Just Another Christmas

Looking at the fragments of glass interspersed with drops of blood on the worn rag of a carpet below his feet, Michael sighed.  Everything looked so familiar, yet so different.  He felt the deathly numbness slowly leaving his mind.  He tried not to look at the floor.  If he stared at the blood, his blood, on the floor, he might puke.  His mind refused to think coherent thoughts.  As the last of the numbness left, denial came.  Slowly and sneakily it insinuated itself into his mind.  He couldn’t remember.  Not everything.  Jest another Christmas, I guess.  The tree, the sparkling tinsel, the blood.  The broken glass.  Everywhere.  The little red drops all over the pine needles.  A thousand shards of glass, a thousand little eyes staring at him.  The queasiness returned, and with it, the memories.  He felt his mind take him back once again.
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Michael opened his eyes and stared at the crack in the ceiling above him.  His eyes followed the crack across the ceiling and down the wall to where it ended at the window.  Already the first rays of dawn were creeping through the cracked window. 
He lay in bed and watched the dust motes dance in the light for a few minutes, not ready to get out of his warm bed yet.  It was cold enough in the bedroom that he could see his breath.  With a groan, he rolled over and slipped his foot out from under the quilt and tentatively touched the cold wood floor.  He felt the cold of the floor seep through the thin sock immediately. As usual, the house was freezing, so he gritted his teeth and quickly pushed the quilt off his legs.  Next to him, his ten year old brother Tom groaned and pulled the quilt up over his head until only a couple blond hairs poked out. 
Michael slid out of bed and hopped from one foot to the other across the room and into the hallway.  Resting his feet on the worn carpet, he rubbed vigorously at the goose bumps crawling up his arms.  Only a couple of hours ‘til it’s time ta leave fer school.  He sighed and headed to the bathroom to try and comb down his dark curly hair as best he could.  It always seemed to stick out on one side no matter what he did. 
As he combed his hair, he paused to look at himself in the mirror.  His large brown eyes surrounded by dark curly lashes were almost hidden behind all the brown curls that kept falling into his face.  A face that can only be called pretty.  Not the best word fer a guy.  He sighed as he pulled a stubborn curl out of his eyes.  Been a long time since I got my hair cut.  Mebbe I should stop by Mister Brown’s shop and ask him ta trim it.  He always needs someone ta help sweep up hair, and he doesn’t mind giving my hair a trim in exchange fer a couple of hours work.  Mebbe I’ll stop by tomorra. 
   
Michael walked into the kitchen and sat down carefully on one of the chairs.  Each of the four chairs ha at least one broken leg that had been inexpertly mended, so every so often a leg fell off and sent the occupant tumbling to the floor below.  The floor was covered in a thick layer of dirt and beer, so it gave no indication as to what color it was.  What is it about this kitchen that makes it so sad lookin’?  He wondered as he rested his head on his fist.  With a slight start, Michael found his gaze being met by a pair of shiny black eyes peering down at him from the counter top.  He half-heartedly threw an old napkin that had been left on the table at the mouse, but he missed.  The mouse scurried across the counter top and disappeared into a cupboard.  Jest great.  One more hungry mouth ta feed on our food.  I jest hope there’s somethin’ left ta eat in the cupboard that the mice haven’t had a taste of yet.

         In the master bedroom, the sun started to creep across the old patchwork quilt towards the tangled blond curls on the worn pillow.  With a groan, Diane opened her eyes and groped for her pack of cigarettes on the rickety table next to the bed.  Pulling one out, she lit it and sat up in bed. 
         “Git up, idiot,” she snapped at the lump still under the quilt, “I’m thirsty.  Go git me my drink.”
         After considerable groaning and muffled curses, a head of tousled brown hair emerged.  Blinking sleepily, Rich ran a hand through his hair to get it out of his face and reached over Diane for the box of cigarettes.  Finding it empty, he threw it on the floor and sent an empty beer bottle crashing after it.
         “Can’t a man git his smoke in the mornin’ without his woman takin’ ‘em all?” he said as reached for his pants lying in a heap on the floor. 
“Maybe when ya git a job, ya can buy yer own and stop borrowin’ mine,” said Diane as she shoved the quilt off her legs and onto the floor.
Rummaging through the pockets, he managed to find a battered cigarette and light it.  Reaching down and under the bed, he pulled out a pair of slippers covered in the grime of dozens of spilt beers and cigarette ash.  He scratched his head as he reached for the old robe which was covered in even more grime and put it on.  Pulling the belt made of an old rope tight across his sagging belly, he stood up and stumbled out the door into the hallway.  As he headed for the kitchen to find a can of beer, he heard Diane flop back down on the bed.  Lazy slut. He thought.  Won’t see her out of there before noon.

