To Kill Like Santa

05

Your eyes opened to view a slowly whirling fan. You looked toward the window; curtains hooked to the side and saw the full moon in all its glory. It appeared that Nepa seized their light a while ago and the fan was slowly whirling to a stop. Your head felt heavy like a hammer fell on it.

In that almost peach darkness, the neon glow of the digital-clock above the door shone effulgently— serving its purpose— and you clearly saw 2:00 A.M. blinking.

The pain in your head echoed and each wave was soothing. You mentally searched for the panadol. Probably In the kitchen, but where? the higher cabinet or lower? Inside the spoilt microwave or fridge? The pain was endurable and you endured it because you didn't want to see what it would look like if you stood on your feet.

The door below the blinking digital clock noiselessly opened and your eyes brushed down. A head poked through and recognition swept over you. It was pale to identify who it was, but you did. It could only be him anyway.

He was one of the few people you talked to, and the most important. You told him things you could not tell George. Although, there were things you told George and could not tell him. You could tell George “Look,” Your finger pointing towards John running around the pitch, all sweaty. “See how beautiful he is.”

And last night, when he was in the kitchen buttering bread, you had told him, “I stained myself last night.”  That, you couldn't tell George.

And he had said, “Happy birthday my dear,” and kissed your forehead.

“But it is not even twelve yet.”

“Well, I am tired and going to bed. Tomorrow is a big day at the office. At least I told you before those silly boys...and,” he raised a finger “I am not competing with them.” He added a smile and took a bite of the bread. He chewed softly and swallowed with a gulp of juice directly from the container. “You can invite your friends to an unmonitored party.” he quoted in the air.

“My girl is seventeen.” He reached forward and ruffled your hair. The next day, as you moved through the expanse of school, apart from George and Manda, you didn't know who else to invite. The class echoed with conversation from every desk. In fact, it was packed than usual. Yet you couldn't walk up to anyone.

That evening, the front door bell went off and you scurried to open it. George wore a T-shirt with God Bless Nerds inscribed on the front. Palm tress were drawn all over his shorts. Manda's house was a blocks away but she only just appeared behind the door after George stepped in. Her hair was weaved into two fat braids. A chocker on her neck. The red gown gave off no cleavage but outlined her figure. Its length revealed considerable amount of her thighs. She carried a black nylon in her hands. Your gaze brushed back to her face, a smile on it.

The venue was the parlor and you didn't go out of your way to decorate with balloons and posters. George handed you a small pink box and because of last year's gift, and the ones that had come before that, intuition told you it was another wristwatch. A note was pinned on the box: Happy Birthday to my best friend. With the worst writing ever.

Manda slipped out a bottle of Red Label from the nylon. “I know you didn't make arrangements for alcohol.” She said and set it on the table.

It didn't even cross your mind. “What?” Your eyes lit up when you saw the bottle. “Put that away.” You whispered.

“Relax. Happy seventeenth birthday.” She sank into the couch.

Your hand were shaking, and dots of sweat appeared on your face. “If my father sees that thing.”

“Anita relax, it is just alcohol.” George said, “We will hide it if he comes.”

Your head craned around to see if you would spot Dad's eyes. Relax. It is your birthday. Why not?