What We Keep Is Not Always What Will Stay

by Amanda Cockrell

  I can’t wait for Christmas. The house will probably catch fire. In the meantime, there’s the Posadas procession.

  10

  The Monday after Thanksgiving, there was a drawing of the Posadas stable in my locker. The angels were leaning down from their sign with brooms, whacking at a donkey with Noah’s face that had just pooped on the floor. I couldn’t help snickering even though I knew Noah was right behind me. It looked just like him. Jesse is good.

  I heard Noah’s locker door slam and shoved the drawing into my folder before he could start anything. I showed it to Lily at lunch and she cracked up, too. “You’re way too good at that,” she told Jesse. “You ought to be doing cartoons for the Oak Tree.” That’s our school paper.

  Jesse gave her an evil grin. “None of my ideas are fit to print.”

  Some of his drawings are just wicked, like the one of Noah, but a lot of them are sweet. He’s done two of me as an angel, and one as the Virgin from the Posadas parade. I’ve quit taping them up on my bedroom wall, though. There are too many, and Ben will start in on me or tell Mom or both.

  I told Jesse I’d love a ride home after Posadas rehearsals, to make up for last time.

  Father Weatherford has gotten nearly every store in the arcade to let us bring our donkey up to their door. City Hall will let us take the donkey down the sidewalk as long as someone goes along behind us with a shovel. Felix got assigned that job, which he doesn’t seem to mind any more than he minds bathing a dog who has fits or cleaning the fifty-year-old crud out of St. Thomas’s antique plumbing. I don’t understand that very well. Sometimes I think he’s trying to pay for something.

  Jesse came early on Sunday to watch the rehearsal and brought his sketchpad. He drew the Wise Men and put in some camels behind them. Father Weatherford loved it, so Jesse gave him the sketch. Afterward we went for coffee and he gave me a drawing, too, of Felix leaning on his shovel under the pergola. The leaves of the trees give Felix a kind of shadowy halo and just the faintest suggestion of wings. When Jesse tore it out, I could see pages and pages of mazes in the book behind it, but now the mazes have little people in them. Some of the people have angels’ wings, too, and some of them have tails. Not devil tails, more like dog tails. It looked like something out of Hieronymus Bosch. Two of them have heads of wild, curly black hair, one of the winged ones and one of the dog-tailed ones. I hope Jesse’s okay over Christmas break.

  The latest development is that Grandma Alice has decided to make a big dinner for Hanukkah and invite Grandpa Joe, which means that Wuffie and Mom are coming too, of course.

  “I don’t think Joe’s said the prayers since he was twelve,” Ben told Grandma Alice, but he wasn’t going to argue with her. Me, I think it’s another ploy to get Mom and Ben together. I hope nobody chokes on a turkey bone this time. Wuffie accepted fast enough, for all of them. Without asking Mom.

  But Mom came over without any problem, the first night of Hanukkah. She patted the Todal, who adores her and nearly knocked her over he was so excited. She said how good everything smelled and could she help, but Grandma Alice said she had it all under control, so Mom had to socialize with us like a guest, which she was pretending to be anyway. I asked if she was coming to see me in the Posadas parade.

  “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it. Whatever persuaded Father Weatherford to use live animals? He must have nerves of steel. Or dementia.”

  “So, do you want to see me, or just see if something awful happens?” I asked.

  Mom grinned. “A little of both.” That sounded more like her old self.

  “If it does,” I said, “I didn’t do it,” and then Grandma Alice said to come to the table.

  The food report: Grandma Alice made matzoh ball soup, and latkes, which are these heavenly pancakes of shredded potatoes, fried in oil. You eat them with sour cream and applesauce, and they are even better than matzoh ball soup. Oil is the big symbol on Hanukkah, since it commemorates the time when the Jews got their temple back from the Romans and there wasn’t enough oil to light the holy lamps for longer than one day. The Jews poured in the oil they had, and it miraculously lasted eight days. So Hanukkah lasts eight days, but the big nights are the first and the last. And I would go anywhere for latkes.

