Brilliant Gibberish

A Caustic Christmas

John lived in a small house on the outskirts of town. The building stood alone, a rather unusual oddity that broke the monotony of farmland. It was only a five minute drive into the city, but it might as well have been a thousand miles. John preferred it that way. He rarely saw another person, but when he did, he kept any and all interactions short and to the point. The postman had frequently tried to engage him in conversation, but had never gotten further than the pleasantries.

"Hi, how are you?" he would ask.

"Hi, thanks for the mail," John would respond, rushing past.

Nobody came to call on him, frankly not many people knew he existed. It wasn't always that way. Sadly, he recalled the last Christmas he spent at his parents' house.

***

People crowded into the small apartment- more than was probably wise. The room was decorated with pictures. John's parents were big believers in pictures. If it's not framed and on a wall, it didn't happen. That's what their attitude seemed like to him, anyhow. The living room and kitchen were filled with people. His poor mother could barely squeeze past them to lay out food. He stood in the corner, occasionally venturing into the center of the room to refill his plate, munching quietly on crackers and cheese, trying to draw as little attention as possible. But, of course, a large gathering such as that one left him nowhere to hide when conversation did come his way.

A young woman, whom he recognized, but couldn't for the life of him say from where, approached him and extended her hand,

"Hi, I'm Julia," she said with a smile.

John did not smile back. "John," he responded, spitting the word out as if even that single syllable was a great effort to him.

The girl either did not notice, or chose to ignore his obvious attempts to dodge the conversation.

"So, what brings you here tonight?" she pressed, after a moment of awkward silence.

John sighed. He pointed to the window behind her, "You see that window over there? You wouldn't know it just by looking at it, but this is the only spot in the city where you can get such a fantastic view of the dump, and frankly I just can't do that if you're in the way, now can I?" he mimicked her smile.

She stepped aside, and turned away from him, her smile snuffed out. John relaxed back into the corner. His father approached him, a scowl etched into his face.

"That was incredibly rude. Inconceivable that my son could be so rude," he admonished.

He was quite fond of the word "inconceivable" and used it at every available opportunity, in a fashion that irritated John to no end.

"What's 'inconceivable' is that I even showed up to this hellhole. You may have convinced me to come, but you can't force me to enjoy it."

The big man's scowl deepened. "Can you at least agree not to terrify the guests? We would like our new neighbors to think well of us, if it's at all conceivable."

John pursed his lips. "I think not, it's more fun this way."

His father's face turned a deep shade of scarlet, "Fine, you hooligan," he took out his wallet. "How much do you want to keep your mouth shut?"

John laughed. "I don't want your money, pops," he clapped him on the back, harder than was necessary. "No amount of money is going to equal the joy I get from terrifying your guests."

He mumbled something about ingrates and disinheriting, but left without any further remonstrations.

The contrast between the people whom John had interacted with and those he had not was quite shocking. One could see it on their faces. Julia, as well as John's father, walked around the room with their heads down, and drawn into their chests. They radiated no light, nor did they seem to have the energy for much more than acknowledgement of the people around them. Those whom he had not spoken to, however spoke with a gregarious nature, and exuded life. Their faces were warm and open, their hearts full of joy. John hated people like that.