Stoned at Christmas (An Anytown Story)
(Author’s Note: This is part two of a three-part holiday story collection. For part one, check out the following link.)
“Hey, Jill. Wake up. We’re almost there.”
Jill Miller opened her eyes to see her husband, David Miller. His eyes were cashed, bloodshot from a combination of lack of sleep, lots of cannabis, and an emotional evening avoiding death on the highway outside of Anytown during a blizzard-laden Christmas Eve journey.
“Hey, Love. Geez, did you sleep at all last night? Or just stay up smoking?”
“I got a few hours, but yeah, I’ve been smoking.”
The Millers had been returning from David’s employer’s annual holiday party, held in a remote location every year on Christmas Eve. After being re-routed a few times, their rental ran out of gas in the middle of the storm. After the vehicle became too cold to stay, they set out on a dangerous walk through the countryside until finding their way to a roadside bar having an impromptu show featuring Anytown’s own Cannabusiness.
“Sorry. After last night, I just… I just needed to relax,” said David, looking away in shame.
“No, it’s cool, David. I don’t blame you. If I could handle anything more than a contact high before we get there, trust me, I would.” Jill reached toward David’s face. “It was a tough night. It might be a tough day. But we’ll get through it together.”
David turned toward her. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
David was good friends with the manager for Cannabusiness, one Travis Sizemore, also known as Size. Size offered to give them a ride on the tour bus back to Anytown, hopefully in time to have Christmas dinner with Jill’s family.
Size offered Jill a cup of coffee.
“Not sure how you take it,” said Size.
“Hot,” replied Jill.
“We should be there in a few minutes. You good, David?” asked Size. He always used the Spanish pronunciation for David’s name. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“I’m good. Definitely should hold off on anymore.”
The tour bus lurched forward, coming to another stop. David looked out the window to see the entrance to Bravewood Estates, the subdivision where Jill’s parents lived on the west side of Anytown.
His thin mouth turned downward, and his pulse began to rise.
David normally had anxiety-related issues when visiting Jill’s parents, but major holidays brought her extended family, who could be much more difficult to handle. And this scene evolving before him was ridiculous. David and Jill riding the tour bus of a pro-cannabis hip-hop group bumping their tunes down the street to the front door of the Fitzgerald home, located in a mostly conservative, middle-class neighborhood.
How the fuck am I going to explain this one to them?
Jill touched his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?”
“Because I’m thinking the same thing.” She squeezed his shoulder, then gave him a peck on his stubbly cheek. “Together.”
“Together.” David looked out the window again, catching the gaze of one of the nosier neighbors staring out her window with a phone pressed against her ear. David tried to remember her name. Linda? Nancy?
Size appeared again. “All right. If you need an exit, let me know. I’ll send someone over from the car service to take you both home, or wherever you want to go. It’s on me.”
Jill smiled. “Thanks, Size. We really appreciate the ride.”
“De nada.”
The tour bus came to a stop, with the hiss of brakes and hydraulics. The horn ejected the melody from “Three Little Birds”.
David and Jill headed for the exit. “Here we go.”
It went how one might imagine the scene playing out.
David and Jill exited the tour bus in a huge plume of smoke and vapor, waving goodbye and giving thanks to the folks on board, many of whom were openly smoking blunts while the bus blared bass-heavy music on that cold Christmas morning. Meanwhile, the entire Fitzgerald family was standing inside, peering out the large front window in the living room, jaws agape at their arrival. Some shook their heads; others rolled their eyes.
The couple turned and made their way to the front door, working to maintain their footing on the freshly dusted sidewalk and driveway. The Fitzgerald family evaluated their progress from inside, which David did his best to ignore. He met the gaze of Jill’s father, Martin Fitzgerald, for half a second before averting his eyes. Getting high didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.
We’re an embarrassment. A disappointment. I shouldn’t be here. I’m not good enough to be here. I’m not good enough for Jill. I’m wearing last night’s clothes and some boots we found in an abandoned shed and I reek of weed and everyone is going to know we’re high because…
The front door flung open.
“MERRY CHRISTMAS!” exclaimed Martin and Helen, Jill’s mother. Helen reached out to give Jill a hug first, as per usual. David watched as Helen threw her arms around her daughter, squeezing tightly until her nose wrinkled and she pulled back, re-evaluating the situation.
“Mom, we haven’t been home yet. Our rental is still stuck on the highway. We were lucky to run into David’s friends out there. We’re lucky to be alive. So, I’m sorry we stink, but we can fix that, okay?” Jill had called ahead, once cellular service had been restored, letting her parents know what had happened and trying to convey what the situation would be upon arrival.
Helen listened, mostly happy to see Jill. She was wearing a comfortable pair of dress slacks and a festive sweater featuring a snowman. And since she was willing to tolerate David’s presence in Jill’s life, she was also willing to tolerate a temporary problem that a hot shower and some fresh clothes would fix.