  Grandma Alice got out her favorite menorah, an antique silver one we gave her for Christmas last year. (Okay, I know that’s peculiar, but everybody in our family figures the more chances to give somebody a present, the better.) Instead of holding candles, it hangs on the wall and has little cups for actual oil and wicks. Ben and I hassled with it all day, making a backing for it so it wouldn’t get hot and set the drywall on fire.

  Grandpa Joe loved it, of course. It’s very historical. Not to mention the possibility of its catching on fire. “Ben, I tell you, this is great,” he said. “Very traditional Old World. Where did you get it?”

  “Antique shop on Fairfax,” Ben said.

  “Joseph, would you like to say the prayers?” Grandma Alice asked him.

  “Watch him,” Wuffie said.

  “No lucky dogs,” Grandma Alice said. She shook a finger at Grandpa Joe. “The real prayers.”

  “Sure,” Grandpa Joe lit the first cup of oil and rattled them off. In Hebrew.

  Even Wuffie looked surprised.

  “Some things you don’t forget,” he said, putting his arm around her.

  “I thought you weren’t religious, Dad,” Mom said.

  “You don’t have to be to remember prayers you heard your whole childhood,” Grandpa Joe told her.

  “You imprint on things,” Wuffie said to Mom. “They stay with you. I’ve always been grateful to your father for subordinating his things to mine.” She smiled at him and leaned her head against his shoulder. I thought maybe she was reminding Mom that Ben had done exactly that for her when he agreed to get married in a church. But I knew that wasn’t a selling point with Mom. The thing Mom wants Ben to change for her is not religious.

  I think Grandpa Joe and Ben, and even Mom, are kind of generally spiritual people. They’re okay with any path to God. But the specifics of religion, the actual ritual, matter to Wuffie and Grandma Alice.

  After Grandpa Joe lit the first light, we sat down and scarfed latkes and soup and salmon, and challah that Grandma Alice baked herself, and ruggelah for dessert, these heavenly little crescents made with cream cheese pastry and cinnamon and walnuts and raisins. I swear I would be Jewish for the food.

  Mom ate everything and hugged Grandma Alice. She didn’t hug Ben.

  At dress rehearsal this Sunday we got to practice with the donkey, who is really kind of cute, although he smells. He has huge ears and big brown eyes. I have to sit on him sidesaddle, because I wear a long blue gown and a blue cloak with stars, like the Virgin of Guadalupe. Father Weatherford went all-out on costumes this year—no shepherds in their bathrobes. The Three Kings look like sultans with brocade robes and turbans, and the angels all have real feather wings. The wings scared the donkey, but after we let him sniff them he settled down.

  I told Jesse not to pick me up this time because I was going Christmas shopping with Lily afterward, and she was waiting for me as we finished up. When she saw me coming on the donkey, she knelt down on the church lawn and crossed herself. “Looking holy!” she said.

  “Knock it off.” I slid down from the saddle. “I’ll whap you with my halo” (which, thank the Virgin herself, we don’t have to wear).

  Noah took the donkey into the stable and I dug the Baby Jesus out of the straw and laid him in the manger. The angels sang “O Holy Night” and the Three Kings unpacked their invisible camels and knelt down in front of us to present me with three of Noah’s mom’s jewelry boxes. They sang “We Three Kings of Orient Are” while Father Weatherford glared at them to make sure they didn’t put in the line about the rubber cigar.

  Friday is the parade, and we’re going to do this with live sheep and camels.

  Lily and I drove into Ventura to shop. I’m a total freak about Christmas. I love
the decorations, the cheesy mechanical Santas and singing bears at the mall, the people who put eight reindeer, three wise men, four angels, and Santa in a helicopter on their roof and blow all the fuses trying to light it. I love all of it. Despite the fact that I’m convinced that this Christmas is going to be a complete disaster, I’ve been obsessing about what to give everyone. Mom is always good with a book of poetry, but I want something that will make her want to come home.

  “How about a photograph album?” Lily suggested. “Undermine her with sentiment.”

  “With pictures of Ben? That’s a little blatant.”