The overwhelming smell of fresh coffee masked the other, more unappetizing, odors that usually permeated the kitchen.  Michael poured himself a cup and drank it as fast as he could.  The bitter taste made him grit his teeth, but the warmth in his belly was worth the discomfort. 
Michael rummaged around in the back of the cupboard.  He pulled out a box of cereal and shook it.  A lump of something hit the top, so he opened the top.  He dropped the box as something grey and furry darted out and landed on his shirt.  With a start of surprise, he tried to fling the mouse from his shirt.  The mouse ran up his shirt, easily avoiding Michael’s clumsy attempt to knock it off, and jumped for the counter nearby.  Unfortunately for the mouse, Michael’s hand brushed him mid-air and disrupted his momentum.  The mouse hit the cupboard instead and fell to the ground.  It sat, dazed, for a moment too long.  With a swift move and a wet crunch, Michael had brought his foot down on the helpless mouse. 
Swearing under his breath at his stupidity, Michael pulled his sock off as fast as he could and threw it at the basket of trash.  Damn, damn, damn!  That was my last clean sock and I jest wasted it.  But I’m NOT washing those mouse guts off of it. No way.  Never. 
He gave the mouse a kick with his bare foot and sent it sliding across the floor.  It slid under the stove, leaving a smear of blood across the floor.  He yanked a dirty cloth off the counter, sending mouse droppings skittering across the floor.  With a frustrated sigh, he dropped the cloth on the floor and half-heartedly wiped at the blood. 
After he had more or less blended the blood into the grime on the floor, he squatted down on the floor and started fishing under the stove for the dead mouse.  If I don’t git the stupid mouse out now, it’ll stink tomorra mornin’ fer sure.  He grabbed a hold of the mouse’s tail and dragged it out.  Holding it away from his clothes, he opened the back door and threw it out onto the snow.  The wind blew a flurry of snow at him and he quickly slammed the door and hopped over to the stove to warm up. 
Glaring at the cupboard, daring another mouse to jump out at him, he pulled the remaining boxes out of the cupboard.  Not wanting to make the mistake again of upsetting a mouse, he opened the boxes as carefully and gently as he could. 
Fortunately, there were no more mice.  In the back of the cupboard, he found a box of raisins with a couple still in it.  They were hard and stale, but they should soften up if he cooked them long enough.  One of the boxes of oatmeal had some left in it, but the mice had definitely been eating their fill.  There were almost as much mouse droppings in it as oatmeal.  With a grimace, Michael sifted out as many droppings as he could before dumping the oatmeal and the stale raisins into a pot he had filled with water.  I know what I’m not eating fer breakfast.  He grinned to himself.  Those idiots won’t even know the diff’rence. 
In the back of the fridge he found some milk behind all the beer bottles.  It turned out to be sour, so he tossed it into the basket that was the current trash can.  Digging through the cupboards turned up lots of empty containers and a bit of brown sugar that was as hard as a rock.  He put the lump of brown sugar into a bowl and filled it with water, poking the lump to break it up. 
He turned his attention to the pot on the stove where the oatmeal was cooking, trying to ignore the mouse droppings scattered across the dirty pans left over from dinner a few days before.  Ugh, I hope this don’t give no one the runs.  It looks more like chunky glue than oatmeal.  He pulled the pot off the stove and divided it into three bowls, hoping his brothers would think any brown lumps he had missed were raisins.  I tried ta git ‘em all out of the box, but those stupid mice git inta everything! 
After nosing around in the cupboards, he found some cereal that the mice weren’t as fond of.  With a grimace and his eyes closed, he shoveled the dry cereal into his mouth and swallowed as quickly as he could.  He’d rather not find out if the mice had already enjoyed this cereal by chewing on the evidence.  The darn things smell bad enough.  I’d rather not get ‘em stuck in my teeth.
When the brown sugar in the bowl looked more like the muddy puddles of melted snow on the floor, he poured it on top of the bowls of oatmeal.  I hope this’ll make it at least taste edible.  I don’t even wanna think ‘bout what else the mice did in that box.
As his stepfather walked in, he tried to shrink down and not be very noticeable.  Rich always filled Michael with a feeling of fear and disgust.  Fortunately, Rich headed straight for the fridge and pulled out a beer, leaving the fridge door open.  With his stepfather gone into the other room to watch television, Michael closed the fridge door and headed to the bedroom where all the kids slept to wake them for breakfast. 