Martin spent the entire time simply staring at David, trying to work out whether David was tired or stoned or, as David was, both. Martin was also wearing a pair of dress slacks, along with a dark green sweater that was strangely festive paired with his flushed cheeks. Or so David thought, when he met his gaze, looking for a moment to say hello.
“Well, don’t just stand there with the door open! Great Uncle Peter might catch cold,” yelled a voice from further inside.
Martin finally broke. “You should all come in. Let’s get you cleaned up before dinner.”
David and Jill made their way inside. Martin stepped out briefly to see what kind of scene had been created, then pulled the door closed.
“Jesus, what happened to you two?” asked Jill’s uncle, Sam. He sat in one of the two recliners in the large living room, where the family had recently gathered to watch the tour bus fiasco. Sam wore a Blue Lives Matter t-shirt and a red Make America Great Again hat and was able to put two and two together to come up with fifteen like no one else that David knew. Helen normally sat in the recliner when Jill and David visited, but family tradition required she give up her seat to one of the men.
“Long story,” replied Jill, obviously annoyed to see Sam.
“I’m sure it is,” replied Sam.
Helen turned away from Sam, focusing on Jill. “You should still have some clothes upstairs in your room. Both of you should get cleaned up. I’ll get some coffee made. And David…” David tensed up, expecting the worst. “Merry Christmas. I’m glad you’re here.” Helen sniffed. “Just get cleaned up, okay?”
David grinned, unclenching. “Yes, Helen. Merry Christmas.”
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Unfortunately, it would be that bad.
Helen tried to find some clothes, but nothing fit David comfortably in Martin’s wardrobe. David was closer to Jill’s size, so he was frantically looking for something in Jill’s old high school clothes that could be considered unisex. The cotton Anytown State University t-shirt would certainly pass muster, along with some socks that barely covered his ankles. But it got worse from there. For underwear, the best David could find was an old pair of Jill’s boy shorts that were meant as pajama bottoms, so they were loose enough to serve as makeshift boxers. And the only pair of pants he could find that wouldn’t constrict him any further was a pair of pink sweatpants with JUICY pasted across the ass in crumbling letters.
Well, I’ll probably be sitting down most of the time.
After finding the clothes, David stayed put in Jill’s room while he listened to her and Helen chat in the hallway. Jill had finished her quick shower and had put on an old winter dress that fit a little snugly in all the right places. Once their voices had trailed down the hallway toward the front stairs, David scampered down to the shared family bathroom, pulling the door closed behind him. The bathroom was still steamy from Jill’s shower. David reached for the fluffy towel that Helen had left for him and placed the clean clothes underneath it.
He checked himself out in the mirror, noticing some windburn he picked up last night, adding an almost dark red rosiness to his cheeks. His lips were chapped, but not severely. Water and coffee would help. His stubble was noticeable, despite having shaved before leaving for the holiday party. He did look like a wreck, and after a quick sniff of his clothes, confirmed he smelled like one as well.
Nothing a hot shower and some fresh clothes couldn’t fix.
About twenty minutes later, David headed toward the back staircase, carrying both his and Jill’s dirty clothes. David had left Jill’s dry clean only pantsuit upstairs, along with his suit coat, but the rest of their clothing from the evening was machine washable.
The back staircase led to the first-floor kitchen, which David quickly passed, then continued down into a utility space with a washer and dryer, along with an extra freezer and refrigerator. David placed their clothes into the washer on the quick wash cycle, low spin, just enough to take the funk out of them. He had done a lot of laundry there during the first few years of their marriage.
David zoned out while taking stock of his situation. He was very uncomfortable, mostly because he felt ridiculous in Jill’s old clothes. He knew what merciless teasing was likely in store. David was half-expecting one of Jill’s cousins to come barreling through the door to the rec room trying to grab a soda from the extra fridge.
But eventually, David steeled himself and headed upstairs, exiting into the kitchen where Helen, Jill, and Diane, Sam’s wife, were busy putting the finishing touches on dinner. David saw the entire spread on the countertops, and the intoxicating smell of home-cooked food almost overwhelmed him. Last night’s holiday party had been all appetizers, and after that, all that had been available was bar food and bus snacks.
Diane looked over, taking in David’s outfit, then rolled her eyes and shook her head before returning to mixing melting butter into a heap of corn kernels. She was wearing a red sweater featuring a brown reindeer and a green, ankle-length skirt that mostly concealed her larger frame.
Then David felt a hand on his ass.
“Nice pants, stud,” whispered Jill into his ear.
David felt his makeshift boxers constrict.
Jill felt around for a bit. “Are you wearing…”
“Shhh. It was the best I could find.”
“Oh, now this is something I want to see. Later,” said Jill, with a devilish glint in her eyes.
Helen did her best not to eavesdrop.
Diane openly scoffed.
David looked around uncomfortably.
Jill handed him a cup of coffee. “There. That’ll perk you right up. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a dinner to finish.”
“I can help, you know. I…”
Jill looked toward her mother, who looked mortified at the thought that any man help.
“…will just head to the living room.”
