him behind, with barely a warning. And, to think, his hometown, the only place he knew peace, was essentially being turned into a giant paper factory? Infuriating. Henry fumed as he strode across town. He had no direction, no sensation, as the icy wind whipped at his bare arms. In his anger, he’d left without his coat, yet his fury warmed him plenty. On and on he walked, seeing red - a hot, fiery red - and the sounds of a crackling fire filled his ears, growing louder and larger until his world was engulfed in flames. Henry stopped. That was it! The solution to his problem was plain to see; it was as if the clouds had parted in his rage-addled mind. Softwoods Papers was the root of the problem, and so naturally, it needed to go.

----

The sky was dark and the streets were empty as Orchid’s Peaks’ residents sheltered against the cold in festive enclaves. Henry scanned his surroundings, spotting a gas station. Perfect. He strode, his purpose clear now. Picking up two of the largest gas containers he could find, Henry walked to the clerk and paid. He then headed to the nearest convenience store, where he left his gas containers neatly tucked away, out of sight behind the door, and walked in to purchase a pack of matches. The sound of roaring flames had dulled to low crackling in his ears, and his angry heat was replaced by a stone-cold determination that gave him strength as he hoisted the gas with ease. Away Henry walked, towards the small Softwoods Paper construction site he’d passed on his way into town. How fortunate, he thought, to have noted the construction site and that his father had let slip where Softwoods was operating. Perhaps, he thought, it was more than good fortune.

The closer he got, the more certain Henry felt in his conviction. He walked briskly, a sense of urgency guiding his footsteps. Like déjà vu, he approached the signage and the pine trees. Snow twirled delicately as it fell and Henry could almost trace each individual snowflake, their unique patterns becoming clear in the soft moonlight. The thought of this place reduced to an industrial tool, a giant gadget, gripped the dense ball in Henry’s chest like an icy fist and strengthened his resolve. He approached the empty construction site and with a machine-like efficiency, emptied the gas on to every surface marked with a Softwoods logo. Oil coated machinery, steel rods, hardhats, and all, condemning them to Henry’s will. He dribbled a narrow trail of gas to the asphalt road, and stood, facing the bane that threatened him. His heart raced, and his fingers trembled, yet in his mind he was still. He felt no fear and no apprehension. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a match between his fingers. The sharp bite of the winter wind gentled to a soft kiss, whispering reassurances as it brushed his ears. Go on, it egged. Burn them away. Henry nodded, determination in his eyes.

With a flick, he lit the match and watched, eyes wide, at it hit the ground. Fire surged from the asphalt, setting the oily trail ablaze. Wind propelled the flames, mounting higher and higher, until a wall of heat raged before Henry, singing the hair on his forearms. Henry smiled, contented. His work was done. There’d be no moving to Spain, no leaving him behind, and no desecration of this place; things were as they should be. He stayed unmoving as the icy ball in his chest melted away, leaving him with the tranquil feeling he’d been seeking so desperately. He watched the snowflakes move like wisps in the air and vanish, devoured by the heat of the fire. In the distance, sirens blared, the red and blue lights clashing against the glowing fire before him. Soon, the fire would be extinguished and, finally, Henry could relax.