Being Graves

by Drew Sera

  I pulled out a clean sheet of paper and drew a snowman and a Christmas tree. And I gave the snowman a football. There. I made him a nice picture. Now I needed to re-write my letter.

  Dear Santa,

  I got your letter today, and I think you have the wrong Anthony. I’m Anthony Davis Graves and live at 4096 Ennis Court in Las Vegas. I’m five and in the first grade. I’ve been good—

  I stopped writing and looked back at his letter. My heart sank when I re-read the part about having accidents. That was me. He had the right Anthony after all. I erased my letter and started again.

  Dear Santa,

  I will be better next year. I promise. I made you a picture of a snowman with a football. Football is my favorite and if you’re not able to bring me the football, a new jacket, and a backpack, could you just bring me the football? If you don’t think I should have any fun because I’m bad, could you bring me the jacket? My mom and step-dad don’t have money for the heater, and if I had a new jacket, I could sleep in it and be warm. Please.

  Anthony Davis Graves

  I mailed the letter and the picture and prayed each night that he’d answer. Now I’d wait.

  A few days before Christmas, I followed Bruce into the kitchen when he came in from the mailbox.

  “Santa only writes once, you little mistake. You aren’t getting another letter from Santa.”

  I frowned when I didn’t see a red envelope. Santa probably just uses those. But there was a green one in the mix. I reached for it when I noticed the same last name as mine in the left corner. What on earth—

  “Dad!”

  I scrambled for the green envelope, and Bruce grabbed my hands and slapped me so hard in the face that one of my loose baby teeth fell out onto the floor. I was bleeding. He made me bleed. Suddenly, I was crying and sitting on the floor trying to find my tooth.

  “Anthony! Quit your bitching! God, you are such a baby!”

  “My letter, I want it!” I cried while tasting a mouth full of blood.

  “This letter? You want this?”

  Bruce held the green envelope high in the air. It was from my dad, and I wanted it.

  “How bad do you want it?”

  I stared at the envelope and then he was on me. The pain was horrible, and I blacked out.

  When I woke, I was curled up on my bed in my underwear. I was freezing and hurt everywhere. Dried blood crusted my mouth near where my tooth came out, and I had a terrible taste in my mouth.

  Next to me on my bed was the green envelope. I slowly sat up and pulled the envelope open. I tugged out a card that was in the shape of a reindeer, and it had a red puffy ball for its nose. It made me smile, but I quickly rubbed at a sore spot where Bruce slapped me. I opened the card, and a twenty dollar bill fell out onto my cold legs.

  “Whoa!”

  In one hand, I held the money while I read the inside of the card.

  “Merry Christmas, Son. Instead of sending you a toy you might not like, I want you to buy yourself whatever you’d like. Merry Christmas, Anthony. I love you – Dad.”

  Fuck! I woke up from my dream and looked at the clock. It was 2:30 a.m. on Christmas Eve. I sighed and leaned against the headboard, thinking of my dad.

  Enough. I needed to get up and do something. I can’t just sit here and do nothing but think about him. The ache will come back. I threw back the sheets, got dressed and got in my truck. Even though it wasn’t even three in the morning, this was Las Vegas and the Strip was always awake.

  I drove to the Strip and parked at the MGM. Without purpose or direction, I meandered through the casino. I walked around for a while with the comforting sound of coins hitting metal trays under slot machines and the noise of electronic games settling in as the perfect background noise. Even as I walked, my mind returned to the year my dad sent me the reindeer card and money.

  That year, as usual, Santa didn’t visit me. But I showed my mom the money my dad sent me, and she took me to K-mart the day after Christmas. I didn’t get a new backpack, but I got new underwear, a jacket, and my football.

  That had been my best Christmas, up until the ones I spent with my dad. I moved in with my dad a few weeks before Christmas in 1990, and he had gone out of his way to make that Christmas special for me. I’ll never forget everything he gave me: shoes, a new backpack, a few shirts and a beanie cap. Despite being able to open a bunch of gifts for the first time, the best gifts were ones that he couldn’t wrap up; safety and love. And up until that point, I had never experienced either.