David took the long way to the living room. He wanted to limit the total amount of time spent with Jill’s family. Most visits David just sat at one end of the couch until it got too uncomfortable, then retreated to some other corner of the house.
At least the coffee helped his mood. David’s high had mellowed out after the shower. He had been tempted to ingest some edibles on the bus, to help push through the whole event, but with his lack of sleep, and with not having smoked much before the holiday party, he might have just passed out. As the cannabis began wearing off, the coffee might shorten his fuse. David would need to watch himself. No matter how badly he was baited.
“What are you wearing?” asked Sam from Helen’s recliner, his face screwed up in consternation.
“The best thing I could find in Jill’s room. Not my first choice, Sam.” David took a sip of his coffee. It was the loudest sound in the room aside from the football game playing on the widescreen. It was terrible coffee, some over-roasted brand that came out of a giant canister.
Stop it, David. You are a guest.
“I can’t imagine you found anything in Martin’s wardrobe that fit,” replied Sam, slapping Martin’s knee jovially and laughing at his own joke while nearly knocking over a few empty beer bottles between them.
Martin gave an annoyed glance over at his brother, then went back to sipping some amber liquid out of a rocks glass and watching the game. It seemed pretty early for heavy drinking, but it was also Christmas. Just because David felt the need to be sober didn’t mean others did.
Not that Sam could hold his liquor.
David turned his attention to an elderly man, somewhere in his nineties, sitting comfortably in a motorized scooter, staring intently at the game on the television. David had never met Great Uncle Peter but had heard stories about him. He had been away for most of Jill’s life, only coming back in the last decade to settle down. Jill had told David that Peter couldn’t hear well, and the family was concerned with his cognitive abilities.
David held out a hand. “Hello, Peter. I’m David.”
Great Uncle Peter looked up at David, then took his hand in a surprisingly firm handshake, which David returned. The eldest of the Fitzgerald family was wearing a pair of khakis, a flannel shirt, and a fishing vest that had pockets filled with hard candies.
“Pleasure to meet you, David,” croaked Great Uncle Peter. He handed David a hard candy and gave him a wink before turning his gaze back to the game. Or a million miles out into space.
Jill came out with some hors d’oeuvres, an array of crackers and cheeses and sliced meats, serving with a lifetime of practice in that household. Martin and Sam reached up and grabbed a handful of snacks. Peter looked at the tray for a moment, then quietly shook his head. David was served last, being the youngest in the room, another tradition that always rubbed David the wrong way.
“You want a beer?” asked Sam, grinning at David.
“No thanks,” replied David, taking another sip of coffee.
“Oh, that’s right, you can’t hold your liquor.” Sam slapped Martin’s leg again, this time rattling a cracker off Martin’s plate into his lap. Martin put his plate down and began fishing out the fallen cracker, while Sam’s laugh was suddenly punctuated by rattling coughs. Eventually, the coughing brought up some mucus, and Sam got up to find a bathroom.
“Sucks to be you,” said Sam, walking past David.
David looked to Martin, who quickly looked away. Martin knew why David didn’t drink anymore. It was one of the few things Martin respected about David. But David also knew that he still had plenty going against him when it was all said and done. And confronting Sam would only turn this day into something worse.
It can’t possibly get much worse.
And then the doorbell rang.
Martin looked to David, who was closest to the door. David nodded and went to answer it, finding two officers standing on the welcome mat. David looked past them quickly to see a cruiser parked on the street. His anxiety spiked; his latent high ratcheted up.
“Can I help you?” asked David, suddenly paranoid.
Officer McMurray, an older Irish cop, gave David a once over.
“Hello. Can we speak to Mr. Martin Fitzgerald, please?”
David could feel the implication in McMurray’s tone, given his clothes. But David’s paranoia had overridden his desire to start an argument with the police in his father-in-law’s home. David stepped back a bit, then looked at Martin. “Some officers are here to see you.”
Martin sighed, getting up off his recliner, wobbling slightly. He looked like he was trying to figure out who to blame for this interruption. Helen peeked out from the dining room to see what the fuss was about.
“Hello there, Officers!” said Martin, reaching out to shake hands.
“Hello, Mr. Fitzgerald. We received a report of suspicious activity in the neighborhood this Christmas morning and we were dispatched to investigate.”
“What activity would that be?”
“Well, a large tour bus engaging in criminal activities reportedly came through the neighborhood.”
“Oh, that,” replied Martin, motioning his head back toward David. “Nothing to worry about. My daughter and son-in-law just caught a ride. My son-in-law has some… interesting friends.”
Interesting? You mean Black and brown.
“Understood,” replied McMurray. “Did any illegal activity occur during this drop off? A witness reported an excessive amount of smoke.”
Martin turned back to look at David. “You’d have to ask him.”
Thanks, Martin.
“Did any illegal activity occur?” asked Officer McMurray.
“No, sir. We just needed a ride after our car broke down, and…”
“They don’t need your life story, David,” interjected Martin, turning back toward the officers. “Did you need anything else?”
