The Girl and the Black Christmas

by A J Rivers

  That afternoon, Xavier sits at the kitchen table, staring at the row of gingerbread men Bellamy and I lined up on a platter. Each of them has eyes and a mouth, but is otherwise unadorned.

  “Alright,” I declare, “moment of truth. You have before you six fully de-clothed gingerbread men, freshly baked and given proper facial expressions. That is half a dozen naked gingerbread men. Take your pick.”

  He looks at each of them. They all look pretty much identical to me, so I’m not sure what he’s evaluating. But it takes a couple of minutes before he reaches forward and touches one of them. His hand pulls back, and he shakes his head. He takes another minute to look at them.

  “I already touched this one, so I’ll take it,” he says, taking the first one and setting it in front of himself.

  “Take whichever one you want,” I insist. “None of us would mind that you touched one of them.”

  “But it would,” he says. He picks up a cookie and starts to bring it to his mouth, then puts it down. He tries again, but it ends up back on the table. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Sam asks. “You said it was the clothes that bothered you, and now there aren’t any clothes.”

  “Exactly. I can’t eat something that vulnerable,” he protests.

  “I prepared for this,” I say. Bellamy and I go over to the counter and bring over bowls of royal icing we made. “Instant wardrobe. You don’t want Christmas clothes, right?”

  “Right.”

  “How about this?”

  I spend a few moments with a chopstick, using the icing like paint. When I’m done, I gesture toward the cookie. Xavier bends his head down over it for a second, then lifts back up.

  “No.”

  “What’s wrong with it? It’s not Christmas.”

  “You gave him sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt,” he says.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s not Hawaiian. There are no flowers on it. It’s just a shirt with a collar.” I sigh. “Do you want me to fill it in and make it a t-shirt?”

  “You dressed him for summer.”

  “Technically, she dressed him for Hawaii. That’s there all year,” notes Bellamy.

  “No,” Xavier says. “I can’t do it.”

  “I could lengthen his pants.”

  “Now you’re just being silly.”

  “I’ve got it,” Dean says. “Is this one okay?”

  He points to another cookie and Xavier nods. Dean takes the chopstick from my hand and goes to work. When he’s done, the cookie is wearing brown pants and a green sweater. Just like Xavier.

  “It’s me,” Xavier says.

  “Exactly. That’s what you’re wearing, which means you think it’s seasonally appropriate. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be wearing it. So, now you have a gingerbread Xavier, who is definitely not dressed for Christmas. What do you think?”

  Xavier evaluates the cookie for a second, then picks it up and bites off its arm.

  “That’s delicious,” he says.

  I grin at him. “You did it.”

  “You won’t eat it if it’s dressed for weather that’s too warm, but you can eat yourself?” Sam asks.

  “I’m not a cookie, Sam.” He takes another bite. “And if I was, I’d be…”

  “Peanut butter?” he offers.

  “Oatmeal raisin. Dean would be peanut butter.” He looks Sam up and down. “You’d be a sugar cookie with sprinkles.” He stands up. “I’m going to the banana room to read for a little while.”

  He takes his cookie and walks out of the kitchen. When he’s gone, Sam looks over at me.

  “A sugar cookie?” he practically sputters.

  “Sam, it’s the way he sees the world. You have to let him filter it however it makes sense…”

  “All I get is a sugar cookie? Even Dean gets to be peanut butter.”

  I give him an empathetic smile and pat him on the back. “At least you have sprinkles. Embrace your sprinkles.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Thirteen years ago…

  Julia wasn’t expecting to see him walking across the center of campus in the middle of the day. She usually knew where he was supposed to be. When she might have a chance to see him for a few moments. The middle of the afternoon was never one of those times.

  He shouldn’t be near the library. But she didn’t give herself the time to think about that or wonder what he was doing. Seeing him walking along the sidewalk talking to a guy holding a stack of books in one arm and what looked like a voice recorder in the other made a surge of anger rush up inside her.

  Suddenly she thought about his stranding her without a ride and her having to walk through the cold. She remembered the way she felt when Jeremy stood behind her and his voice slid down the back of her neck.

  She had been heading for the side doors of the library that led to the study rooms, but she shoved her notebook into her bag and stalked directly over to him.

  “We need to talk,” she said when she got within a few steps of him.

  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, then turned his attention back to the guy beside him.

  “Can you give me just a second?” He looked at her. “I’m sorry, I’m actually busy right now. You’ll have to excuse me.”

  He nodded and started to turn back to the guy, but she took a step toward him. “It will only take a minute.”

  He drew in a breath. “I’m sorry, but as I said, I’m busy. I’m doing an interview for the student paper, and I can’t leave him waiting. If there’s something you need to talk to me about, feel free to send me a message, and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Les,” she said as he turned away again.

  This brought a dark glare and set jaw. He lowered his voice as if he didn’t want the people around to hear. “Don’t call me that. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Stung, Julia stepped back and let them pass. She couldn’t believe he was acting that way toward her. She understood about his name. She shouldn’t have let it slip. He hated when she called him that, especially when other people were around. But she couldn’t help it. Even if he hated it, that was his name, and when they were alone together, she would tease him with it.

