“Listen, I just came here to see if you wanted to take a break and do some decorating with us. You can’t blame everyone for wanting to have some fun.” “Isn’t it a crime against humanity to impersonate the King during Christmas?” Charlotte asked.Įric smiled warmly and strutted in, parking himself in her chair and throwing his boots up on her desk carelessly, knocking some of her papers to the floor.
“Ah-hal have a ba-lew Chrustmus without you . . .” Eric sang in his best Elvis voice, swaying his hips, trying his best to taunt Charlotte. “Oh, look!” Charlotte muttered with fake surprise. Are you going to work all day?” Eric asked, decked out in a studded leather jacket, jeans, and black engineer boots, with a slicked-back ducktail and a black Santa hat on his head. She reached for the knob and pulled it open. “Doesn’t anybody around here realize I’m working?” she huffed.Īpparently not, she concluded, as a fearsome but rhythmic knocking began, adding a 3/4 backbeat to the din surrounding her.Ĭharlotte reluctantly rose again from her chair and walked to the door slowly, not particularly excited about what or whom she might find on the other side. She dropped her head into her hands and shook it. She returned to her seat, just as another annoying sound from outside her door merged with the sugary drone still penetrating her window. She slammed the window shut and attempted to peer out the frosted windowpane to discover the source of the offensive tones. “What is that noise?!” Charlotte groused. It was almost Christmas Eve in the Great Beyond.Ĭharlotte Usher was sitting at her desk, a pile of end-of-semester papers waiting patiently for her to review, as a distracting sound snuck through the opening of her barely cracked window, prompting her to leave her chair for the first time that day. The apartment complex resembled a snow-covered ancient cemetery with thousands of tiny candles flickering.
Everyone hustled and bustled about, getting ready for the most magical time of the year. Though we’d rather be on a beach or on the ski slopes or quite possibly anywhere else, a visit home can turn even the most sacred gathering into holy hell.ĭistant stars twinkled in the cold night sky. Like salmon swimming desperately upstream, we are compelled, whether out of guilt or good intentions, to make the trip knowing full well how it is likely to end. It is also a time to answer the call of duty.
Christmas isn’t just a time to make merry.
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