  “No, doofus. Pictures of the three of you, doing things together. Ben just happens to be in them.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Music? Who’s some singer she likes, who will make her think of Ben? Or go with poetry. How about love poetry?”

  “Would any of those work on you?”

  “No.” Lily turned the car into the mall parking lot. “But I’m a hard sell. Your mom’s a romantic. I had her for English, remember?”

  “I wish I knew what it is Ben won’t take out of that script.”

  Lily grinned. “Yeah, me too.”

  “Sometimes I wish I had your parents.”

  “No, you don’t. They’ll talk about anything. My parents are a walking case of Too Much Information.”

  The mall was piping “White Christmas” into the parking lot through a speaker in the palm trees. The sun was out and it was at least 70 degrees. I wonder what a white Christmas is like. We went in and cruised, and when Lily wasn’t looking I got her the new Norah Jones CD. I got Felix a coffeemaker, which Mom had agreed to go in on.

  A store selling suncatchers and incense had a row of bronze figures in the window and Lily pointed a finger at one. I peered in at him, a little man with an elephant’s head, sitting lotus-fashion.

  “For your mom,” Lily said. “He’s Ganesh, the remover of obstacles.”

  “That might backfire,” I said. “He might remove Ben.” But they had a little brass Buddha that I thought she’d like, and Buddha is all about being at peace with things, according to Mom. That’s what I mean about Mom being kind of a generalist, religiously. I bought her the Buddha, thinking that maybe he could tell her to be at peace with Ben.

  For Ben I had a list of geek presents to pick from, like wireless mice and flash drives. I’d consulted Wuffie on Grandpa Joe, who is always impossible to shop for, and bought him a koi for his koi pond, which the water-garden people will keep till he picks it up. I’m going to wrap a plastic one for him if I can find one. I also went to Body Works and got gardenia hand cream for Wuffie and Grandma Alice.

  Jesse of all people was in there, staring at the body wash.

  He spotted Lily first. “Reindeer! Come and help me.”

  “What are you looking for?” I followed her over.

  “Oh.” He looked at me wildly, the way guys do when they’re on bubble-bath-and-pink-ribbon overload. “My, uh, mom …”

  I showed him the gardenia hand cream. “My grannies both love this.”

  “Is that an old lady smell? She’s not … uh, what do you like?”

  “Well, my mom likes the gardenia, too, but these are my faves.” I pointed at the coconut lime and the freesia. “Does your Mom take baths or showers?”

  He stared at me. “I don’t know.”

  “ ’Cause the bubble bath is better than the body wash if she takes baths, but it’s no good in the shower.”

  “I told her she should come with me,” he said. “I mean, not her come with me to shop for her, but …” He trailed off, grabbed the coconut lime body wash, and ran off.

  For some reason, Lily was cracking up.

  11

  The camels arrived Friday morning in a horse trailer. They do spit. They spat at Father Weatherford while the handlers unloaded them. He looked revolted, but he blessed them. There were three of them and the handler tied them to a palm tree beside the stable, where they ate some thatch off the roof and scratched their butts on the tree trunk. We put the sheep in a pen and tied the goats up inside the stable, where they ate the straw from under Baby Jesus.

  The procession was actually pretty cool. We waited until after dark, and the older angels carried candle lanterns. The candles glowed on their feathers and the magi’s crowns, and on my cloak, and we looked like a stained glass window. That’s what Felix said. He wore a shepherd costume and carried the shovel.

  The stores were all lit up with Christmas lights and some of them gave us cookies after we sang. There were a lot of people lined up along Ayala Avenue to watch us, especially around the arcade and on the sidewalk across the street. My whole family was there, naturally, and I saw Jesse with his mom and his little brother and sister, and Lily and her mom and dad. Everyone had cameras, and the flashes made about as much light as the lanterns. Jesse waved at me and held his up to show me he’d taken my picture.