“Git up, lazybones.  Breakfast is ready and it’ll be cold if y’all don’t hurry,” Michael said as he pulled the quilt off the bed where the three boys were curled up together to keep warm.
“Go’ way,” Tom mumbled as he covered his eyes with a hand.  He hated mornings and the thought of the cold floor made him curl up into a ball to keep warm.
“Ain’t it Saturday yet?” asked Rob as he sat up and scratched his blond head.
“I said git up!  Tomorra’s Saturday, so y’all can sleep in then.” said Michael as he gave seven year old Will a shake. 
Will was always sleeping and never got up until he absolutely had to.  Michael didn’t want to be late to school again, so he made sure Will was awake.  Reaching over Will, he then gave Tom a hard shove that sent him sprawling out of bed.  Tom hit the floor with a thud and scrambled to his feet with his fists up.  Michael was ready for that reaction and proceeded to throw Tom’s clothes at him, hitting him in the face.
All three boys grumbled at the cold floor as they hurried to get dressed.  Michael sent them to comb down their blond hair that was sticking straight up and wash their freckled faces before they headed into the kitchen.
As they were bickering back and forth in the bathroom, Michael went back into the kitchen and filled a slightly clean mug with coffee for his mother.  Careful not to spill it, he walked down the hallway to his mother’s room.

Diane had pulled her feet under her as she sat on the bed smoking a cigarette.  She reached over to the bedside table for her magazine and settled down to read it.  Reading about what the rich and famous people of the world did everyday was an obsession for her. 
Even though she was only a cocktail waitress and an occasional dancer at the Brown Moose Bar, she dreamed of better things.  Most importantly, of money.  She needed money to become a somebody.  Then she could leave this town and everyone who was holding back her dreams and all the fame and riches she deserved. 
Slowly flipping through the well worn pages of her magazine, she envisioned herself in place of the models and actresses gracing the pages.  At 5’4” she knew she could never be a model, but with her glossy curls and pleasing curves she could grace the arm of any number of rich, handsome men.  If only I met someone rich and handsome, he would never be able ta resist my charms.  Men at the bar always are telling me how beautiful and irresistible I am.  Diane thought herself as she twisted an oily strand of hair around her finger.  A timid knock on the door disturbed her thoughts.
“Wha’d’ya want?” she snapped.
“It’s me, Mum,” said Michael, “I’ve brung your coffee.”
“Then come in and give it ta me,” she snapped as she slammed the magazine down on the bed. “And will’ya quit callin’ me that?  Jest because I gave birth ta yer sorry ass doesn’t mean that gives ya the right ta call me yer ‘mum’ and all that sentimental crap.
“Sorry, Mum- Diane, I mean.  Sorry. I really am.” Michael said as he handed his mother the cup and retreated to the doorway.
“Don’t ya leave jest yet.”  Diane said waspishly.  “There’s a mess on the floor ya need ta clean up.  Can’t ya even clean up the house without me askin’ ya a million times?  I work my ass off ta keep ya leeches fed and clothed and all I ask is that ya clean up aroun’ here!  Now go git that broom and clean up this glass.  And will ya wipe that dirt off your face?  I don’t need yer dirty hands all over my stuff.”
“Yes’m,” Michael said as he hurried out the door before his mother could find anything else for him to do.

In the kitchen the three boys ate their breakfast quickly and dropped their bowls in the sink.  Will pulled his chair up to the stove and peered into the mostly empty pot.
“Hey, look!” he yelled at the other boys, “I found another raisin!”
As the other two boys ran up to contest his find, he scooped it up with his finger.  When Tom reached up and grabbed his arm, Will was already sucking the last of the oatmeal off his finger. 
“Too bad, I ate it,” Will said as he licked his finger.
“Hey, I’m the oldest and I get all the raisins,” yelled Tom as he pulled Will off the chair and punched his arm.
Rob crawled up on the chair and looked into the pot.  Glancing at his two brothers who were busy fighting on the floor, he scooped up the last glop of oatmeal.  He jumped down from the chair and ran over to his brothers.
“Guess what?” he yelled as he aimed a few kicks at his brothers on the floor.  “I got the LAST raisin!”
Tom and Will rolled apart and got to their feet as quickly s they could.
“Gimme it!  Gimme it now!” yelled Tom as he shoved Will back to the floor so he could reach Rob.
“Uh-uh, no-no,” said Rob as he evaded Tom’s grasp and put the oatmeal in his mouth.  “Mmmmm, sooo good.”
“Ya gonna be sooo dead,” said Tom, imitating Rob’s voice.
“Ya gotta catch me first,” yelled Rob as he ran into the living room and ducked behind the couch.

