The Summer We Said Goodbye [Installment 15]

Holiday Lights

Cosmoo!

It was the Friday right after Thanksgiving, and arctic winds had begun dipping into the Upper Midwest. So, I should have been wearing gloves. But the last of the Christmas lights were almost up, and I needed as much dexterity as I could muster to finish the job.

COSmo!!

"Your mother's calling you, Cosmo."

Aris was on the ground steadying the ladder as I negotiated the upper rungs, the tree's crown almost within reach.

Our success as waltzing partners had impressed everyone so much that whatever resistance I had to acknowledging our friendship publicly had dissolved on the spot. Aris was ushered into the fold as if it had been a foregone conclusion all along, especially by the girls, which made all the difference.

It was a significant victory, and I reveled in knowing that the heavy lifting usually associated with getting everyone on the same page had been executed with just a few simple dance steps and some spins.

I was sure Aris felt the same way, especially considering the potential it augured for her social prospects. But while she was friendly enough and basked in the glow as much as I did, it didn't seem to be the deal-maker for her that I anticipated. It certainly didn't inspire her to engage in any new or extra efforts to fit in. And that was as curious as it was confounding to me.

"Be careful. Are you being careful?"

Just…one…more…

"Holy Hell — !"

The final bulb pinched my thumb as I attempted to clip it to the highest sprig, the pain all the more excruciating in the sub-freezing temperature.

"What happened? Are you okay?!"

Bang, bang, bang!

My mother was at the living room window.

"Watch your tongue, young man!"

Of course, she had heard me. She always heard me when I cussed, even through thick-paned glass. She had an ear for foul language, like pigs have snouts for truffles, and was constantly threatening to wash my mouth out with soap, which only egged me on further to see how far I could push it.

"Come in and get warm," she yelled through the glass. "I made cocoa."

I left the strand hanging where it was and scurried down the ladder.

"Let's see it."

Aris grabbed my wrist to assess the damage.

"There's nothing there, you big baby."

"C'mom. My mom's made cocoa."

The house was a toasty 70 degrees, and Aris' cheeks popped bright red as soon as we hit the heat. We tossed off our winter jackets and slalomed through the dining room crowded with boxes.

It was the first holiday since my dad's departure, and I'd pulled every box I could find from the attic marked "Christmas" or "New Years" and stacked them around the dining room table.

Most of the decorations were either too worn or damaged to be of much use. But not to my mom. She'd unwrap each wad of paper with the care of an archeologist on an Egyptian dig, caressing the tissue as she folded it back to reveal yet another artifact.

“Oh, my…”

She'd stare wistfully into her hands as if re-discovering some lost fragment of her soul before lifting and sharing the enclosed relic with me.

Everything had a story, and I stopped whatever I was doing to listen to each one.

There were the tree ornaments commemorating my siblings' births, an advent wreath my eldest brother made the year he was confirmed, and the stockings she'd crafted for each of us out of red felt.

A candle spinner from Bavaria with a nativity scene on its rotating carousel had been a gift from my father's parents on their first Christmas together. My grandfather had passed long before I was born, and I'd only just met my grandmother on a visit to New York to see my dad. She was in her late eighties and kept referring to me as "Maxine's boy," which is my eldest sister's name.

The spinner's propeller was missing half its blades, and the drip pans were caked with wax, but the craftsmanship was extraordinary. The nativity scene looked like it had been carved from a singular block of wood. So, I set it aside for later to see what could be done with it.

My mom's famous almond crescents were baking in the oven. We followed our noses to two places set for us at the kitchen table. A big picture window looked out over our backyard and my mom's Blue Martin birdhouse, long abandoned by the family of sparrows that had taken up residence last spring.

Aris cupped her hands around the mug of cocoa my mom handed her.

"Thank you, Mrs. Brodmerkle. I'm freezing. Aren't you freezing? You must be freezing."

Her mug was shaped like Mrs. Claus, while mine was like Santa. They were part of my mom's collection of Spode holiday China.

Don't even ask how I knew that name. My mother loved the stuff and had instilled an obsession with it in all my sisters — that and Waterford Crystal. Their weddings had been little more than ruses to stock up on the glassware by shaking down as many guests as possible. And the arms race had only continued as they persisted in purchasing new pieces every year in a bid to outdo one another, whether they could afford it or not.

“I love your Spode, Mrs. Brodmerkle.”

"Why, thank you, Aris. It's fun, isn't it?"

"Spode?" I was incredulous. "What do you know about Spode? You don't celebrate Christmas."

"It's not just for Christmas, dummy. There's a Judaica collection, too."

"Oh, I love the Judaica. That rich cobalt blue against the white porcelain? The Seder plate is exquisite."

"We have the Challah Tray. I use it every Saturday for bagels and lox."

"That's Spode? Christ, I knew it. It's a cult."

"Oh, shush, Booby. And don't use the Lord's name in vain."

"Booby?"

No matter how many times I begged, my mother persisted in calling me by her ridiculous baby name for me.

Aris crinkled her nose and giggled.

"Booby, Booby, Booby."

"Mom! Seriously?"

My mother smiled slyly as she served us a plate of almond crescents.

"Jesus, woman! What are you trying to do to me?"

They were still oven-hot, and I bounced a cookie from hand to hand like a hot potato.

I cringed at how much I sounded like my father and brothers. I don't know why I taunted my mother the way I did.

Aris was not impressed and rebuked me with her silence. I gently set the cookie on my plate and retreated to the back of my chair.

"How far did you get?"

"Very! Cosmo only has one more bulb, and the two big trees are done."

"Really, you had enough for all that?"

We had never had outdoor Christmas lights before, so I was surprised when I found a box of them at the back of the attic. It was a tangled mess with a lot of burnt-out bulbs. But I'd been able to string enough of the working ones together to cover the two Douglas firs in our front yard.

"Yes!" Aris replied cheerfully. "All we need now is a few more strands, and we can decorate the lower shrubs, too."

I kicked her under the table. We didn't have a few more strands, and I wasn't going to ask my mom to buy them. With my dad gone, money was tight, and I could tell my mom was stressed about it.

"That's a wonderful idea, Aris."

It was?

"Don't you think so, Cosmo?"

Of course, I thought so. I'd barely been able to cover the two fir trees as it was.

"Doesn't sound like you have enough to get the job done."

I could already hear my siblings whining.

Aris looked at me quizzically.

“Yes, Mrs.Brodmerkle. That's right."

"It's settled then. Figure out how many you need, and let's hop to! It's looking like snow."

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You can find an archive of past installments here.