"Sweet Silver Bells"

Who did this DICKLICKER think he was?

“I know it’s short notice, but I’m going to my parents’ house for Christmas to drink eggnog, get some shitty homemade sweater, and sit around the fireplace with my folks, friends and family just so we can have a GAY ol’ Christmas like the pathetic bunch of hoity-toity ASSHOLES we are! Hope you won’t get all depressed and string yourself up on the ceiling or slit your forearms open. But if that’s what you do feel like doing, call me, even though I probably won’t pick up the phone because I’ll be caroling around the neighborhood, freezing my goddamn dick off, spreading that hypocritical Christian love that we only spread on Christmas. Now you have yourself a Merry little Christmas ok, my little fuck toy? And don’t you dare jack off on that couch, the one YOU bought, it’s a SIN!”

Ok, that’s not entirely what he said, but Beatriz read between the lines. He always wanted to make himself look like a selfless saint even though he was really a selfish shithead. She was a little surprised he didn’t offer to take her home for Christmas, but then again, a man didn’t bring his slut around the dinner table and announce to his family, “Hey family! This is the whore I’ve been fucking for a few months now. She watches porn, smokes like a freight train, and she even swears like a sailor from the Bronx! Bee, you seat next to Grandma, dear. I’m sure you two will get along swell.”

Yeah, he called her “Bee”. That was her urging. She always loved the way her name sounded when her mother said it and to her surprise people outside her family knew how to say it and even people she just met got how to say it and said it beautifully, but she hated the way he said her name. Beatriz (BAY-AH-TREES) Beatriz. He said it like Bee-trice and after several attempts to correct his pronunciation only to become very, very, very frustrated, they compromised. He made it sound like a fucking vegetable and not even a good tasting one.

Stupid Dicklicker didn’t even get her a gift! Not that she was looking forward to one, not necessarily, because she knew he wouldn’t have gotten something she would like and she didn’t get him one, but…still.

Maybe she was just bitterly jealous because she didn’t have a family to go home to. But was she really jealous? Not really but there was still a part of her, a tiny part, who missed the hearty company of people sometimes and a very large part who missed her mother and her uncle, the only blood family she had known, especially around Holidays.

The memory of Mamá was very much ingrained in that block of old memories that you remember as if they happened yesterday and their Christmases, though without the presence of a large family were still warm and enjoyable, just another day in Paradise. Christmas with her uncle, though him being a depressingly sad and meager man, was joyous also, it was one of those few days where everything seemed like life had finally stopped being such a relentless bitch and allowed them to be hopeful, if only for that day and the one after.

Christmas with the DeLarges was like something she had never experienced before. The whole day was an event with lavish, expensive gifts, and a very fattening dinner with a spread fit for a royal family. She recalls the first Christmas dinner as the first time she tasted caviar and how some members of her adopted extended family were amused when she grimaced at the taste and laughed good-naturedly when the little unaware darling commented how delicious the chicken was when they were eating duck.

Christmas with Maggie and was always an adventure as was with those envious, Machiavellian, bitch faced, cowardly, backstabbing asshole cum-wads in Satanico Pandemonium (and all their crusted up cunts of whores) before they showed their true shitty colors and of course Christmas was always wonderful with David but he’s a whole ‘nother issue.

Now, she sat at a small dinner table sharing a spliff with Eddie after a nice Christmas dinner of lasagna (the best she ever tasted), a garden salad, and Holiday sugar cookies for dessert.

Eddie, or “Nice Guy” as known to his customers, was in the independent business of pharmacy but as you can probably decipher that just some long, fancy sounding title for drug dealing. He didn’t like the image that the title “drug dealing” brought up. Images of street peddlers hiding in alleys or stairwells ready to jab you with their dirty needles full of some cocktail made with what ever they found under their sinks or pushers dressed in polyester having their bullies shake down some junkie who was late on payments.