         Tom burst into the living room after Rob with Will not too far behind.  Whenever Tom and Rob got into a fight, Will always tried to get a few kicks in.  His older brothers were less than a year apart and older than him by about two years, so they were always bullying him.  He made sure to get revenge early and as often as possible. 
         With thoughts of revenge in his mind, Will didn’t see Tom stop abruptly.  He slammed into Tom’s back and sent both of them sprawling on the living room’s worn rug.
         “Boys!  Git yerselves outta here,” yelled Rich as he sat on the couch, waving his half empty beer bottle for emphasis.  “No messin’ aroun’ in the house.  Yer gonna break somethin’ if’n ya’ll keep it up.”
         “But Da,” Tom said as he picked himself up off the floor.
         “Jest git out.”  Said Rich, glaring at Will who was still on the floor.
         Tom gave Will a swift kick in his side and turned.  Muttering under his breath about stupid brothers, he stomped out of the room.  Will rolled over, favoring his side and scuttled out under his father’s reproachful glare.  Rich fumbled for his pack of cigarettes and pulled one out.  Holding it between his lips, he lit it and slumped back on the couch to resume his indolence. 
Rob slowly snuck out from behind the couch and ran out the door after his brothers.  He had no intention of drawing attention to himself.  Rich was at his worst in the morning.

They all walked back to their room and grabbed their hats, scarves, boots, and gloves.  When Michael walked in, he was greeted by a scarf thrown at his face.  The boys were busy sorting out their clothing and tossing it at each other.  With a grunt, he threw the scarf back at Rob and picked his up off the floor.
“What’re ya doin’ angerin’ Rich?” He asked as he looked at Tom.
“Wasn’t me.” said Tom, “Rob started it.”
“Yea right.  I know ya better’n that.” Michael said as he looked at each of the boys, trying to look all of his fifteen years.
The boys grumbled among themselves and sulked.  Will cast an appraising eye at Michael and saw his chance.
“I told ‘em not ta do it,” he chirped. “They wouldn’t listen ta me, honest.  I really did tell ‘em.”
“Shet yer trap!” said Tom as he grabbed Will’s hair and gave it a yank.
“Yeah, jest shut it.” said Rob, giving Will a punch in the arm for emphasis. 

Michael double checked that each boy had everything they needed and herded them out into the hall and toward the door.  As they all stomped out the door into the knee high snowdrifts, Michael made sure each of the put on their jackets and zipped them up all the way.

They all set off on the half mile hike that would lead to the schoolhouse.  As usual, they were running late.
“Michael, my legs hurt,” said Will, the smallest of the boys soon after they had started.
“Jest keep walkin’ Will, you’ll git used ta it,” Michael said just like he had every day since school had started.
“But I hafta go ta the bathroom,” Will whined.
“Hold it,” Rob said as he swatted the side of Will’s head and ran ahead to join Tom.
“Hey!  Stay back here,” yelled Michael.
The boys slowed down and walked beside Michael and Will.  Michael was taller than the other three and he kept a look out for the bell tower of the schoolhouse as they walked along.  Every so often one of the boys would scurry off and bring back an interesting twig or nut the squirrels had left out. 
Several times they stopped for a few minutes and threw snowballs at anything that moved.  Since most of the squirrels stayed far out of reach, they ended up throwing them at each other.
Soon, Michael caught sight of the bell tower and they all started to hurry.  They had gotten a bit cold on the way, despite all the clothing they had on.  Today was the last day of school before Christmas break and they all had parties planned for today.  All the mothers were bringing cookies and snacks and warm drinks.  All except their mom.  When she heard about it, she had yelled at them that she didn’t want anything to do with their parties and no one could force her to.
“We’re almost there!” yelled Tom.
“Race ya!” yelled Rob as he took off toward the front door of the schoolhouse.
Michael grabbed Will’s hand and dragged him along impatiently as the bell started to ring.  They got through the door and saw Tom and Rob running into their classrooms that were next to each other.
Satisfied that at least they were on time, he pulled Will along in his wake towards his class at the back of the schoolhouse.  He dropped Will off with the teacher, Miss Webber, and ran towards his classroom.  Just as the final bell rang, he ran into the classroom and plopped into his seat, breathless from the run.  The teacher took roll and the party began.

