“You could say that.” I lean back on my hands.
“Well, I don’t want to distract you too long—just have to personally deliver you this note.” He pulls out a green envelope and hands it to me, wiggling his brows. “You got a reply from your secret friend.”
“Oh, is that what we’re calling this person?” I ask while taking the letter. “Is it kind of weird they wrote back?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Arden replies. “Why would it be weird?”
“I don’t know. Feels strange writing to a person I’m unfamiliar with.”
“But that’s the fun in it,” Arden says. “You don’t know who it is, so you can be candid. And even though you might not want to admit it, isn’t it nice that during this time, when we depend on family and friends to celebrate traditions passed from generation to generation, that you have someone to lean on too?”
“Yeah, that does feel nice.” I shake the envelope at Arden. “Is this really you, feeling sorry for me? Writing me letters?”
“Why would I do that when I can just talk to you in person?” He grins and jingles the bell on the tip of his winter hat. “Plus, sorry to say but I am quite fond of Christmas and everything it entails. You know where to find me if you want to write back.” He takes off toward the front door, and I call goodbye before he disappears.
Maybe he’s right; maybe it’s nice not to feel so lonely after all.
Succumbing to this pen pal thing, I open the envelope and pull out the simple notebook paper.
Dear Ho Ho No,
Great name. I feel it all the way down to my toes. But I have to ask, have you always hated the holidays, or is this a recent development for you? It is for me. I used to love Christmastime, especially living in a place like Bright Harbor where the community really comes together to make it special.
But this year, it feels different. I can’t seem to find the joy in it, most likely from an unexpected visitor in town—but I won’t get into that. I will say this: your letter made me laugh, and I can jump on board with the hatred for eggnog. Mistletoe is the devil’s weed. Laughing children—well, that doesn’t bother me as much, maybe because I have nieces and nephews and they’ve made me deaf to their obstinate joy. I do support gift giving if it’s to someone special in your life. But the parties ...
The parties are what really drive me nuts. You’re required to go, but all you’re asked, over and over again, is why you’re single during the holidays. Can you please tell me why people find it necessary to butt into your personal life?
Sincerely,
Resting Scrooge Face
Smiling, I bring the letter over to my childhood room—the only untouched part of the house—and pull my new stationery from my desk drawer, deciding to write back right away. I’m heading into town a little later; maybe I’ll stumble into Arden, and he can make a special delivery for me.
Dear Resting Scrooge Face,
You pose an interesting question. I think I might have an answer. You see, the world revolves around one thing ... mating. It is our cosmic calling to be concerned with who’s mating with who, when they’re mating, and ... well, how.
This tradition of invading one’s privacy is transferred over into parties. When small talk about the weather and the salty sidewalks is no longer a viable option, our fellow humans refer to what has been cosmically instilled in them. Has this person mated? I need to find out. If not, I need to find them someone to mate with. Perhaps I’m the person they should mate with ... and the questions go on and on.
Make sense?
Sincerely,
Ho Ho No
Dear Ho Ho No,
I hate to agree with such a blatant claim as the universe revolving around one single thing—fornication. Then again, I am a man, and I’d be lying if I told youthe sexual act of being with another human doesn’t cross my mind from time to time. So, does that make me ... one of them?
Sure, I have the kind of bitter exterior that would make any nibbler pucker with disfavor, but perhaps if I was peeled down to my core, I’d be just like the rest of them: clapping my hands when two people kiss under the mistletoe.
And you know our mutual hatred for mistletoe.
Frankly, I’m terrified. Please reassure me that everything is going to be okay.
Sincerely,
Resting Scrooge Face (currently biting nails as I await a response)
