well, that didn't work: an autobiography

holidays

the holidays are supposed to be a time of love and joy and compassion. and they were, until you left me.

at the thanksgiving table this year, i couldn't look at the turkey on my plate. when my mother asked me what was wrong, i told her nothing and ate it as quickly as i could.

turkey brings up the time we burnt it. the entire roast turkey. so, on thanksgiving night, we had frozen pizza and mashed potatoes. that was the night you told me you loved me for the first time, in between bites of the rising crust pepperoni.

i heard the song white christmas by bing crosby on the radio yesterday and my eyes filled so far to the brim with tears that i had to pull over to the side of the road while my chest heaved and i struggled to take a breath.

on a friday night in december, we were sitting by the light of the tree and the warmth of the fireplace when that song came on. you basically leaped off the couch and gave me your hand. i took it and we slow danced, in the soft glow of the flickering lights. even when the song ended, we just stood there, swaying. that's when i knew i loved you too.

i had never really liked christmas before i met you. the songs were overplayed and the presents were over-advertised. but the way you sang the songs made them sound new, even when you quietly hummed them while flipping through tv channels. the smile on your face as presents slowly made their way under the tree made the commercials a little more bearable. i didn't know i could love someone that much.

that year you got me a silver necklace. i found it while cleaning my jewelry drawer this afternoon and had a panic attack. maybe i do still love you, as much as i deny it. the holidays are quite the reminder of that.

i dont go to new year's parties anymore. that's where you met her. i saw your eyes widen, by just a centimeter, when you first saw her. that's what happened when you first saw me, too. i wanted to leave then and there. 30 seconds to midnight, i looked for you to give you a new year's kiss, but found you kissing her instead. when you saw me, there was no guilt in your eyes, and i knew you lied though the pepperoni and the pizza sauce.

—i dont buy pizza or christmas trees anymore