After school, the boys met on the front steps carrying all the candy and small toys they had gotten in class.  They sat down and started comparing goodies and proposing trades.
“What’ve ya got there, Will?” asked Rob.
“Nothin’ much,” said Will as he covered his candy with his hands.
“Lemme see what ya’ll got.” said Tom, poking his head between them.
“Settle down.” said Michael, “Stop yer hoggin’ and share yer stuff.”
With reluctance, the boys dumped their toys and candy in a pile.  Except for the choice bits they had already stashed in their pockets during class.
“Now each person gits a chance ta pick from the pile.  Oldest goes first, ‘course.” said Michael.
Michael picked what he wanted and then gave Tom, Rob, and then Will chances at the pile.  There was much groaning and whining when one boy picked something the others had wanted, but they were civil about it.  Finally when the pile was gone, they stashed away their goodies and decided to make a snow fort in front of the school’s stairs.
They knew if they dawdled long enough, they would not meet their mother on her way to work at the bar.  She was always half drunk before work and she got really mean if they got underfoot.  Once they were sure it was after four, they started to head home.
“Michael, what’s fer dinner?” asked Will.
“Whatever is left in the fridge,” Michael said.
“Why can’t we stop by the store and buy somethin’ good?” asked Tom.
“’Cause we don’t got no money and mum ain’t gonna get nothin’ until we’ve eaten what’s in the fridge,” said Michael.
The boys were not very thrilled at the thought of cabbage stew again.  After everything that they had stuffed themselves with at their parties, they were all disappointed.
“Do ya think mum’ll git a chicken or a turkey or somethin’ fer Christmas?” asked Tom.
“I dunno, maybe.  Depends on how much money she gits at work.” said Michael.
“Can we have a tree this year?” asked Rob.
“Yeah, a tree!  Please!” said Will as he danced in front of Michael.
“Git out of my way, stupid.  Ya can’t even see where ya’s goin’ hoppin’ like that.” said Michael as he shoved Will out of his way and walked on ahead of the boys.
The boys left him alone with his thoughts as he stomped ahead of them.  All the sugary candies and drinks were making them rambunctious and they shouted and shoved each other into snow drifts as they walked home.

At home, Rich sat and dozed in front of the television.  Cigarette butts and empty bottles of beer lay on the floor around him.  With a shaking hand, he reached out and grabbed at the bottle of whisky sitting on the table next to him.  After missing it a couple of times, he leaned forward and grabbed it with both hands. 
As he sank back into the couch’s dirty embrace, he lifted the whisky to his mouth to take a drink.  Finding it empty, he threw it across the room where it broke against the wall.  Groping for his pack of cigarettes on the couch beside him, he lit one and slumped forward to watch the television, squinting his eyes to try and focus on the screen.  I’ll jest wait a bit longer ‘till I head out ta Sanders’ bar.  He thought as he scratched his head, dislodging an enterprising flea.  Jest a few more beers.  Diane’ll never know.

The boys burst into the house and shed their outer garments as fast as they could.  Yelling and tripping over one another and their clothing on the floor, they headed into the living room to watch the television.  Michael followed them, picking up their discarded clothing and tossing it into the kitchen.  I’ll hang everything over the stove after I start the fire, he thought to himself. 
Opening the fridge and looking inside, he let out a sigh.  Jest as I thought.  Cabbage stew fer dinner tonight.  At least there are some old turnips and a carrot, too.  Pulling out a pot, he filled it with water from the bucket on the counter, and started to cut up the cabbage.  When I’m all growed up, I’ll never eat cabbage again, he vowed to himself.  He cut off all the rotten spots from the turnips and carrot and put them into the pot, too. 

In the other room, Tom, Rob, and Will were fighting over what they wanted to watch.  Rich laid on the couch, oblivious to everything except the bottle of beer in his hand and the cigarette in his mouth.  Tom, being ten and the oldest of the three brothers, won the fight and they all settled down to watch the television and rub their various bruises. 

Michael put the pot on the stove and started to hang up all the clothing on the various hooks around the stove.  He then started digging through the cupboards for the salt and pepper he knew were in there somewhere.  When dinner was finally ready, he yelled for the boys in the other room and they came in, grumbling about having their television time interrupted.
“Couldn’t ya at least wait fer a commercial?” complained Tom as he grabbed the nearest bowl and ran back to the living room.
“Jest git yer food and scram!” said Michael.
The boys obliged and went back to the living room and the television as fast as they could, leaving their stepbrother in the kitchen.  Michael grabbed his bowl and ate it as fast as he could.  He didn’t want to taste it for a longer time than was absolutely necessary. 
Dropping the bowl into the sink with the ones left over from breakfast, he picked up the broom and dustpan and headed for his mother’s room.  He swept up the broken glass and cigarette butts as quickly as he could.  The room reeked of cigarettes, stale beer, and sweat.  Too bad it’s winter, he thought to himself.  This room needs the windows left open the whole day ta freshen things up.  How can they stand the smell? 
Michael dumped the dustpan into the garbage basket and looked outside.  Looks like more snow.  We’ll need more wood, at least.  It’ll be freezing tonight, fer sure.  He grabbed his jacket off the hook next to the cook stove and headed out the kitchen door.  Grabbing the axe, he headed out back to the woodpile under the eaves of the kitchen. 

Tom inhaled his stew as fast as he could when the commercial came on.  He let out a burp and dropped the bowl to the side, spilling drops of stew on the old carpet.  On the couch above them, their father was snoring and snorting.  Tom poked him in the ribs and he snorted, but didn’t wake up. 
Carefully, so he didn’t wake him, Tom slipped his hand into the pocket of the pants Rich had on under his robe.  Just as I thought, he snitched money from Mum again, Tom smirked.  He pulled out a small wad of ones from the pocket and counted them.  Fifteen dollars!  I can git a lot of candy from the store with this! 
Turning around slowly, he looked at his two brothers.  They were both staring at the television screen, oblivious to his presence.  He pocketed the money without a word.  The less they know the better.  Dad’ll be too drunk ta remember anything, and Mum’ll never look at us.  Flopping down on his belly next to his brothers, he stared at the television with thoughts of all the delicious Christmas treats he could now buy dancing around in his head. 

