The curtains dance as the gentle spring breeze enters the room
with a jolt of refreshing for the musty room. I turn and observe a cardinal
perched on the edge of the backyard fence. Its tiny head darts left and right
as the sounds of spring fill the air. The scene shatters as the kids run and
smash against the patio door. The bird escapes as their small fists strike the
door for help. I lean forward and push it open while staring at the fence as
they file past me.
An audience waits when my mind and body return to the party. I hope to gain strength from the bourbon as it burns my throat on the way down. My hand pushes across the increasingly bald head while pondering my presence and existence. The depression following such an event is to be expected.
The wife’s eyes greet mine as the hand ends its journey. She seems to be telling or trying to convey a message as the eyes widen and retract with a gesture downward. I wish she’d speak up, but the topic has been discussed repeatedly over the years. At this point, it is one of those quirks that make her her. I wonder if the trait would be missed if gone. Of course, any discussion of this quirk reveals my own so it is best to avoid it. My head finally tilts forward to discover the target of her mime routine.
Gifts cover the table in various box sizes and a few gift bags to complete the scene. I have no desire to open anything. Their mystery taunts me. Mother steps into the scene at the right with cake in hand. This must have been planned as it fits nicely in the open space in front of me. I wonder how gifts didn’t invade the area.
The standard inferno jokes fill the room as the candle flames dance in front of me. My lungs fill as they taunt me, but I pause just before finishing the job as proper wish proves to be difficult. My brain reveals nothing of past wishes and whether they were ever granted. A thought finally locks in my mind as the restless crowd frets over the cake’s future, begging me to blow. As the air leaves my mouth, a second wish enters my mind - wishing or hoping the liquor on my breadth does not cause a scene and devastation.
The people and presents still exist after the candles are extinguished, so yet another wish goes unanswered. It dawns on me that few, if any, of my wishes were ever fulfilled. Mother is prodded to cut the cake for the children’s sugar fix. I silently hope the presents will be forgotten as the dry pastry is consumed with plenty of beverages to push it downward.
This may sound rude or arrogant, but I certainly admire and respect generosity of any kind. With that said, there is nothing more grueling than receiving a gift. This is especially true for those that think they know you. In my mind, a gift reveals how a person perceives another and the value of the relationship.
I love giving presents to friends and family that I know really well. In fact, I buy presents throughout the year with certain individuals in mind. I truly hope they value the gifts, but maybe they feel as I do. I wonder if I really care. Nothing is worse than a close friend overly excited as they present me with a gift that they proceed to explain immediately made them think of me, but they have rarely, if ever, hit the mark. This has been true with idiotic books, ugly shirts, and foodstuffs and so forth. If necessary, I can present a list and many of the actual items. As the wife has told me countless times, it is clearly my fault as I closely guard my true self. This may be true, but my simple rule with gift giving is to keep it simple and practical.
With that said, my brother pushed the first gift into my field of vision. I firmly grasped the box and stared into his eyes as his history of hideous gifts sprinkled with the occasional practical joke streamed through my mind. I wondered who actually wrapped the gift as my hand slid underneath the box into the opening in the paper. I visually search for one or more children to assist with the process, but the faint sound of their playing filters through the open windows.
I hold the shirt open and steal another glance at the wife. The unspoken exchange lets her know she has a new pajama shirt. Another box follows revealing various coffee flavors in a nice package – a good gift if I actually liked coffee. The wife’s smile expands. At this point, it is the wife two and zero for myself.
Mother slides a small gift bag into my lap and beams with confidence. I cringe as she takes the time to explain my reading appetite to the rest of the group while I pull two mass-market paperbacks from the bag. Further embarrassment erupts as most of the women have read the selections while the men stand with arms crossed – once again questioning my sexuality. The wife would be my first witness to disprove such assertions. She would be asked to testify about my voracious sexual appetite among other things.
I suck the last of the bourbon from my ice cubes as the wrapping paper is cleared away. Family stories erupt around various childhood activities. A common theme of the stories is my absence. I contemplate my role in the family as the bourbon takes full effect.
Regret momentarily creeps into my mind but is quickly vanquished as the wife’s smile is received from across the room. She patiently listens to one of mother’s incoherent stories. It is a striking picture of two women that could not be more different. A therapist would certainly have many things to say about such a difference. Upon further review, I am sure the many people in the room have many things to say on the subject and probably chatter about it in my absence.
I survey the table in front of me with the various presents stacked neatly at the end, wondering if these people really think I would wear that shirt or read such trash or how they could ever forget I don’t like coffee. I smile while thinking of the ‘it is the thought that counts’ saying and wondering what these people were thinking. My peripheral vision catches the cardinal – or one just like it – as it reappears on the fence. I wonder if it truly appreciates its ability to fly away at the smallest sign of trouble.
