Christmas

Christmas
Andy sat at the kitchen table munching on his bowl of Fruit Loops. His glass of lemonade sat half full on the table beside him. He looked over the table for something to read, he saw the old Newsweek about Bush’s war with Iraq. The article had sounded like it was word for word off of Donald Rumsfeld’s propaganda desk. He picked it up and began to skim though it, trying to find an article he hadn’t already read, to no avail. Like every other periodical in the house he had already read the whole thing. He read voraciously, sometimes getting himself in trouble, anything he could find. His parents no longer tried to stop him; they just sat back and hoped he did everything else he was supposed to. Unfortunately they no longer got the newspaper, a pointless waste of money to them. No, to Andy it was a beautiful well of information and words about the world. Unlike most kids his age, who only read the sports and comics, Andy read the entire paper. It had been a morning ritual for him until they stopped getting it.

‘Maybe the new Newsweek is in the mail today’ He looked at the clock above his head, 10:15, ‘the mail should be here by now,’ he thought, ‘it usually comes around 9:00.’ He stood and drained his glass of lemonade. Picking up his empty cereal bowl he carried it over to the sink and poured the milk out before setting it on the counter. He walked to the front door, calling into his mom’s room.
“I’m going to get the mail.”
“Ok, honey see if I got anything.”
‘Yeah, sure, whatever,’ he thought, sliding his feet into a pair of clogs much too small for him. He opened the front door and cold air wafted in. The December air raised goosebumps on his exposed arms. He shivered and ran his hand through his unkempt orange hair. Stepping out into the snow he pulled the door shut behind him. The sun blazed down onto the pristine new snow. Everything was covered with several inches of fresh snow that fell the night before. If looked like they would have a white Christmas after all. The clogs slipped on a patch of ice and his hand, flung out to catch him, plunged into the snow. He could feel the small snow particles under his hand compact together, crushed by his weight. The snow on top of his hand began to melt, forming little puddles on his hand. He cursed under his breath and jerked his hand up. The snow still stuck to his hand in small patches. He shook his hand and small droplets flew, intermixed with snowflakes, to the ground. His hand burned with the cold. Red radiated out from his white wrist. He shook his hand again and shoved it in his pocket before continuing on to the stairs. Stepping on to the driveway, his too small clogs dug a ridge in his heels. He kicked his feet forward and dug a furrow down to the mailbox. He pulled on the hatch to get the mail, but it had iced over in the night. Andy hit the side of the mailbox to loosen the ice. The icicles dropped off the side and the seal around the door flaked off. The little read flag rattled when he hit it. Andy opened the mailbox and pulled the mail out. Flipping through it he saw the new Newsweek mixed in. It looked like the new Matrix would be coming out soon. The guy in the mover, the main character, Andy couldn’t remember his name, was on the front cover. That would be cool, he had been waiting for awhile to see it. He went past the Newsweek, and saw Time, that wasn’t as good. Andy liked Newsweek more than Time; the stories were more interesting. Maybe they sacrificed a bit of objectivity but reading it was more fun. They also had better side articles and “tip sheets”. Flipping past the Time he looked for anything else, for him or his mum. Christmas cards had been arriving pretty regularly from his mom’s social circle, and his dad’s coworkers had sent some as well. He got to the end of the mail, nothing for him or his mom specifically, mostly just the bills and incessant advertising letters. He checked the mailbox one last time to see if he had missed anything. He had, lying on the bottom of the mailbox was a starched white envelope. He pulled it out, it was addressed to the family and the return address was his dad’s company.
‘Probably just another Christmas card from dad’s buddies at work. I wonder how he is doing; his trip should be just about over. Mom said he would be home by Wednesday. I wish they had let this wait until after Christmas.’