“No, Mr. Fitzgerald. But feel free to call us if anything else occurs, especially if more… suspicious individuals show up.”
“No problem, Officer. Merry Christmas!”
Martin waved, then closed the door and turned toward David. He was clearly upset with David, blaming him for having the police upset his Christmas Day, despite David not being the one to call them. David looked at Martin, then decided it was time to hide away again.
The Fitzgerald Rec Room was originally the Fitzgerald Man Cave, a space where Martin could devote his time to perceived masculine affairs, like drinking, sports, billiards, action films, and the news. But over time, as Jill got older and held parties and sleepovers downstairs, and as more nieces and nephews came to visit, the space transformed to a more general recreation area. David came down the front staircase this time, then walked past the red felt pool table toward a sectional couch in front of a widescreen television mounted on the basement wall.
Three kids were hanging out. Molly, an eight-year-old girl, was playing Fortnite against her twelve-year-old brother, Matthew. Matthew was accusing Molly of cheating, or camping, or whatever seemed appropriate for his ineptitude. Molly was destroying him and virtually everyone else online. She would be an amazing gamer when she grew up.
Next to them on the couch was Frank, the eldest of Sam and Diane’s kids, eighteen that year. He sat on the couch thumbing his phone while the other two alternated between playing and squabbling. Frank looked a lot like his father, but much lankier, and uncomfortable wearing a buttoned-up dress shirt. David knew that Frank and Sam didn’t see eye to eye on much these days, especially as Sam went further and further rightward in his politics.
“You get stuck with watching the kids?” asked David.
Frank looked at David’s outfit and raised an eyebrow.
“Oh yeah, that reminds me. I’ll be right back.” David ducked through the door to change over the laundry and returned. “I should have some pants that fit in about an hour.”
“I hope so!” said Frank, but with a smile that found the humor without the embarrassment. “Hey, was that really Cannabusiness?”
“Sure was. My friend is their manager.”
“So, you like, know them?”
“My friend does. I just hung out with them last night.”
Frank’s eyes perked up. “So, uhhh, did you…” He pinched his thumb and index finger together, raising it to his mouth. David shook his head in amusement, then nodded when he was sure the other kids weren’t looking. “…and did you get any…”
“No,” said David, raising his eyes upward to indicate the older folks upstairs. “Even if I did, I’m already on thin ice today.”
“Yeah, you should have heard them before you got here.”
“Oh really?” asked David.
Frank nodded. “Yeah, man. The usual stuff. David’s a bad influence. David’s not worthy of Jill. David’s a menace to society. Let’s hope David doesn’t make a scene this year.”
David laughed along with each part of the litany, but each confirmation of the anxious thoughts he had been having felt like another blade sinking into his back. David always found it interesting how much Jill’s family complained about the absent members of their family. His anxiety rose again. David started thinking about taking Size up on his car service offer. It would be a lot easier than putting up with the jokes that were sure to follow, but that would leave Jill alone and while he was a wreck, she also needed his support.
“Dinner’s ready!” yelled Helen down the stairs.
Molly and Matthew stopped playing immediately, dropping their controllers and running past David and Frank toward the stairs, both noticing David for the first time. Frank got up slowly, shutting down the console and television before turning to David and looking upstairs.
“Ready for some awkward tension?”
The family gathered mostly in silence. Martin and Sam had taken their positions at the head of the table, their faces red from the liquor and from the extra body heat from the guests in the dining room. David maneuvered his way toward the other end of the table, seated next to Jill, and serving as the border between the adults and the children. Frank looked miserable, relegated to the same position on the other side.
“Let’s say grace,” said Helen.
“Heavenly Father, we…” began Martin, launching into an extended prayer. David wasn’t listening, of course, but instead taking in the amazing spread before him. Say what you would about the Fitzgeralds, but Helen definitely knew how to prepare a home-cooked meal. Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, green bean casserole, rolls, cranberries, corn… all done to the same specifications as the past few decades.
“Amen.”
Martin carved the turkey, fulfilling requests as best he could while plates were passed forward. On the way back, each plate was heaped with whatever was requested. Diane grabbed the softest of the foods available to make a plate for Great Uncle Peter, who pointed to the canned cranberry sauce with half a smile. Frank and David waited their turns patiently, with David passing forward the plates for Molly and Matthew.
After that, everyone dived into their heaping plates. Martin and Sam struck up another conversation, something about local politics, but David was too busy eating everything with absolute relish. He devoured that first plate, giving Helen and Diane praise the whole time. Helen offered to fill up his plate again, which David agreed with wholeheartedly. The dopamine from the food was doing wonders to calm his nerves. Even Peter was happily gumming up potatoes and cranberries.
Things were starting to get better.
“So, where’s your family today, David?” asked Sam, during a lull in the conversation. The room got quiet, with only the sounds of Molly and Matthew’s silverware to break the silence.
“They’re dead, Sam,” began David, containing his rage. “Have been for years. I think I’ve told you this the last few years.”