  My ears always hurt and continuously felt cold and uncomfortable to me. Dad told me that he got the beanie for me so I wouldn’t be cold and uncomfortable. I wore it to high school until I graduated and then in the fall, I wore it to my college classes until I graduated. Last spring was the last I had worn it when I saw my dad. My mind drifted as I carelessly deposited bill after bill into the video poker machine.

  “Good, you brought your beanie,” my dad said as I pulled it out of the pocket of my jacket.

  “Of course, it’s cold in San Francisco for games,” I said as we got into his car and headed to San Francisco.

  We were celebrating my birthday, and my dad and I went to see a Giants baseball game. The stadium was right on the water, and I found it unbelievably cold. Especially at night. On our way home from the game, I commented about how glad I was that I remembered my beanie as my dad laughed.

  “I’m so glad I got that for you all those years ago. It served dual purposes,” he stated.

  “Dual purposes?” I questioned, somewhat confused.

  “Yes. Of course, I didn’t want you cold, but it wasn’t the main motivation for getting it for you.”

  “What do you mean? I’m lost.”

  He glanced over at me and then returned his gaze to the road. Moments passed before he began explaining.

  “I watched you like a hawk leading up to Christmas, Anthony. You always slept on your side with either your arm up, resting over your exposed ear, or with the blanket up covering your ear. If you wore a hooded sweatshirt while we watched TV, you pulled the hood up just high enough to cover your ears. You rubbed them often or simply held a hand over them. And I don’t even think you were aware of how protective you were of your ears.” My dad paused as I thought back, realizing that he was right. “You had been hit in the ears and side of the head so much, that you were subconsciously trying to protect them and cover them…always. I hoped that the beanie would be a way for you to cover your ears and feel safe.”

  My dad was so caught up in making sure that I felt safe. Not only was my chest aching, but now I had a lump in my throat. I pushed back the stool I had been sitting on for far too long and walked around for a while longer.

  I loved the distraction of the casino floor; people were around and were “there” in a sense, but never bothered me. The sounds of the casino were oddly comforting to me. At 4:30 a.m., I strolled into the MGM’s café and ordered pancakes for breakfast and went home after that.

  I crashed when I got home and slept for a few hours before getting up. I went for a jog, and while I was running, I decided to get a small Christmas tree for my place. My dad knew so much about Christmas trees and each year until he died, we put one up together. I knew it was going to be hard to find one today, given that it’s Christmas Eve, but I wanted to try.

  Wearing the beanie that he gave me, I felt like I had my dad with me as I went to a few home improvement stores and nurseries looking for a tree. I was coming up empty and was throwing in the towel. I’d make a better effort next year. I stopped at a convenience store to pick up some juice and at the counter, they had a few small potted Christmas trees. They were about eighteen inches tall and came in a plastic pot with a decorative foil wrapping.

  “Are these for sale?” I asked and pointed to the potted tree.

  The woman behind the counter shook her head and explained they were just decorative but said that since it’s Christmas Eve I could take one if I wanted. I nodded and carrie
d my tree and juice to the car. I hurried home and put the tree on my coffee table and pressed my fingers down on the soil. It felt a little dry, so I watered it before I sat down and stared at it.

  “Hmm, you need some decorations,” I said out loud and looked around.

  I went to the kitchen and rummaged around in a drawer and spotted a San Francisco 49ERS sticker with the paper backing still on it. With a pair of scissors, I poked a hole in the top of the sticker and pulled a paperclip into a shape to be an ornament hook. There, I had one.

  From my fridge, I grabbed two flimsy 49ERS magnets and carefully poked holes in them and weaved a paperclip through each. I went back to my tree and hung my ornaments on it and sat back to admire it. I stared at the top of it and thought. Pulling my beanie cap from my head, I gently set it on top of the tree.

