âThanks,â I said. âMerry Christmas.â
Her son had caught on by now and was fully involved in unloading the ornaments. The girl looked up at me, and this time I saw it all: her husband coming home in his cap and gown last June, saying, âThanks for law school, honey, but I met Doris at the Juris-Prudence Ball and I gotta be me. Keep the kid.â
The girl said to me, âYou could stay and help.â
It seemed like two statements to me, and so I answered them separately: âThank you. But I canât stay; thatâs the best help. Have a good Christmas.â
And I left them there together, decorating that tree; a ritual against the cold.
â HOW do you like it?â Elise says to me. She has selected a short broad bush which seems to have grown in two directions at once and then given up. She sees the look on my face and says, âIf you canât say anything nice, donât say anything at all. Besides, Iâve already decided: this is the tree for us.â
âItâs a beautiful tree,â Drew says.
âQuasimodo,â I whisper to Drew. âThis treeâs name is Quasimodo.â
âNo whispering,â Elise says from behind us. âWhatâs he saying now, Mom?â
âHe said he likes the tree, too.â
Elise is not convinced and after a pause she says, âDad. Itâs Christmas. Behave yourself.â
When we go to pay for the tree, the master of ceremonies is busy negotiating a deal with two kids, a punk couple. The tree man stands with his hands in his change apron and says, âI gotta get thirty-five bucks for that tree.â The boy, a skinny kid in a leather jacket, shrugs and says heâs only got twenty-eight bucks. His girlfriend, a large person with a bowl haircut and a monstrous black overcoat festooned with buttons, is wailing, âPlease! Oh no! Jimmy! Jimmy! I love that tree! I want that tree!â The tree itself stands aside, a noble pine of about twelve feet. Unless these kids live in a gymnasium, theyâre buying a tree bigger than their needs.
Jimmy retreats to his car, an old Plymouth big as a boat. âPolice Ruleâ is spraypainted across both doors in balloon letters. He returns instantly and opens a hand full of coins. âIâll give you thirty-one bucks, fifty-five cents, and my watch.â To our surprise, the wily tree man takes the watch to examine it. When I see that, I give Elise four dollars and tell her to give it to Kid Jimmy and say, âMerry Christmas.â His girlfriend is still wailing but now a minor refrain of âOh Jimmy, that tree! Oh Jimmy, etc.â I havenât seen a public display of emotion and longing of this magnitude in Salt Lake City, ever. I watch Elise give the boy the money, but instead of saying, âMerry Christmas,â I hear her say instead: âHere, Jimmy. Santa says keep your watch.â
Jimmy pays for the tree, and his girlâand this is the truthâjumps on him, wrestles him to the ground in gratitude and smothers him for nearly a minute. There have never been people happier about a Christmas tree. We pay quickly and head out before Jimmy or his girlfriend can think to begin thanking us.
On the way home in the truck, I say to Elise, âSanta says keep your watch, eh?â
âYes, he does,â she smiles.
âHow old are you, anyway?â
âEight.â
Itâs an old joke, and Drew finishes it for me: âWhen he was your age, he was seven.â
We will go home and while the two women begin decorating the tree with the artifacts of our many Christmases together, I will thread popcorn onto a long string. It is a ritual I prefer for its uniqueness; the fact that once a year I get to sit and watch the two girls I am related to move about a tree inside our home, while I sit nearby and sew food.
ON THE morning of the twenty-fourth of December, Elise comes into our bedroom, already dressed for