“Oh, that’s right. Overdose and suicide. Sorry, I forgot,” replied Sam, adopting a slight smile and taking a drink from his glass.
You forgot? David looked over at Jill, who was staring at her plate, turning red with embarrassment. Helen had adopted the same consideration of her plate. David looked over at Martin, whose face had lost some color.
“Sam, that’s not…” began Martin.
“No, it’s fine,” interjected David. “It’s probably why I’m a fuck up, right? A bad influence? Not worthy of Jill? Maybe a menace to society, even?”
“David…” began Jill.
“Well, maybe it is,” replied Sam, anger overriding embarrassment.
David stared daggers at Sam, then stood up.
I guess I did end up making a scene this year.
“That’s enough for me,” said David, taking his plate.
“David, you don’t have to…” began Helen.
“Let him. If he doesn’t want to eat with us, that’s fine,” said Martin.
David paused for a fraction of a second. “Thanks for dinner, Helen.”
And then he walked toward the kitchen, praying that folks were not staring at JUICY pressed up against boy shorts.
David dropped his plate off on the counter, next to the freshly baked pies. Pumpkin and apple, not that he had much of an appetite anymore. He went the long way again to the front door, throwing on the old boots and reaching for his jacket.
“Where are you going?” asked Jill, catching up to David.
“I’m leaving for a bit. They don’t want me here. They’ve never wanted me here.”
“That’s not true. Look, it’s just when Sam comes around…”
“Fuck Sam!” said David, loud enough to carry to the dining room.
Jill shushed him. “Don’t make this worse.”
“How could this get any worse?” asked David.
Jill began to reply, then caught herself. She knew David was right. She knew she was slipping back into old habits decades in the making, adopting the same social roles expected all her life. David knew why, too. It was much easier to go along than to change their minds. “Look, we just need to stay for a little bit after dinner, then we can head out. I know you don’t want to be here. Frankly, I don’t want to be here when Sam’s around, or when they get like this, but…”
David saw her frustration now. Saw the same desire for relief that Martin had when he reached for his drink. Like David had used to feel when he was drinking. He reached out and took Jill’s hand. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Everything today has just been so…”
“Yeah,” said Jill.
They smiled at each other. Despite their frustrations, they still loved each other. David considered everything again, looking at it from her perspective, and realized he was making things difficult for her, too.
“Look, I just need to take a walk, okay?”
“Are you going to get high again?” asked Jill.
“No, I didn’t grab any. Didn’t want to cause a scene here.”
“Good call. Wouldn’t blame you, though, if you did.”
David finished putting on his coat. “I’ll be back shortly. Just need some fresh air.”
“All right. I’ll do my best to smooth things over.”
Anytown got crisp when it got cold, especially when all the moisture came out of the air after a storm like the previous night. The sun was quickly heading toward the horizon that evening, but there was still plenty of light, and the warmth from the sun was making the streets just a tad more dangerous.
David stuck to the sidewalks, walking past the cookie cutter homes on each sub-divided lot. Nearly every snow-covered lawn had been decorated with an obsessive amount of Christmas lights, with some houses recreating entire scenes from famous Christmas films. Beyond each display the families were celebrating their holidays. Some were just now gathering for dinner. Some were already back to watching television. The condensation at the edges of the windows helped set each suburban yuletide scene.
The only awkward moment was walking by Nancy Drifter’s home. David had remembered her name as he passed. She had been on the phone earlier. David wondered if she had called the police about the tour bus. Her home was quiet, closed off, nothing but a lone lamp on in the window and the flicker of a television. She sat by her phone, staring at the screen, only turning to catch David’s eyes as he peered in. David looked down quickly, then saw his pink sweatpants again, and shook his head at himself.
He quickened his pace out of the neighborhood, passing by the low stone wall surrounding the subdivision. David walked to the stoplight and punched the button for the crosswalk toward the strip mall across the street. The plaza was anchored by a big box store with five or six other shops. David waited patiently for the light as the cross traffic moved through the slushy streets, pushing the cold wind against David. He was starting to realize just how thin these sweatpants were, although the old boots kept his feet warm and out of the slush.
After crossing David walked along the strip mall entrances, finding only the Chinese restaurant left open. The big box store had a few cars out front, likely employees closing after the morning shopping day. When he reached the end of the strip mall, the wind behind him somehow blew right up his sweatpants, giving him a horrible shiver. David ducked around the corner, then headed further out of the way of the wind.
“Fucking cold, man,” said David to no one, then took out his phone to check his messages, replying to friends and chosen family with holiday greetings and well wishes. Once his fingers got too cold, he put the phone away and blew on his hands to warm them. As much as he didn’t want to head back to the house, it was soon going to be way too cold to remain here.
“Hey, Cousin,” said a voice behind David.
It was Frank, who had followed him out of the house. David was startled at first, then looked to see who else might be around. But in the back of that strip mall, behind the fence which separated it from the residential area, and on that cold day, there was no one else around.