The front door closed with a slam.  Diane stalked into the living room and stared crossly at the boys sprawled on the rug and then at Rich dozing on the couch.  With an angry glint in her eyes, she stalked across the room until she was standing over Rich.  The boys knew that look and quickly slipped out and ran to the kitchen. 
Diane leaned over and slapped him across the face.  Rich mumbled something unintelligible and shaded his eyes with his hand.  Diane picked up the pack of cigarettes next to him and pulled one out.  Lighting it, she glared down at Rich and grabbed the bottle of flat beer off the small table next to the couch.  With a quick twist of her hand, she pulled the top off and dumped it on Rich.
“Mmmrhmm?” Rich mumbled as he sat up and tried to focus his bloodshot eyes.
“What’n the hell ya doin’ jest layin’ ‘round the house?” Diane yelled as she slapped him across the face.
“Huh?  What’re ya doin’ home so early, Diane?”  Rich said with a puzzled look on his face.  He tried to stand up, but he swayed so much that he flopped back down onto the couch.
“Never ya mind that!  Why aren’t ya out lookin’ fer a job?”  Diane yelled as she stalked across the room towards the television, angrily kicking the beer bottles out of her path.
“Job?”  Rich mumbled as he rubbed a dirty hand across his face. “Gonna ask Sanders.  See what he’s got.”
“Sanders?  What does Sanders know about a job?”  Diane yelled as she yanked the television’s cord out of the wall.  “He only knows how ta pour beer and push a rag aroun’ the bar!”  Diane yelled, “How’n the hell is he gonna help you do nothin’ ‘cept lighten yer pockets?”
Rich mumbled to himself angrily and got up off the couch.  He ran his hand through his greasy hair and stood up straight.
“Don’t ya talk ta me like that, woman!” he bellowed, much to Diane’s surprise.  “Old man Sanders is the smartest man alive, I reckon.  He’ll find me somethin’ ta do.”
He turned and made his way unsteadily to the door and grabbed his shabby jacket.  Reaching the door, he turned around and stood with great dignity.
“I’ll be back later.” he said, “And you’d better have my dinner ready.”
Rich then turned and walked out the door, leaving it open behind him.  Diane stood and stared angrily at his retreating back and then walked up to the doorway.
“You be damn sure I won’t listen to any of your nonsense!” she yelled after him.  “You ain’t comin’ back unless you have some money to share!”

The next day, the boys stayed outside for most of the day making a snow fort.  They had several different forts with enclosed tunnels between them.
“What do ya say we make an igloo?” asked Will.  “Jest like we’ve been learnin’ ‘bout in school?”
“Great idea!” yelled Rob from the other side of the fort.
“Michael, help us roll snow inta big enough balls that we can make an igloo!”  Yelled Will.
“Yeah, ya‘re the tallest, anyway.”  Said Rob.
“Mebbe.  Ya’ll start rollin’ and I’ll help when they’re almost big enough.”  Said Michael from his vantage point in the rickety tree house above them.
“Hey, where’s Tom?” asked Rob as he stared up at Michael.
“I dunno.  I think he ran inta town fer somethin’ a while back.” said Michael.
“Guess he’ll jest miss out, then.” said Will.

The boys played outside until almost dark with only the leftovers from their oatcake breakfast to eat.  It was too dangerous to be in the house with their mom at home.  Even though it was her fault for losing her job, she yelled at the boys and lost no opportunity to throw something at one of them if they came within range.  She spent the day lying on the couch, drinking whiskey and watching television.

“Hey!  It’s time to git inside!” yelled Michael.
“Good enough for me.” said Rob.  “I’m freezin’ my toes off.”
“Do I hafta?” asked Will as he peered out from the igloo they had built.
“Git outta there before I hafta drag ya out.  We’re goin’ inside.  It’s freezin’ out here.” said Michael as he tossed a snowball at Will.
Will quickly ducked out of the way and scrambled out of the igloo.  The three boys were heading inside when Tom caught up with them.
“Hey!  What’cha been doin’?” asked Will.
“Nothin’ and none of yer bis’ness,” said Tom as he hopped ahead of them.
“Tom, what’ve ya been up ta?” asked Michael as he caught Tom’s collar and yanked him backward.
“Candy, anyone?” Tom asked with a mischievous grin.
“I’m not even goin’ ta ask where ya got all that.” said Michael with a disgusted look.
The boys quickly surrounded Tom and scrambled for the candy he offered them.  When they reached the back door, they stuffed the remaining candy into their pockets and snuck in as quietly as they could.  Fortunately, Diane had drunk herself unconscious, so the boys ate their dinner and headed off to bed.  The next day was Christmas and they were awake for a long time in bed talking about what they were going to do the next day.