Eddie did not live a gaudy lifestyle of drug dealer and he did not get “high on his own supply”. If watching Scarface more than ten times teaches you anything it’s if you got, don’t flaunt it and definitely do not treat yourself to your merchandise…with the exception of a joint or snort of coke on special occasion and isn’t Christmas a special occasion? Who could disagree with a man with that kind of logic? Not Beatriz.

Eddie, in spite of not getting “high on his own supply” did give off the appearance of a drug addict. He had slits for eyes that were plagued with dark circles (a curse he had since high school) that he hides under those “Elvis” sunglasses and a very scrawny figure even though he was always putting something in his mouth to snack on. Other than that, he is a very nice-looking guy…in a way. He has a kind of mellow magnetism that attracts people. You could tell him your house just burnt down with your dog and her new litter inside and he’d give you a sympathetic shrug, say “Life’s tough shit”, roll you a ciggie and let you camp out on his couch for as long as you wanted. Dude is good people.

He didn’t became a drug dealer because he needed to, be actually left high school when the idea in his mind of becoming a grief counselor or some kind of shrink because he likes talking to people and helping with their problems. It’s like you’re stressing out over problems, but after a few tokes or snorts or hits of what ever your poison, you can relax and think. Sure, drugs don’t really “help” you, but they do make you feel better, if only for an hour or two, and, sometimes, inspire you or give you that moment of clarity. The government can pass every law that the Constitution allows but the fact still remains: People like getting high and will find ways of getting high rather it’s legal or not. Why not give the public what they want? That was Eddie’s main purpose; he views himself as a public servant.

A public servant he might not be, judging on whom you ask, but his shit is top notch. That cannot be denied.

Beatriz often wonders why she’s not attracted to him sexually. Well, she is attracted to him sexually; she just doesn’t know why she hasn’t “jumped his bones” yet. He’s got charm and she’s always been a sucker for charm and he’s handsome in a way. Seems like a giving lover and he makes a wonderful friend. They would make a perfect couple but he just seems too good for her. Not “too good” like the way Seth thinks he is, but “too good” as in, he would be too sweet to her, too nice. She can’t handle being loved like the way she thinks he could love it. It would smitten that crack, that hair-line crack, in her and she would just melt. She would become so involved and so in love with him that if something had happened to him she would fall to pieces and never be put back together. So many times people she adamantly cared for had been cruelly snatched away that she didn’t think she could handle that again.

So she puts distance between them and goes out with an asshole like Seth and occasionally sleeps with strangers. She’ll take a compliment and then doubt the authenticity of it. She can handle being treated like shit and used then discarded and maybe looks forward to it, but being loved is too overwhelming. He really is a nice guy and he deserves a nice girl.

“You want your Christmas present now?”, she asked.

“You got me something?” he was so surprised he almost, almost, choked on the smoke he was holding in.

“Yeah well, you’re the only person on the list.”

“You didn’t have to.” He was smiling now. From the weed or from her getting him a gift she wasn’t sure.

She also realized that was the most genuine smile a man, let alone a person, had given her in quite some time. What kind of torture is this?

She goes in the inside pocket of her leather pocket and produces a gift wrapped with care and a red bow taped on top and hands it to him. He takes it, looks at it, flips it over and looks at and sets it down. Beatriz is a little confused.

“Aren’t you gunna open it?”

“It’s not Christmas yet.” He states this plainly.

He reminds her of a little boy, he’s too precious.

“Just open it.” That’s not really an order, more of a request.

“Well…”, he picks at a corner, “what the hell.” Then he tears the paper off in one clean rip, still intact and holding its rectangular shape. A book slips out and he reads the title.

“Kingdom of Fear by Hunter S. Thompson.” Another smile.

She didn’t know what to get him, but she knew he would appreciate something by The Doctor of Journalism.

“So you like it?” She hoped he did.

“I love it.” He meant that, or at least she’d like to think he did. “Now I wish I got you something.”

She just smiled. He had done enough.