Frank had a grin on his face.
“Frank, man. I told you, I don’t have anything to share.”
David felt for the young man, but there was no way he would get him high even if David did have cannabis on him. He was going to have to let this kid down easy.
“I know, man, but I do.”
David’s eyes widened and he turned toward Frank, as Frank pulled out a cone and handed it to David. David examined it. Decent packing job. Inhaled its aroma. Quite dank. “Where did you get this?”
“Does it matter? Blaze it up, Cousin!” Frank handed David a lighter.
David accepted the lighter, then held the cone up to his lips and paused. He considered the scene. Frank was eighteen now, and from the way he was looking at the unlit cone, knew his way around cannabis, or at least had learned how to fake it. David wasn’t sure how this was any different than giving Frank the weed himself, but then Sam’s pugnacious face popped into David’s mind, and he no longer gave two shits or a single fuck.
“Fuck it,” said David, lighting the cone and inhaling, taking a huge hit and letting the THC soak into his bloodstream while the terpenes coated his tongue. David’s anxiety was flooded with a warm, cottony feeling, despite his body still being pretty cold. The cannabis was high quality, almost on another level. David closed his eyes, and the world skipped a bit in a time jump, then he opened them again and took another hit.
Man, these kids have it good nowadays.
“Here,” said David, holding out the cone to Frank. “Sorry for bogarting a second hit.”
“Nah, you needed it after that shitshow, Cousin,” said Frank, taking the cone gently and looking around for prying eyes before taking an enormous hit, almost like he wasn’t going to get another shot at it. David’s eyes grew wide at the heroic effort, then laughed as the cone was handed back and Frank went into a huge coughing fit.
“Holy… shit… man…” said Frank, losing his balance and looking around like the world was brand new through slowly closing eyes. David took another massive hit himself, his lungs well practiced after the previous evening, then calmly exhaled while staring at Frank, doing his best to give off that elder stoner vibe. David had always liked Frank, and used to play video games with him and Matthew in the rec room until Molly became the reigning champion. Maybe this could make these visits tolerable.
“Can I get one more hit?” asked Frank.
“It’s your weed, son,” replied David, handing the cone back over.
Frank took a much more reserved hit, not attempting to match David before handing the cone back again. “Damn, that’s some good weed.”
“Yeah, it really is,” mused David. “You want more?” Frank shook his head, so David took the final hit off the cone, right down to the hollow paper filter, exhaling a giant cloud of smoke and condensation that rose into the fading light.
They just stood there, letting the good feelings and relaxation flow over them. David wasn’t sure if it had been an indica or a sativa strain, but he really didn’t care.
“Nice sweatpants,” said Frank, starting to giggle.
“Shut the fuck up,” said David, playfully. “Shit, which reminds me. My actual pants might be dry now.”
“Oh yeah, check it out.” Frank opened his jacket and began unbuttoning his dress shirt. Underneath was a Cannabusiness t-shirt.
“Didn’t know you were a fan. I’ll get you some swag next time.”
Frank’s eyes lit up with anticipation. David wasn’t sure when he could fulfill that promise, but that didn’t seem to matter just then.
The wind began picking up, somehow bending around the corner.
“Shit, you know what I want?” asked David.
“What’s that?”
“Fried wontons.”
David and Frank made their way back toward the Fitzgerald residence, each carrying a giant bag of greasy goodness from the Chinese restaurant in the strip mall. The restaurant had been packed with the usual assortment of Christmas Day patrons, mostly non-Christians or folks seeking refuge from their own holiday mess. David had struck up a conversation with the owner, whose family was visiting for the holidays, pointing out various other members in the restaurant. He noticed how everyone was happy to see each other, eating steaming plates of Chinese food, either the Americanized stir-fry and fried rice dishes to the more culturally authentic chicken feet and at least three Peking ducks which had been carved at the tables. David knew they probably had their own drama they were peppering over, just like all the homes on their way back.
David was freezing when they stepped through the front door, happy to receive a kiss from Jill and the opportunity to warm up.
“What’s all this?” asked Jill, taking his coat.
“Just a way to contribute. Got a hankering for wontons.”
Frank came up behind David, working to suppress the giggles.
Jill gave David a quick look, paying extra close attention to his eyes.
“I’ll explain later.”
“Where have you been?” slurred Sam from the recliner, trying to focus on his son. “And what’s Frankie doing with you?”
Frank popped his head out from behind David. “I ran into Cousin David at the strip mall. We got some more food.”
“My food not good enough for you?” asked Helen, sipping her glass of wine from a folding chair while feigning interest in football.
“He ain’t your cousin,” said Uncle Sam. But Sam let his nose guide his eyes to the bags of food, mumbling something about wontons. David let the family comment slide, too relaxed now to let Sam’s bullshit goad him.
Jill took the bags of food. “Thanks, David.” Then she headed the long way to the kitchen.
David turned to see Sam peering at Frank, who was starting to crack under the pressure. Sam came to some conclusion, then said, “We’ll talk more about this later, Frankie.”
