The Yuletide Rebel

A 1000 word pun

approximately 1000 words}

Every year, my local writing group has a holiday party where the main activity is for each of us to write a holiday-themed story. This year's prompt included the requirement that we use the words grizzly, limpid, and jittered.

I had a terrible time getting inspired this year, and wound up dashing off this trifle at the last minute, the morning of the party. It's essentially a 1000 word pun. The observant reader will doubtless recognize the character names, taken from a classic movie.

                                               

The Yuletide Rebel

Jimmy squirmed in the hard, wooden chair in his teacher’s office while she droned on to his mother about what a rebellious little boy he was. What a knob! In the first place, he wasn’t a little boy. He was twelve, almost thirteen. And it wasn’t like he’d started it. It was all that creep Buzz’s fault. What kind of name was “Buzz,” anyway?

He rubbed his left eye, the one where Buzz had slugged him. It still throbbed. At least he’d made the jerk pay. Big time.

His teacher said, “He broke the other boy’s nose, you know. Mr. and Mrs. Gunderson expect there to be consequences.”

His mother put on her grisly deadhead face and nodded. “Consequences, yes. That will motivate him.” Then, lightning-quick, she changed to her limpid puppy-dog face and said, all whimpery-like, “It’s been hard on the poor thing, what with the divorce, moving to a new school, and it being so close to Christmas.” She tried to squeeze his hand, but he twisted away from her. Her mouth squirmed like she’d sucked a lemon. “He’s always had a hard time making new friends.”

Just like her to put him down. He couldn’t even look at her.

His teacher made her pickle face and said, “He’s been hanging out with that Plato boy. He’s another misfit.”

Jimmy jittered. He had to admit, Plato was kind of creepy, the way he was always hanging around and staring at him, all moony-eyed. Still, he was friendly—just another outsider, and outsiders should hang together. Besides, Plato was friends with Judy. She looked at him the same way Plato did, but when she did it he got all squishy inside. He narrowed his eyes and glanced at his mother. She’d raise Cain if she knew about Judy and Plato. For one thing, they went to synagogue, not what she’d call a real church.

Not that Jimmy cared, or believed in any of that crap. Not since he’d been ten. It was like believing in Santa Claus. It was all just a way to make kids knuckle under. Threats. Those didn’t work on him. At least, not any more.

His teacher said, “Mrs. Stark, we can’t have the children fighting on the playground.”

His mother snarled, “Mizz Stark, thank you very much. I told you. We’re divorced.”

Jimmy stared at his sneakers. What a drama queen. If his father were around, everything would be different.

His mother turned to him and put on her Judge Wapner face. “As to consequences, I agree.” Her mouth smiled, but her eyes stayed cold. Like she didn’t see him at all. “Maybe Santa won’t be visiting us this year after all.”

Jimmy exhaled and rolled his eyes. Threatening him with Santa Claus was worse than her usual threat of the devil and hell fire. Maybe she’d bring up the tooth fairy next. Besides, he’d already found her hiding place for the pathetic presents she’d bought. It wasn’t like new underwear and socks were anything to get excited about.

His mother grabbed his chin and snapped, “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, boy.”

He twisted free and resumed his inspection of his sneakers.

She sniffed and turned to his teacher. “You see what I have to put up with. Rebellious. Like you said.”

His teacher nodded. “Maybe he needs a purpose.”

His mother nodded. “That’s what consequences are for.”



A week later, on Christmas Eve, Jimmy sat on the threadbare couch in his mother’s living room. The only light came from the TV, where Miracle on 34th Street was playing. At least it was better than the Dolly Parton lame country music special on the other channel. His mother had stomped off to her church, leaving him alone in this rat's nest. She’d even taken down the Christmas tree. He didn’t deserve it, she’d said. The hidey-hole that had held his presents was empty, too. She’d probably taken them to the church to give to other kids.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t care.

Outside, fat snowflakes sifted through the amber streetlight on the corner. Some carolers started singing God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. On the TV, an Orca-sized, bald used car salesman yammered about holiday specials. Jimmy turned up the volume to drown out the carolers.

Headlights flashed in the driveway and a car door slammed. Someone knocked at the door.

Jimmy turned the volume higher. He just wanted to be alone.

The pounding came louder.

Maybe it was Judy, with her parents. Or Plato. Even Plato would be better than being alone. Jimmy squelched the volume and answered the door.

Outside, looking like an angel in the amber light from the street light, his father stood, holding a pile of brightly-wrapped packages.

A rush of joy prickled the hairs on the back of Jimmy’s neck. He tried to squelch his goofball grin and said, “Dad! I thought you were still in Colorado.”

“I flew in tonight.” He hefted the packages. “May I come in?”

Jimmy gave a start and stepped aside. “Yeah. Of course.”

His father entered, looked around, and asked, “Where’s your mother?”

“At church.”

His father snorted. “Figures.” He took in the barren room and asked, “Where’s the tree?”

“The Christmas tree? She took it down. Said I didn’t deserve to have Christmas.”

His father answered, “She said that? That’s terrible.”

Jimmy shrugged. “She said it’d teach me to be a rebel.”

His father squeezed his shoulder. “You’ve always been strong-willed. There’s a difference between that and being a rebel.”

“Don’t matter. Don’t need no presents. Don’t need no Santa Claus, neither, not now that you’re here.”

His father placed the packages on the floor, in front of the TV. He gave Jimmy a hug and said, “You keep on being a rebel, you hear? The world needs rebels.” He pointed at the packages. “As to presents, well, now you’ve got some. Now that I’m here, you at least won’t be a rebel without a Claus.”