Burnouts

Tales of Christmas Day

Scene 1: Rivington Street

Danny Cole

"Ehem," I wake to the sound of my dad dramatically clearing his throat to get my attention. My eyes peel open, and I simply stare back waiting for him to speak. He puts his arms out in confusion, "don't you want to see what your old man got you?"

I heavily breathe out, "okay."

He waves me over to follow him out into the living room. We have this mini Christmas tree that we bought pre-decorated from some drugstore 6 years ago. I don't understand why we even bother to take it out of the closet.

I grab one of the poorly wrapped presents from around it and lift it up with an insincere smile.

My dad stands proudly beside me as I tear off the wrapping paper.

"Oh...car fresheners?"

"Pineapple," he nods.

"That's great."

"Come on, open another one," My dad nudges me. I sigh but oblige reluctantly by picking up the small rectangular box that was closest to me. He chuckles as I open it.

"You bought me condoms," I raise an eyebrow at him.

"I'm not clueless as to what you youngins are up to these days. I just want you to be safe about it. You know what happens when you're not safe, right?"

I roll my eyes, "Yeah, dad. I saw 'Kids' too, remember?"

"That's not all, Danny. What do you suppose you'd do if you got that girl of yours pregnant? You would have to work every day of your natural-born life to keep that kid fed. It's not easy, you know?"

"Well, you sure did a stand-up job at it," I say sarcastically.

"You bet your ass, I did," he practically pats himself on the back. "Now, open the last one."

"What'd you get me...soda?" I ask as I analyze the shape and size of what looks to be a 12-pack of canned soda.

"No," he smirks with his arms crossed.

"...beer?"

"All for yourself. So, you can stop stealing mine."

"There's always some here, might as well enjoy it," I respond irritatedly.

"What do you say I make us some cocoa, and we watch a few specials on tv, huh?" He ignores my remark and changes the subject. He always does that when someone mentions his drinking habits.

"That doesn't sound bad..." I reply distrustfully.

He grins and starts to laugh, "when you were little, you used to love those Peanuts cartoons. You were snoopy for three Halloweens in a row."

"Yeah...well, I thought I'd have to shave my head to be Charlie Brown," I say with a small smile.

"I know," he snickers, "I caught you looking at the razor in the bathroom and decided to hide it after that day. But, I'm glad you thought being a dog was somehow easier done."

"That's me," I nod, "always taking the easy way out."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," he nudged my shoulder. "We always get to where we're going. It's in our blood."

"Bad blood, then," I mutter to myself as he wanders off somewhere else.

"So, should I take out the marshmallows?"

"Uh..." I look toward where he went in the kitchen. I hear him start to cough as if he's choking. It's something his body does whenever he's about to drink or even thinks about drinking. I picked up on that sign pretty quickly. "No, I'll probably just go out."