An audience waits when my mind and body return to the party. I hope to gain strength from the bourbon as it burns my throat on the way down. My hand pushes across the increasingly bald head while pondering my presence and existence. The depression following such an event is to be expected.
The wife’s eyes greet mine as the hand ends its journey. She seems to be telling or trying to convey a message as the eyes widen and retract with a gesture downward. I wish she’d speak up, but the topic has been discussed repeatedly over the years. At this point, it is one of those quirks that make her her. I wonder if the trait would be missed if gone. Of course, any discussion of this quirk reveals my own so it is best to avoid it. My head finally tilts forward to discover the target of her mime routine.
Gifts cover the table in various box sizes and a few gift bags to complete the scene. I have no desire to open anything. Their mystery taunts me. Mother steps into the scene at the right with cake in hand. This must have been planned as it fits nicely in the open space in front of me. I wonder how gifts didn’t invade the area.
The standard inferno jokes fill the room as the candle flames dance in front of me. My lungs fill as they taunt me, but I pause just before finishing the job as proper wish proves to be difficult. My brain reveals nothing of past wishes and whether they were ever granted. A thought finally locks in my mind as the restless crowd frets over the cake’s future, begging me to blow. As the air leaves my mouth, a second wish enters my mind - wishing or hoping the liquor on my breadth does not cause a scene and devastation.
The people and presents still exist after the candles are extinguished, so yet another wish goes unanswered. It dawns on me that few, if any, of my wishes were ever fulfilled. Mother is prodded to cut the cake for the children’s sugar fix. I silently hope the presents will be forgotten as the dry pastry is consumed with plenty of beverages to push it downward.
This may sound rude or arrogant, but I certainly admire and respect generosity of any kind. With that said, there is nothing more grueling than receiving a gift. This is especially true for those that think they know you. In my mind, a gift reveals how a person perceives another and the value of the relationship.
I love giving presents to friends and family that I know really well. In fact, I buy presents throughout the year with certain individuals in mind. I truly hope they value the gifts, but maybe they feel as I do. I wonder if I really care. Nothing is worse than a close friend overly excited as they present me with a gift that they proceed to explain immediately made them think of me, but they have rarely, if ever, hit the mark. This has been true with idiotic books, ugly shirts, and foodstuffs and so forth. If necessary, I can present a list and many of the actual items. As the wife has told me countless times, it is clearly my fault as I closely guard my true self. This may be true, but my simple rule with gift giving is to keep it simple and practical.
With that said, my brother pushed the first gift into my field of vision. I firmly grasped the box and stared into his eyes as his history of hideous gifts sprinkled with the occasional practical joke streamed through my mind. I wondered who actually wrapped the gift as my hand slid underneath the box into the opening in the paper. I visually search for one or more children to assist with the process, but the faint sound of their playing filters through the open windows.
I hold the shirt open and steal another glance at the wife. The unspoken exchange lets her know she has a new pajama shirt. Another box follows revealing various coffee flavors in a nice package – a good gift if I actually liked coffee. The wife’s smile expands. At this point, it is the wife two and zero for myself.
Mother slides a small gift bag into my lap and beams with confidence. I cringe as she takes the time to explain my reading appetite to the rest of the group while I pull two mass-market paperbacks from the bag. Further embarrassment erupts as most of the women have read the selections while the men stand with arms crossed – once again questioning my sexuality. The wife would be my first witness to disprove such assertions. She would be asked to testify about my voracious sexual appetite among other things.
I suck the last of the bourbon from my ice cubes as the wrapping paper is cleared away. Family stories erupt around various childhood activities. A common theme of the stories is my absence. I contemplate my role in the family as the bourbon takes full effect.
Regret momentarily creeps into my mind but is quickly vanquished as the wife’s smile is received from across the room. She patiently listens to one of mother’s incoherent stories. It is a striking picture of two women that could not be more different. A therapist would certainly have many things to say about such a difference. Upon further review, I am sure the many people in the room have many things to say on the subject and probably chatter about it in my absence.
I survey the table in front of me with the various presents stacked neatly at the end, wondering if these people really think I would wear that shirt or read such trash or how they could ever forget I don’t like coffee. I smile while thinking of the ‘it is the thought that counts’ saying and wondering what these people were thinking. My peripheral vision catches the cardinal – or one just like it – as it reappears on the fence. I wonder if it truly appreciates its ability to fly away at the smallest sign of trouble.
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