“Hey, you wanna play some vids, Frank?” asked David, nodding to the front staircase.
But before Frank could answer, the doorbell rang again.
Martin paused, upset at yet another interruption from the game he had only been half-watching. David didn’t even bother to head toward the door this time. Frank turned and headed down the stairs toward the rec room as Martin answered the door.
“Hello, Mr. Fitzgerald,” said the visitor. David noticed an older woman at the door. Beneath all the layers of clothing, he was pretty sure it was Nancy Drifter.
Christ, what now?
“Hello, Nancy,” replied Martin. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, I just wanted to make sure everything was all right.”
“Everything seems all right here, Nancy.”
“It’s just… well, I saw one of your guests entering the home with a suspicious looking individual. A man wearing pink sweatpants escorting a minor through the neighborhood. I just wanted to make sure you knew about it. You know how those types can be.”
Nancy popped a limp wrist. David stepped out from behind Martin. Her eyes widened in shock before looking back toward Martin. Martin looked back at David, then to Nancy.
“Nancy, David’s not… not like that. He didn’t have any clean clothes when he arrived.”
“On that obnoxious bus that came through here?”
She called the cops.
Martin sighed. “Yes. Trust me, I wasn’t expecting that this morning, either. But we’re all fine here, Nancy. Did you need anything else?”
“No. Just keep your guests to your home, Martin.”
And with that, Nancy Drifter turned and headed toward her house.
Martin stood there in shock for a few moments before closing the door. He fumed on his way back to his recliner, about tour buses and drugs and sweatpants and family and a lot about Nancy Fucking Drifter. David thought he saw Great Uncle Peter smile.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” said David, heading downstairs.
The first order of business was to change out of those sweatpants. David moved past the rec room into the utility area, grabbing his freshly washed pants, socks, and underwear and changing in the basement bathroom, stopping only briefly to check himself out in the mirror in the boy shorts trying to figure out what Jill might see in them.
Upon leaving the bathroom, David heard an argument coming from the rec room. Sam and Frank were butting heads, although it sounded like Sam was doing most of the talking. David started to get worried about the situation, remembering what a stupid idea it had been to get high with Frank. David thought briefly about heading up the back staircase, but figured it was time to take one for the team and walked through the door into the rec room. “Hey, Sam. Come on, man, it’s Christmas…”
“You stay out of this family conversation, David,” replied Sam, giving David the briefest of looks before turning back to Frank. Sam pointed a finger at David. “Is that what you want to be? You want to become a degenerate like David here, who can’t seem to manage driving home from a holiday party? Huh? You want to be okay with walking around in faggy sweatpants and bringing all this trouble on your Uncle Martin’s home?”
“Whoa, Sam. Easy…” interjected David.
“Oh, fuck you, David. You’re out there getting my kid high and doing God knows what else to him when he’s vulnerable.”
“What the fuck are you accusing me of?” asked David, suddenly pissed. He glanced past to see Molly and Matthew pretending to focus on their game, then looked to Frank who was getting very uncomfortable with the whole situation. Poor kid must be going out of his mind right now.
“I think you know,” slurred Sam.
David stared at him for a second, then resisted the urge to punch that smug face and headed upstairs.
Jill met him at the top of the stairwell.
“What is going on down there?” she asked.
“You’d have to ask Sam. All I know is that I’ve had enough. It’s time for me to go.”
“David, please…”
“No. I’ve had enough.”
David grabbed his coat and went into the living room. “Martin, Helen, thanks for your hospitality, such as it was. I’m sorry for causing such a mess of today. You all probably didn’t expect anything else, though. Peter, it was a pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry to have ruined your Christmas. I just need to make a call, and I’ll be out of your hair.”
David pulled out his phone. Jill went with Helen and Diane into the kitchen, where David could hear them asking Jill what was wrong. Martin looked from the television to David, then just shook his head and waved goodbye.
“You hear me, you degenerate?!” screamed Sam coming up the stairs. “You stay the fuck away from my son. Getting him high at a family function, what the fuck is wrong with you?!”
“David, did you get Frank high?” asked Martin.
David finished calling his car.
“And God knows what else…” repeated Sam, looping in his rage.
Frank came up the stairs behind his father.
“I didn’t touch your kid, Sam,” stated David.
And then a quiet voice came from the corner. “That’s enough, Sammy.”
Sam turned toward his Uncle Peter, who was now quite alert. “Uncle Peter, you stay out…”
“I said shut your trap, kid. I’ve been quiet all fucking day and I have listened to enough of your drunken bullshit. Like you didn’t smoke weed as a kid, Sammy. I know… I got you the weed and you fucking loved it.”
“That was a long time ago…”
“Oh, was it?” asked Peter. David looked in awe at Great Uncle Peter commanding the room from his motorized scooter. “Because I seemed to remember you bragging about getting high with your friends the other week. For old time’s sake, if I remember what you said correctly. Or did you think I wasn’t listening? Think I’m too old to cut the mustard?”
