A Christmas Memory
| A Christmas Memory | |
| Vos, Max | |
| Max Vos (2013) | |
| Tags: | MM Fiction MM Fictionttt |
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A Christmas Memory
Max Vos
November 2013
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Editor: K.C.Wells
Cover Designer: Alex J. Corza
Copyright © 2013 by Max Vos
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This book contains material that may be offensive to some: graphic language, adult situations
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“It would be a cold day in hell, I tell you,” Grace Griffin stated with a huff, her half-lens glasses dangling from the fake pearl chain which hung around her neck. She punctuated her latest remark by audibly popping a grape in her mouth.
“You know how these kids are today, Grace,” Libby Blankenship, the head librarian, said, wrinkling her nose.
I could feel my stomach turn sour just listening, dreading what I knew would be a continuation of the endless banter that wouldn’t stop until the final bell rang on Friday afternoon.
“I don’t care how much Elizabeth begged,” Mrs. Griffin went on. “I would
never
let
my
sixteen-year-old daughter go on a ski trip with her boyfriend, chaperones or not, especially over Christmas. Christmas is all about family, and family should be together for the holidays.”
“I agree with you, Grace,” Mrs. Blankenship said, her voice muffled by a tuna fish salad sandwich.
“Now that all my papers have been graded, and the testing is done, I can get on with finishing up my gift wrapping and get started on my Christmas baking.” The self-satisfaction on Grace Griffin’s face made the muscles in my jaw tighten.
“I have most of my shopping done,” Libby piped up, sounding very pleased with herself. “I have a few more things that I want to pick up but overall, I'm pretty much done.”
The main topic in the teacher’s lounge for the past week had almost always been the upcoming holidays. I would overhear some chattering about finding time to do their ‘holiday shopping’, or decorating their homes
. Decorating? Hell, I didn’t have one Christmas decoration, never have, and doubted that I ever would
. I just wanted the whole thing to be over with.
I was dreading this holiday season more than any in the past eight years. This was the first year of my teaching career as a high school history teacher. Previously, I'd always worked during the holidays, since I was paying my way through school, so I was always too busy to think about it too much. This year, however, I was going to have eighteen days off in a row, with
nothing
to occupy my time.
Friday being the last day of school for this calendar year, the conversation during lunch at the teacher's table revolved around nothing but the upcoming holiday break. I was so sick of hearing about it that I thought at any moment I would jump up and pull my hair out as I ran screaming from the building. That was until Coach Sutton sat down right across from me, making my mouth go dry. For some strange reason, he’d taken to sitting with me, or at least in the same vicinity as me, during lunch.
Coach was a bit of a hero around here, having taken the football team all the way to the state finals. They didn't win, but getting there was good enough for those around here, or so it seemed. He was also one of those outgoing, gregarious types, who seemed to draw everyone to them. It didn’t hurt that he was a young Tom Selleck look-a-like. The women swooned, and the men would be all buddy-buddy, high-fiving him while talking about what a fantastic season he’d had and what next year might bring. I had to admit that I myself had an internal love/hate thing going on for the guy. What gay man would not be attracted by his masculine good looks? The chipper personality, success, and popularity made me envious, and yes, even a little jealous, and there lay part of the problem.
He was part of that elite group that seemed to have it all, while people like me were always on the outside looking in, wishing they could be like that. It was like being back in high school, which, in essence, I was. It was a glum thought.
“So, what about you, Jones?” Coach Sutton asked. He was one of those types that always called other guys by their last names.
Startled out of my internal dialog, I realized Coach Sutton was speaking to me. I’d lost track of the conversation, successfully blocking it out for a change. “Pardon? What about me?”
“Do you have big plans for the holidays?” he asked, a knowing grin on his face.
Without thinking, somewhat stunned that this man would even care what I was doing, I blurted out, “No, I have no plans.” Quickly, I realized my mistake. I had learned long ago never to disclose that I didn’t have any family, or that I had no plans for Christmas. In the past, I’d always say ‘I’ll be home for Christmas’, which was true in a sense. My dorm room or my apartment
was
my home.
My father walked out when I was four, not that I could blame him. My mother was a drunk and a prescription-drug addict, spending her days in such a stupor that I was surprised she even knew who I was half the time. Needless to say, being a welfare kid, with no father, and a shell of a human being for a mother, my childhood was not a Norman Rockwell painting.