He knew his mom had too. His dad was a part of Exxon’s procurement branch. He and his colleagues worked with foreign, and a small number of domestic drilling, companies to get the oil that Exxon needed to make gas. He had left last Tuesday, and had missed Andy’s basketball game on Thursday; he had played really well, getting sixteen points and four rebounds. He couldn’t wait to tell him, he knew his dad loved to watch him play and always pushed him to do his best. He shut the mailbox and began to walk down the driveway. His dad was currently negotiating with some representatives of OPEC on the current world standard they had set. Since September, when Bush had begun to make noise about a coming showdown with Iraq, the prices of gas had been rising steadily. It was now at about a dollar fifty a gallon, and the winter was sure to make it go up with all the heating oil needs. Andy’s dad was trying to negotiate, with some of his coworkers, a decrease in price. He had been working on this project for several weeks and they had finally agreed to meet with the representatives in person to talk it over. However the OPEC representatives refused to meet anywhere but Iraq. Andy cringed in remembrance of the fight his parents had had over his dad leaving. His dad had waited until after Andy had gone to sleep to tell his mom but it didn’t do much good. The shouting that had come from his parent’s room had woken him up. He had lain in bed for several minutes listening before he got up and went into their room. His mom had been understandably furious at his dad, and Exxon in general for even thinking of sending him.
“HOW CAN THEY EVEN CONSIDER IT, BUSH COULD ATTACK AT ANYTIME. YOU COULD BE KILLED.”
“I know. Trust me, I know, I have been thinking about this for several days. I don’t want to go anymore than you want me to.”
“THEN DON’T, IT’S A FOOL’S ERRAND.”
“I don’t have any choice, honey…”
“LIKE HELL YOU DON’T, JUST TELL THEM THAT YOU WON’T GO.”
“It’s not that easy, I wish it was, and you know it. Stop and think a moment, see reason will you!”
“I AM SEEING REASON, IT’S YOU THAT’S BEING THE FOOL, WHY CAN’T YOU SEE THAT. BY GOD, YOU COULD BE KILLED!”
“I know! But I have to go, with the economy the way it is right now; I can’t take any chances with my job. You know that. If I got fired imagine what that would do to our life."
“IMAGINE IF YOU GOT KILLED. THE RISK OF YOU GETTING FIRED IS PALTRY IN COMPARISON.”
“ The chances of me being killed are slim, if it looks like things start to heat up then we will just pull out. I have to go, we can’t afford to have me loose my job and if I don’t take this assignment chances are I will.”

Andy never got his mom’s answer to that because he slipped back to his bed, neither had seen him; they were too engrossed in their argument. His mind was blown away at the time, he could not believe that his dad might actually be going to Iraq. He agreed with his mom, only a fool would send people into that country. Wasn’t there some kind of embargo, or sanction against them anyway? They must be doing this illegally. ‘But, you know, anything for the sake of profits, no price was too big to pay in capitalist America,’ he thought bitterly. That had been proven beyond a doubt this summer with all the corporate CEO’s screwing their employees to get rich and make a profit. Sleep had been a long time in coming that night, between his thoughts and the shouts from down the hall, he was held fast to reality. He assumed that his dad had won the argument because he had flown out two days later. His parents had deemed it appropriate not to tell him until the morning before, which had infuriated Andy. This decision was a huge part of his life at the moment, and they hadn’t even given him a say. Not wanting to stir up tender tempers he had kept silent and played at ignorance and shock when they told him. If they had seen through, him they chose not to say anything. Andy tried to live his life normally, trying not to worry about his dad and what could happen. For the most part life had gone on. None of his friends had found out and he had gone to all the social gatherings that came with the season, deftly deflecting questions or comments about his dad. Now he couldn’t wait to see him again in two days. Closing the door behind him, Andy went back into the living room. He set most of the mail on the coffee table, keeping the Christmas card from his dad’s company and the Newsweek. His mom had turned on the radio and was listening to NPR, her favorite station, while she cleaned the bathroom.
“Did I get anything Andy?’
“Nope, just the customary bills and some Spam.”

He didn’t tell her about the Christmas card, not wanting to set her off. He stuck the Newsweek under his arm so that he could open the card. Turning it over he slid his finger under the seal and pulling it across his finger, broke it open. When he got it open he began to wonder if his original assumption had been right, it didn’t look like a Christmas card, it look more like a letter. Shugging, he pulled the paper out and unfolded it, the first thing he saw was that it was printed on the official stationary of Exxon, and it was dated December 22nd. Just the day before. They must have sent it priority mail to get it here this fast. Oh well, his first thought that it had been a card was wrong, they wouldn’t send one on official stationary, but if it wasn’t a card what was it? His curiosity aroused he read further:
Dear Shegon Family,
I am the CEO of Exxon, Brett Dannsion, I wish I could make this easier for you but I can’t. We here at Exxon regret to inform you that in his unceasing service to this company, your father and husband, Scott Shegon was killed. A bomb dropped by an American fighter over Baghdad missed it’s target and struck the hotel Exxon’s representatives were staying in. We are…

The letter slid from numb fingers as Andy fell back onto the couch. The world went silent, and the colors blared as his head swam. Suddenly a voice cut through the haze,
“… I am happy to inform the people of the United States that we have just launched a successful airstrike against Baghdad, there were no American causalities and we caused a great deal of damage…”