“Uncle…”
“I said quiet. You also don’t seem to mind that I’m still using cannabis to treat my arthritis. Or to calm my nerves, which you have tested and frayed today. Does that make me a degenerate? And did I seem like so much of a degenerate when I paid for your ass to go through school after you blew your G.I. Bill the first time?”
Sam glowered at Peter. Peter turned to David. The ladies had made their way back into the living room at that point.
“Now David, here, if I understand the stories which my grandniece has told me, paid his own way through school, working full-time, after kicking an alcohol habit that you can’t seem to manage right now, Sammy. David has survived more trauma in his childhood than you have ever had to deal with in your small, privileged life. And most importantly, still manages to put a genuine smile on my grandniece’s face.” Peter looked lovingly at Jill. “Something I hadn’t seen for a very long time before they met, and never from you, Sammy. Frank should be so lucky as to end up like David. And he might if you would just get out of his fucking way.”
Jill gave David a loving glance.
Peter turned to Frank.
“Now, Frank, when I gave you that cone earlier today, I told you to be careful with it… not sneak out at the first opportunity and come back reeking of cannabis. First rule of cannabis, young buck, is not to put yourself in a position that causes trouble.”
Sam and Diane’s eyes widen.
David considered Peter with a newfound respect.
Jill let out a snort.
“And Martin,” continued Peter, now on a roll. “You should be ashamed of yourself as well. David is more than a guest in your home. He is your family, whether you like it or not. And you should defend your family against assholes like Sam here, who can’t seem to keep quiet once the liquor starts flowing. The man loves your daughter with all his heart, Martin. What else do you want?”
Martin opened his mouth, then shook his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry, David. I should have defended you against my asshole brother. I let things go too far before stepping in.”
Sam began moving his gaze around the room, looking for the support he once had in the moment, and finding none. Not even from Diane, who was now flush with embarrassment. Certainly not from Frank, who wasn’t sure if he was in trouble or not anymore.
Then Uncle Peter reached into his fishing vest and pulled out a vape pen, took a long, quiet pull as the eyes of the family around him widened even further in amazement, along with smiles on David, Jill, and Frank’s faces, before Great Uncle Peter ejected a massive cloud of vapor.
“Man, that’s fucking better. Don’t know when it happened, but I had to start getting stoned at Christmas just to deal with you, Sammy. So, please, just shut the fuck up for the rest of the day, let’s all pretend to watch the game, and then you can go home and live your shitty little life.”
Peter then turned his attention back to the game and zoned out.
Martin paused a second, then looked at his brother. “Sam, either apologize to David, or leave please.”
“Not you too, Martin. You hate him. Come on!”
“I don’t hate David, Sam. And even if I did, it would be no way to treat him on Christmas. Besides, being rude to my son-in-law is being rude to my daughter, which is being rude to me.”
Everyone stared at Sam, hoping he would do the right thing.
And he did. “Okay. I’m sorry, David. I was out of line.”
“You sure were…” began David, before catching Jill’s eyes. David let out a sigh. “But let’s quash it here.”
Jill nodded in approval, then asked, “Who wants wontons?”
The cartons of Chinese food were brought out to the dining table to make a little buffet, including a giant pile of wontons. David got Uncle Peter a plate, sharing looks with him the whole time that said a lot more than their words. Peter couldn’t eat the wontons at his age, but he enjoyed what he could.
Jill, Diane, and Helen were all chatting in the kitchen, talking about happier times, avoiding the conflict which had just happened as family tradition expected. Jill and David counted down the time they had left there, while waiting for their car service to arrive.
The weed was starting to wear off when David’s phone buzzed.
Their ride had arrived.
“We gotta go, Jill,” announced David, heading off to get their coats.
“All right. It was great to see you, Mom. Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas, Jill!”
“You too, Diane!”
David and Jill met in the living room.
“Time for us to leave, Martin,” said David, reaching out to shake hands.
“Where are you off to?” asked Sam. “Some party? Corrupting more youth?” Clearly Sam didn’t feel too bad about his previous actions. Or the alcohol had drowned out the regret again. It took everything David had not to be triggered.
“No. Jill and I are volunteering at the Cypress Heights Community Center tonight for Christmas dinner. We’ll be feeding the homeless and underprivileged, doing whatever we can to help.”
“Oh.” Sam looked away, foiled again.
“Quite the degenerate, isn’t he?” mused Peter, shaking his head. Peter turned to David. “Let’s hope they legalize it soon, kid. For your sake and mine.”
“Right on, Uncle Peter. You got my email address?”
“Sure. I’ll even figure out how to use it, David.”
David and Peter exchanged nods. David would follow up with Frank at some point as well, in case Great Uncle Peter couldn’t figure out email. It would be a shame to lose a killer hookup. That was great weed.
“Martin. Helen.” David nodded at them both.
And then Jill and David turned to leave for their last stop of the Christmas holiday.
December 6th, 2023
Camarillo, CA