  It actually got cold that night. You never know in Southern California; we’re as likely to be wearing shorts at Christmas as not. When we got to the stable, Noah kind of snuggled up next to me and put his arm around me, like Joseph would for Mary. I was glad of it because we were supposed to pose for half an hour, and once I got off the donkey, who was pretty warm, I started to shiver, even in my starry cloak. Then I felt Noah’s hand sliding along through the layers of the cloak into my robe.

  “Stop it!” I hissed at him. I wanted to smack him but I couldn’t, because all kinds of people were watching us. Anyway, we were supposed to be a tableau vivant, a bunch of living statues (except for the camel who was still scratching his butt on a tree). “Quit it!” I said.

  “Aww.” He looked at me sideways without moving his head much. He has this goofy grin.

  “Remember your relationship with God,” I whispered.

  “I’m more interested in my relationship with you.”

  “You don’t have any relationship with me,” I said. I was getting exasperated. “And if you don’t move your hand I will tear it off and stuff it up your butt just as soon as this pageant is over!” And then I winced because I was a little too loud and the lady who was taking our picture heard me.

  “You aren’t going to heaven,” Noah said out of the side of his mouth.

  I couldn’t help a snort of laughter. That did it. One of the shepherds giggled just because it’s contagious. Missy Escobar’s shoulders started shaking while she tried to hold her box of frankincense still, and then everyone was cackling, even though they didn’t know what at—just at us kneeling there in the cold, pretending to be Biblical figures even though the head angel got caught smoking pot behind the gym last week, and two of the shepherds are on probation at school for exploding their chemistry experiment on purpose, not to mention Noah, who is perpetually grounded or in trouble.

  Father Weatherford came whisking up in his vestments and glared at us, and we tried to stop. We really did. But sometimes you just can’t. Life is just too funny, or maybe too scary, and you know you’re not holy, and the camel is so silly looking, and the more you try to behave, the more you just want to lie down on the floor and howl. Untied dogs for sure. We got it back together eventually, but I know Father Weatherford felt we’d let him down, so we stayed as still as we could for the next ten minutes until he gave the signal and the angels sang “O Holy Night” again, and everyone applauded.

  Mom came up afterward to tell me how beautiful it all was. I thought she was going to give me the Serious Talk about Acting More Maturely, but she didn’t. Then when Ben came over, she started talking to Felix as if she just hadn’t happened to notice Ben. While Ben, on the other hand, definitely noticed them. So I was grateful when Jesse came over to show me the pictures he’d taken of us. I had to stay for the cast party afterward, and Father Weatherford invited Jesse to stay, too. He probably thought he’d be a good example for us. I thought the last thing Jesse would want to do would be go to a church social with a bunch of kids, but he said sure.

  Father Weath
erford and some of the Youth Group parents had laid out a spread of Christmas cookies and hot spiced cider in the parish hall. Someone brought marshmallows and graham crackers and chocolate so we all flopped down on the floor by the fireplace with our plates and cups and made s’mores. Jesse sat next to me. He had to keep his left leg out straight at a weird angle, and the android-looking calf part of it stuck out, so of course the little kids all wanted to know what it was. I thought he might get mad, but he actually pulled up his cuff some more and showed it to them. When they asked too many questions, he taught them how to toast s’mores.

  Father Weatherford put Christmas carols on and we ate and listened to “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.” The firelight made little flickering orange lights and shadows that danced across everyone’s face. It was beautiful and magical, so naturally Noah started waving his charred drippy marshmallow around like an idiot, saying, “Look, it’s Char Man!” The marshmallow was all black and starting to split in two. He poked it in the fire again and it went up in flames.

  “There is no such person,” Missy Escobar said. “And don’t get that in my hair.”

  Noah made a horrible face at her. “You don’t want to find out some dark night.”

  One of the littlest kids said, “What’s Char Man?”

  “You don’t know?”

  Char Man is a local legend. Almost every kid over the age of five has heard it. So Noah told him. “There was this awful fire, like, way back in the eighties. It was in all the papers. Some guy’s tractor started it in the brush down in the river-bottom. And there were, like, all these houses down there. And there was this one house where this old dude lived with his brother. The old guy was real old, and his brother was just seventeen.”