Diane woke up cold and nauseous.  Groaning, she stumbled to the kitchen and pulled another whisky bottle out of the cupboard.  I hate Christmas.  Damn season.  I don’t see what the fuss is all about.  I hate it.  Might as well stay drunk.  She stumbled down the hall and fell into bed.  With an annoyed snort, she looked at the empty bed before she sat down.  So he really was serious about getting’ a job.  Guess the bastard is good fer somethin’ sometimes.  With a groan, she lay down on the lumpy bed and tried to get comfortable.  After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, she passed out into a drunken slumber filled with vivid nightmares of old, painful memories she had tried to forget.

It was snowing when Michael woke up.  There isn’t much light out, yet.  It must be a little after dawn.  I guess I have ta git up soon, anyway.  Dreading his bare feet meeting the cold wooden floor, Michael braced himself and hopped out of bed, grabbing his shirt and pants as he ran to the hallway rug.  He got dressed and pulled on his thick wool socks and boots.  Today was Christmas and there was still a Christmas tree to find and cut down.  He headed out the kitchen door and made sure it shut soundlessly behind him.  Looking around to get his bearings in the deep snow, he headed off in the direction of a couple of small pine trees he had seen earlier in the week.  He found a scrawny one shortly, and decided that it would be best.  Nailing a couple of old boards to the bottom, he dragged it back home and into the kitchen.  He left it standing next to the stove to dry off and started a small fire in the cook stove. 

Diane woke with a headache from drinking herself to sleep the night before.  She reached for the bottle of whisky on the side table and started drinking it down.  It just isn’t fair.  That bastard had it in fer me from the beginnin’.  Angrily she snatched a cigarette out of the pack and flung it back onto the table.  She lit in and alternated whisky and cigarette until the whisky bottle was empty.  I’ll git him fer this, I’ll git him good.  He can’t jest take money outta the register and expect me not ta notice.  He shouldn’t of minded that I was skimmin’ some of the top of my orders.  He was doin’ the same thing, wasn’t he?  Damn fool.  I’ll get even.

Meanwhile, the tree had dried and Michael had dragged it into the living room and put it next to the television.  Michael gently hung the small glass ornaments on the tree’s branches.  He had bought them from the drugstore with the money he earned from errands after school.  When he finished hanging them up, he snuck back into the bedroom for the presents that he had for his mother and brothers.  They were wrapped in old newspapers and tied together with old string from behind the butcher’s shop.  Placing them under the tree, he then crawled back into bed with his stepbrothers and was asleep almost instantly. 

Michael was awakened later that morning by Will squirming out of bed to go to the bathroom.  He woke up the other boys as he crawled over them to get out.  It was late enough that the boys didn’t mind being woken up, but they gave a token protest at being woken up anyway.
 
They all tromped out of their bedroom to use the bathroom, shivering and complaining about the cold.  Hearing the crackle of the kitchen stove, they all hurried in to warm up by the kitchen cook stove that Michael had started hours before to warm the house up. Then they ran into the living room to see what Christmas had brought them.  There were several shouts and squeals of surprise at the tree and the presents. 

Diane heard a commotion in the other room and got up.  Swaying back and forth, she pulled on her robe and managed to tie a knot in the sash to hold it on.  She stumbled towards the noise with the empty whisky bottle in her hand.  Coming around the corner, she squinted her eyes at the brightness of the room.

The boys were so busy sorting through the present and shaking them that they did not hear Diane approach.
“Will ya’ll shut yer traps?  I’m a tryin' ta git some sleep here!” she yelled.
They boys all jumped to their feet and stared at her.  Not wanting to upset her further, they all opened their eyes as wide as they could. 
“Sorry, Mum,” they all replied without remembering Diane’s new rule on what to call her.
“How many damn times do I hafta tell ya’ll DON”T CALL ME THAT!” she screamed.  “If'n wasn’t fer ya’ll I wouldn’t be stuck is this here hellhole of a town, working my ass off, tryin’ to make money.  If’n I didn’t hafta feed you bastards, I would be far away from here, in the money.  But I’m still here, ‘cause of ya’ll selfish leeches.  Can’t do nothin’ fer yerselves, can ya?
Diane screamed and screamed at them, punctuating each sentence with a wave of the whisky bottle.  The boys cowered down next to the tree, watching her in terrified fascination, unable to move.
“And what the hell is all this?  All these fancy pieces of crap?  Ya been stealin’, boy?” she screamed at Michael.
“No ma’am, I wouldn’t do that,” Michael said, never taking his eyes off her.
“Liar!” she screamed and threw the whiskey bottle at him.
The whiskey bottle slammed into the lamp on the table next to Michael and shattered them both.  Michael felt slivers of glass embed themselves in his arm and side.  Diane advanced on the boys, waving her arms as she screamed at them.
“Ya lyin’ bastard!” she screamed as she pulled one of the fragile glass ornaments off the tree and hurled it at Michael.
The ornament fell short and smashed at Michael’s feet, sending glass fragments skittering across the floor to join the others.  Michael watched in horror as his mother reached for the tree again.  This time she grabbed the branches and flung the tree to the ground.  She stared at the tree for a moment and then slowly lifted her eyes.
“I’ll teach ya ta lie ta me, boy” she said in a very quiet voice laced with venom.
Reaching down, she grasped a branch.  Pulling with all her strength, she ripped the branch off the tree and pointed it at Michael.  Michael stared at her steadily, hiding his anger and disdain behind an indifferent expression.