  “Perfect,” I said under my breath.

  As I sat and watched some football, I kept eyeing the tree. I thought about the thank you letter I had written all those years ago to my dad, but never had the balls to give it to him. I still had it. I went to my room and pulled from a small box the tattered envelope that still sealed up my words.

  Carefully, I carried it back to the living room and leaned it against the base of the potted tree.

  “Merry Ch—”

  I stopped when my voice broke. I felt the throbbing pain in my throat when I swallowed and leaned back on my couch. I hated how I was feeling. I missed him so much, and he never knew how much I appreciated everything.

  I was watching A Christmas Story when the doorbell rang. I wasn’t expecting anyone but went to the door. I opened the door and was surprised to see Blake standing there. I frowned and began to worry that something was wrong. It wasn’t like him to just show up somewhere unannounced.

  “Hey, come in. What’s up?” I asked him as I led us to my kitchen.

  I offered him a Coke and took one for myself too.

  “It’s Christmas Eve, Anthony.”

  I nodded and raised my eyebrows. Certainly, he wasn’t here to tell me something that I already knew.

  “And?” I asked.

  “Christmas is for friends and family.”

  Oh fuck. He was here for sympathy.

  “Blake, I’m fine.”

  “I didn’t say that you weren’t.”

  He followed me to the living room and sat down. I regretted bringing him into the living room because now he’d see my tree…and pathetic ornaments and “star”…and my letter.

  “That’s a nice tree you have there.”

  “Thank you. I got it today on a whim. Didn’t have time to find proper ornaments.”

  I hoped he wasn’t going to jab at me about the tree because suddenly I felt very protective of it. Christmas trees were special to me because of my dad.

  “I think those decorations are perfect, Anthony. It’s very much your style with the football team.”

  I knew he was eyeing the letter. Please don’t let him ask me anything about the letter.

  “Of course, I would have preferred to see Seattle Seahawks ornaments, but no hard feelings,” Blake teased me about my team.

  He made me laugh, and for the first time since my nightmare last night, I was able to take a deep breath.

  “Anthony, you’re coming home with me for our Christmas Eve party. We just have some friends and family over for food and such. It’s not formal.”

  “No, Blake. I just want to hang out here tonight. Please.”

  Blake looked at me for a few moments before returning his gaze to my tree and the letter. He reached out and picked up my envelope, then read the writing out loud.

  “Merry Christmas Dad. From Anthony. December 1990.”

  I could feel my stomach begin to quiver on its own and the deep ache in my chest was killing me. Blake took a deep breath and turned the envelope over, noticing that it was still sealed. He leaned forward and carefully set the envelope against the foil pot.

  “Anthony, I know this Christmas is going to be hard for you. It’s your first one without your dad.”

  I stood up and moved to the sliding glass door and looked outside. I prayed the tears that were pooling in the lower lids of my eyes wouldn’t spill over. Not in front of Blake. I stared out into my backyard but focused on nothing. Hands on my shoulder, squeezing, brought me out of my trance.

  Fuck, his hands felt like my dad’s did. I had to close my eyes. I missed him so much.

  “Come on. Get ready.”

  “Blake, I really would rather spend the evening here.”

  Blake was laughing and shook my shoulders.

  “I’m not leaving without you. Throw on something festive and let’s go. It’ll be good for you. Do you have a holiday sweater or something?”

  I rolled my eyes and went to my room. I changed into some jeans and stared into my closet. I didn’t have anything festive. I put on a white button-down shirt and pulled my jacket on as I walked back to the living room. Before we headed out, I took my beanie from my little tree, made sure it was free of dirt and put it on.

  * * *

  The day after Christmas I went to the nursery to get a bigger pot, soil, and plant food for my little Christmas tree. It was important for me to take care of this tree. The nursery had a tree similar to mine sitting on their counter.

  “I have one of these that I want to keep. What do I need to make it last?” I asked one of the nursery guys.