  That sometimes made it hard for her to remember not to use it when others might hear. Often it didn’t even occur to her until she heard someone else refer to him. Just one more thing he wanted her to keep hidden.

  Not for long. That was his biggest promise. It wouldn’t be much longer. Things had to be this way right now. Because of her parents. Because of her scholarship. Because of responsibilities they each had. It wasn’t their time yet, but their time would come.

  She just had to be patient. She just had to trust that it would happen.

  But that also meant having to remember so many things. Having to keep so many secrets.

  She waited until they were out of sight before she continued along the sidewalk to the door that led into the study rooms. She was glad this wasn’t one of the times that a study group would be waiting for her to join them. She didn’t want to look at anybody right now. She didn’t want to deal with any questions or those looks people gave her, when she knew they were trying to figure out what she was thinking.

  Not that they would ever be able to.

  It wasn’t unusual for Julia to lose track of time when she was studying, and by the time she heard the handle of the study room door turning, it was already late. She figured it was one of the library staff coming to tell her she needed to leave because the library would be closing soon.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I had been here for so long. Just let me grab everything and I’ll be out of here,” she said.

  “You can’t do things like you pulled today, Julia.”

  She spun around to the voice and saw Les just inside the door.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “You came stomping up to me out in the middle of campus in front of everybody, and you’re asking me what I’m doing?” he aske
d.

  “Where were you?” she snapped. “You were supposed to give me a ride.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked. “What ride?”

  “I told you I was lending my car to Lynn and would have to take the bus. Then I told you I was catching it right after I had to do my shift at that opportunity fair for my class project. And you said you’d be there,” she said.

  He rolled his eyes. “I meant at the fair. I was going to be at the opportunity fair. How could you possibly turn that into me offering you a ride?”

  “I honestly couldn’t imagine that you would hear I would be taking the bus and standing out at the stop in this cold, and not offer me a ride. Things are hard enough as it is, I didn’t think you would want to make it harder for me.”

  “I’m not making anything harder for you,” he said. “Don’t put this on me. Your choosing to uber-schedule your life, or where you go during the day, has nothing to do with me. And you can’t come up to me like that. That guy’s doing interviews all over campus for the next couple of days. He’s recording everybody,” Les protested.

  “And we have to make sure you protect your reputation,” Julia sneered. “You wouldn’t want anybody seeing you speak to somebody like me.”

  “Do you want people seeing you speak to me? You want somebody to snap a picture and send it to your parents? Maybe I can give them a little bit of insight into what actually happens during your study-abroad program,” he said. “Look, I’ve tried everything I can to help you. I don’t know what it is you want from me. But this is getting really out of control. I tried to tell you that, but you’re not listening.”

  “I’m listening,” Julia said. “But right now, I’m the one who’s busy.”

  She started to go back to studying but could see the security guard approaching the glass doors of the study rooms. She gathered all of her materials and stuffed them into her bag. Walking past Les, she smiled at the security guard.

  “I’m leaving,” she said. “Sorry for being here so late.”

  “No problem,” he said. “Looks as if you’re working really hard. Getting some extra help?”

  She looked over at Les. “I need all the help I can get.”

  The security guard laughed and nodded. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Have a good night.”

  She smiled at him. “You, too.”

  Without another glance behind her, she walked out of the library and into the sharp chill. She wished she had the scarf, but she had forgotten it at her apartment. She needed to remember to return it before anybody recognized it and created an awkward situation.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Now

  Just as Xavier had envisioned, soon after finishing Thanksgiving dinner, we all went into the living room and ate thick slices of pumpkin pie while we decorated the tree. That was several hours ago, and now I’ve transitioned away from the pumpkin and to the full-on Christmas hot cocoa with peppermint.

  Stirring it slowly, I stare at the tree in front of me. All around me, the living room is dark, accentuating the glow of the lights even more. It’s the first time since I was a teenager that I’ve had a real Christmas tree, and this one is spectacular. Even when I was younger, we never went out to a tree farm to get our trees. We picked them up from outside grocery stores if we weren’t in Sherwood, or from one of the cute little lots in town when we were.

  Going to the farm was something I’ll never forget. Having most of my favorite people around me, watching Xavier revel in the beauty of a season that’s been stolen from him year after year, seeing Bellamy rest her hand to her belly and thinking about next year, when we’d have a new baby to bring with us to find our next tree. It was incredible.

  We chose the biggest tree I thought could reasonably fit into my living room, but now that I’m looking at it, I’m not actually sure it is all that reasonable. There’s no topper on the tree because the top is smashed into the ceiling and I can no longer see the majority of the front window.

  Sam insisted we stop by the hardware store on the way home and pick up a few extra strands of lights. I’m glad he did. It would have looked as naked as the gingerbread men if we only had the lights we usually put on the artificial tree.

