A Good Thing

Once upon a time I was a real Christmas fan.

Oh, yeah. I decorated. I waited patiently for Santa. I believed. It wasn't just childish faith. It was adult zeal. Wreaths, strings of twinkly lights, a fresh cut tree every year. I would bellow Christmas carols like a bridge troll, all deep voice and enthusiasm, if not skill.

That was all before Christmas Eve, Two Thousand and Four. Or what I like to call Black Christmas.

It's going to sound impossible, like one of those "Urban Myth or True Tale?" TV shows. I swear it¹s the truth, though. I was waiting for my friend and pretty regular fuck-buddy Anthony to show up. Mulling cider, making those break and bake cookies, I was watching White Christmas. It was like, midnight, it was snowing, and it looked like paradise outside, all glowing lights on pristine white.

Ha.

That should have told me something.

About the time I pulled the cookies out of the oven, I heard the screech of brakes and the crash tinkle of a car hitting something. Hard. Sounded like it came from the tight-assed curve that ran out in front of my property. I had one of those little four acre lots on the creek, with the little stone fence that bordered the road....

Dropping the cookies on the stovetop, I grabbed my jacket and my phone, heading out to see if someone needed help.

The car was lodged in my rock wall, halfway through it, in fact, front wheels still spinning. Bile rose in my throat when I realized the car was a familiar red Mazda, the sporty, low-slung front all crushed up.

Anthony.

I pelted through the snow, slipping and sliding, dialing 911 as I went. Jesus, I thought, oh Jesus, just let him be all right.

Anthony wasn't all right. He had a concussion, a cracked collarbone, and two broken legs.

"Fucking hate snow, Dan," he said when the ambulance pulled away. "Fucking hate Christmas."

So much for my nice Christmas Eve fuck, huh? I was going to the house to close up and grab my keys, meaning to follow Anthony to the hospital. Stomping the mud and snow off my boots (my yard was not so pristine, now, with boot tracks all over) I stopped, sniffing the air.

Shit. Something was burning.

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