  He helped me find a good sized pot to give the roots room to grow, an excellent plant soil and some plant food. He also gave me a suggested watering schedule.

  I felt really good about my purchases and felt like this was something that technically my dad taught me about in the short time I had with him; care for Christmas trees.

  After I had the tree planted in the new red ceramic pot, I went inside to my NFL catalog and ordered a 49ERS decal for the pot and a small plant stick that had a plastic football at the top. The picture showed it inside of a potted plant and flower bed.

  I briefly wondered if my dad could see me messing with the Christmas tree and if he was smiling.

  I’m trying, Dad.

  * * *

  Though Christmas finally passed, I still thought of my dad and how he tried to make our Christmas special. This ache in my chest is going to kill me. And why the hell not?

  Life hadn’t exactly been good to me. I would have been fine if I hadn’t moved in with my dad. I possibly would have bled to death, but if I had lived, I don’t think I’d ever know the kind of pain that I’m feeling now. If I hadn’t moved in with my dad, I wouldn’t be hurting like I am because I wouldn’t have known any different.

  He showed me everything I missed out on. The hugs, the care and concern parents seem to have over their kids, and the love. I will never forget the first time he hugged me. I loved the feeling and was scared to death of it.

  Yet, instead of telling him how grateful I was, I pushed him away. He made so many efforts to take care of me and give me everything I lacked. But I wasn’t receptive to it. It made me feel...weak, and weird.

  I miss the hugs.

  And it’s not fucking fair. Why the fuck did the universe decide to fuck with me? It wasn’t enough what my mom allowed, or what Bruce and Connor did but the universe also felt I needed to be toyed with further? Here, I know we totally screwed you over with your childhood, but here’s someone who will love and care for you for a few years. Then we’ll rip him away from you.

  “Fuck you, universe and all your goddamn, fucking wisdom!”

  Out of frustration and self-pity, I threw my pillow across the room. I lifted my head off the mattress to see where it had landed with a crash. It was teetering on the dresser, and I had successfully knocked nearly everything else off of it with my brilliant pillow arm.

  “Fuck.”

  * * *

  It was going on 2:00 in the afternoon and my phone was ringing again. I had ignored the ringing phone all morning long and turned the volume down on my answering machine. What the ever loving
fuck does someone want? There’s nobody left for me to lose, so no one could be calling to say “so and so is dead.”

  I sat up in bed and felt the ache in my chest again.

  I needed another session.

  I decided it was best for me to try to exert some of this tension and stress myself. I pulled myself out of bed and dragged my ass to the gym. I worked out for two hours doing weights and then swam laps for a while. I finally stopped, got out of the pool and paced the length of the decking.

  With my hands on my hips, I waited until my heart rate calmed down, and then I paid close attention.

  My chest still ached.

  “Fuck,” I said under my breath and headed back to the locker room.

  I showered and drove home. As I drove, I tried thinking about what I could do to make this ache go away permanently, because this fucking sucks. Maybe there is something physically wrong with me.

  I was very close to calling the dungeon in San Francisco and booking another session with Keith, but I promised Blake that I’d at least talk to him first.

  The only problem with that is I don’t like talking. I’ve had enough talking from when my dad had me in counseling. Since I promised Blake, I would make good on that promise. I wasn’t one to break promises or waver on my word. My answering machine was blinking at me when I walked in and decided to hit play while I ate a sandwich as I stood over my sink.

  “You have four new messages. Message one,” the automated voice announced.

  “Anthony, it’s Matt. Give me a call, man.”

  Beep!

  “Message two.”

  “Hey, Anth, I’m back from California. Hope you had a Merry Christmas. I wanted to talk to you about something. Call me when you get the chance,” Colin’s voice filled my kitchen.

  Beep!

  “Message three.”

  “It’s Matt again. You’re probably out or have some hot piece of ass in bed, but I want to catch you before you make plans. I’m having a New Year’s Eve party at my house and would like it if you came. Tomorrow night, come over whenever.”