  That one, for the record, is now in the corner of Xavier’s room. He saw the box for it when they were bringing down ornaments and decided he couldn’t bear the thought of its spending a Christmas season locked up in a box while another tree took its place. According to him, it might just be a plastic replica of the real thing, but it didn’t know that and didn’t deserve to be penalized for it.

  Footsteps come down the stairs and from the soft humming accompanying them, I know it’s Xavier. Apparently not allowing himself to sing Christmas songs at any other time during the year makes them build up inside him, and once they’re allowed out, they tend to form a nearly continuous stream of humming.

  So far, I haven’t been bothered by it. I can see it becoming a problem if it lasts for the rest of the week, though.

  The steps bypass the living room and go into the kitchen. A few seconds later, I hear him call out to me.

  “Emma? If I were a marshmallow, where would I live?”

  “In the pantry on the top shelf in a big jar,” I call back.

  “Good real estate,” he says.

  After a little while and a few somewhat concerning sounds, the humming comes toward the living room. I glance over to see Xavier in red and white striped pajamas and a green hat that looks like a cross between an elf’s and an old-fashioned sleep cap. Fluffy slippers add the finishing touch to the outfit. He’s holding a reindeer mug in both hands and either taking a sip or sucking miniature marshmallows directly into his mouth. It’s hard to tell, considering the top of the mug is just a mound of marshmallows with a candy cane sticking out.

  “Wow,” I comment, as he makes his way across the room to sit down in the big recliner closest to the tree. “When you flip the switch to Christmas, you really do it up, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  I nod and take a sip of my cocoa.

  “Is that whipped cream on your cocoa?” he asks.

  I look into the mug. “Yes. That fresh bowl I made is in the refrigerator.”

  “Marshmallows are for hot cocoa. Do you have any marshmallows in there?” he asks.

  “No,” I tell him, shaking my head.

  “Heathen.”

  I manage a slight smile.

  “Is Dean in bed?”

  Xavier nods through another sip. “He said goodnight about an hour ago.”

  “Everybody else, too. I thought you were sleeping.”

  He shakes his head. “Reading.”

  “Xavier, do you think I always look for the worst in everything?” I ask.

  “No,” he says. “If that was true, I wouldn’t be here. You would look at me and see what so many other people see.”

  “People look at you and realize that the most fundamental things in the world, things they consider set in stone, are completely different for you. That the way you see and feel and think, the way you use your senses. They’re all different from anything they could ever understand. And it scares the living hell out of them. They aren’t seeing the worst in you. They’re seeing the worst in themselves,” I say.

  “Does that make me a mirror?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “In a way.”

  “Then what do you see reflected back to you when you look at me?” he asks. “Someone who knows the simplest answer isn’t always the right one. Someone who thinks of what bad can come out of a situation, or what bad could have already happened, because they’ve seen enough bad to know how often it happens. Mirrors reflect things you can’t even see for yourself. Do you want to know what I see?”

  “Yes,” I nod.

  “You look for the bad. You think the worst. You immediately wonder who might have been hurt, or if something is wrong and not as it appears. But none of those are bad things, Emma. You don’t do it because you like
the negativity, or you crave it. You do it because you hate it. You never want someone to suffer, because no one wants to think there could be suffering,” he tells me. “You voice the things that people don’t want to admit, even to themselves, because it makes them feel safe in their denial. But you can’t stand that.”

  “That’s true,” I admit.

  “You said I think and see and feel differently from other people, and it scares them. I think the same is true for you. Not the same as me. But in your own way. Very few things are set in stone. They could happen, or they could not happen. Maybe you can see both. You stand in the way of things happening because you can see a path others can’t. And when things have already happened, that’s when you know someone has followed that path. And you are willing to follow it after that person.”

  We sit for a few seconds in silence.

  “Why did you ask?” he asks.

  “Do you remember that Christmas card I asked you about?”

  “Yes,” he says.

  I draw in a breath and explain the whole situation, telling him about Julia and the fears I went through all those years ago.

  “Everyone says she just ran away. That she decided she didn’t want to do it anymore and was going to start her own life. I just don’t believe that. That wasn’t her. I think something happened to her, but when I mentioned that to Sam and to Bellamy, both of them said I was just looking at the worst. I was only seeing it as a bad thing because that’s what I do. They aren’t the first ones to tell me that.”

  “I believe you, Emma. And the truth is, even if she is out there somewhere because she left and started a new life, something still happened to her. Geese don’t fly away because the weather is warm, and bears don’t hibernate because food is plentiful. You change because the world is changing you. If you think something is wrong, then it probably is. I know if everybody else in the world thought they knew where I was, but you thought I was missing, I would want people to look.”

  I nodded, not knowing how to respond, and look down into my mug at the melting pool of whipped cream. As I’m staring into the swirl of white into the dark brown, a candy cane slides into my vision. It tips, dumping several miniature marshmallows down into my hot cocoa. My throat tightens.