The most dreaded question for me was, “So…what is your favorite, or your most memorable Christmas?” Ugh. If I were being honest, I would have said I had none. Of course, no one wants to hear that, so my standard answer was "Oh, I have too many to count,” which was an outright lie. I hated the holidays.
The second most dreaded question was, ‘What are your plans for the Holidays?’ The problem with admitting that you had no plans was that everyone else would feel sorry for you, and then try to include you in their family plans. There was nothing worse than to have a room full of people you don’t know, feeling sorry for you. It was always the same: the sensation of being a third wheel, and not quite fitting in. Looking around the table, I could see it coming, the do-gooders wanting to take care of the poor orphan.
Mrs. Lewis, who taught English Literature, was the first one to start. “Do you not have any family in the area?”
Oh crap, how do I get out of this now?
“No, no family to speak of,” I had to admit, not wanting to lie outright since it was easily verifiable.
“Well now, we can’t have you sitting all by yourself on Christmas!” She straightened herself in her chair, resolve written all over her face. I knew the invitation was coming, then the insistence, followed finally by the not taking ‘no’ for an answer.
“Really, I have my own rituals. I'll be fine,” I said, doing my best to dissuade her from any further comments.
Luckily for me, there was a commotion at one of the student’s tables. Two girls were having a pushing contest, so several of the teachers went to settle the squabble, Mrs. Lewis being one of them.
“Looks as if you stuck your foot in that one, Champ.”
I jerked my head up to see Coach Sutton smile in a conspiratorially smug way, and then wink at me. His expression quickly changed as the other teachers came back.
“I swear, when I was their age, I would have never even thought of acting like girls do today,” Mrs. Lewis commented as she sat back down. “Now, where were we?” Her focus was back on me. “Oh yes, you, not spending Christmas alone.”
“He isn’t going to be alone, Emily,” Coach spoke before I could get a word out. “He’s going to spend the day with me and my family. It’s all set.”
I was so surprised, it was a wonder my eyeballs didn’t pop right out of my head, knocking my new glasses across the room. Nothing could have shocked me more.
“We’ll drink beer, watch some football and have a great time, won’t we, Champ?” When Coach Sutton turned to face me, he did that wink thing at me again.
Seeing this as a way out of the minefield, and gracefully getting out of the mess I’d put myself into, I readily agreed.
“That’s no way to spend Christmas.” Mrs. Lewis scowled at the both of us.
“Hey, it’s a guy thing, Emily,” he proclaimed. “We bachelors have to stick together, don’t we, Champ? Besides, we’ll be with my family.”
Coach Sutton calling me Champ all of a sudden was starting to grind on my nerves, making me grit my teeth. I still needed to remind myself to thank him for getting me out of that situation, but I had no intention of spending any ‘guy’ time with him.
“So much for Christmas spirit,” she harrumphed.
“I’ll have you know I have plenty of Christmas spirit!” It was comical, the feigned indignant look on Coach’s face. “I go all out decorating my house. I put up a big ol’ tree and have a great time. I love Christmas time.”
“Still…sitting around drinking beer all day…” She let her obvious disapproval end the sentence for her.
“What do all the men do at your house Christmas Day?” Coach Sutton queried.
“Well… after the kids open their presents, they usually help them with anything that needs batteries or such.” Mrs. Lewis sat thinking. “Then we all have a big Christmas breakfast before going to church. When we get back home, we normally have a light lunch, then the men...” Suddenly she stopped. “Well…” She started stuttering. “The women start cooking the Christmas dinner and the men…well…the men are usually playing with the kids and watching TV.” Mrs. Lewis blushed violently.
“By any chance are your men folk drinking any type of alcoholic beverages?” he prodded her.
“I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say they were drinking in the same way you were alluding to.” She blushed a deep scarlet, knowing she’d been had.
Coach Sutton, being the gentleman he was, didn’t tease or rub her nose in it, but just let it go. “I think me and Jonsey here will be just fine, don’t you, Champ?”
At that point, I was ready to reach across the table and jerk the man’s tongue out of his mouth, no matter how good-looking he was.