The boys had been waiting for a distraction, so while her attention was on Michael, they dashed out into the hall and grabbed boots and jackets as they ran out the door.  Rich was at old man Sander’s and they were hoping he would be able to help them.  He always had a way with her when she went crazy.

Michael knew his mother was angry.  Angrier than she had ever been before.  He clenched his fists close to his sides and stood up tall.  No matter what, he would face her.  No matter what, I won’t show her I’m scared.  I won’t let her bully me.  I will not back down this time.  He remembered all the times his mother had beaten him for no reason at all. 

Diane stepped forward, brandishing her pine branch like a whip.  The alcohol blended with her anger and desperation and proceeded to cloud her vision until another form replaced that of her son.
“Steve, I told ya never ta come back!”  Yelled Diane.  “I told ya I’d kill ya if’n ya did!”
She advanced on Michael, her eyes staring at him, but looking right through him.  He turned and looked behind him, but there was no one else in the room.  The fear started to creep into his mind as he tried futilely to block it with his anger.  His mother saw his father instead of him.  His father, whom she ultimately blamed for everything in her life that was wrong.
A look at his mother’s face told him that she was past all reason.  Now I know why Grandmother told us ta be careful.  She really is crazy.  He could even hear his Grandmother’s voice echoing in his ears.  ‘I tell ya, boy.  Ya better be careful how ya act aroun’ yer ma.  She ain’t all there.  Not since yer Da left.  She gets jest plain crazy sometimes.’ 
His mother had always been a little unreasonable.  She was impossible to reason with when she was drunk.  But it wasn’t until this moment that he had seen her eyes sparkle the way they did.  The alcohol has finally taken what sanity she had.  Michael thought as he backed away towards the door his brothers had ran out not too long ago.  They had the right idea.
Seeing Michael heading for the door gave Diane a desperation she had not felt in such a long time.  Stumbling towards him, she started to cry.  Holding out her arms to Michael, who she believed was her first husband, Steve, she sank to her knees.
“Steve!”  She said as tears ran down her face, “Steve, please don’t go.  Please stay a little while longer.  Please, Steve, please.”
Michael watched with confusion as his mother pleaded to an invisible Steve not to leave her.  I thought she hated him.  I thought he abandoned her and she never wanted ta see him ever again.  He took a tentative step towards his mother and looked down into her too bright eyes.
“Steve, I love you.  I love you, hon.  Please don’t leave me.  I’m sorry about the baby.  I didn’t mean ta git pregnant.  Please, Steve, don’t leave me.  Please!  Fer God’s sake, hon.  It’s Christmas!  Don’t leave, not now!  STEVE!”  Diane lowered her head to the floor and started to sob.

Suddenly, the front door opened and Rich ran in.  He gathered Diane in his arms and held her tight against his chest.
“It’s all right, baby.  It’s all right.” he said softly as he stroked her hair.
Diane clung to him and cried.  Rich pulled a bottle of whisky out of his pocket and handed it to her.
“Here, babe.  Drink this.  Let go and drink it up.  It’ll make it all go away.”  He murmured in her ear as he opened her fist and put the bottle in it.  “Jest drink it and everything will be all right.”
Michael watched his mother raise the bottle to her lips and drink it down.  She then collapsed in Rich’s arms and waited for the alcohol take over.  Forget.  I need ta forget.  Everything.  Make the pain go away. 

As his mother lay limp in his stepfather’s arms, Michael felt his mind grow numb.  The truth is what makes her crazy.  It’s the alcohol that keeps her sane.  He dropped his eyes to the floor and noticed the blood painting red drops on the pine needles.  Raising his hand, he touched the glass imbedded in his arm.  He pulled the fragments of glass free and dropped them one by one to the floor.