The Christmas Letter

AMMC Submission 

Leslie Fulton

eBook: Yes

The Christmas Letter

By Leslie Fulton

It was that time of year again.  The annual Christmas letter extravaganza.  The listing of accomplishments aimed to impress family, friends and neighbours scattered far and wide.  Anna preferred the shock and awe approach.  She liked to leave them gasping with respect and envy.

2013 has been a fabulous year for us.  Lots of travel, of course, to Europe and Asia.  Our best trip was probably Spain where Brian ran with the bulls in Pamplona.  He looked so dashing dressed in white with that red kerchief around his neck.  Brian managed to speed past them all, and was very thankful he wasn’t gored.  It certainly puts the spirit back into your life, he says, and recommends that we all try it.  Maybe next year for the kids and me!

Anna pushed her chair away from the keyboard and sighed.  “What a bunch of utter horseshit,” she muttered to the dog, Peanut, an ancient terrier mix of indeterminate lineage.  “That trip was a nightmare.  Chris got sick and threw up the entire week and Amy tuned out and listened to her iPod when she wasn’t whining about missing her friends.”  Anna picked up a pencil and chewed on the eraser, her brow furrowed in annoyance.  She loathed writing Christmas letters but Brian thought it was important and even made the trip to a special store to buy the cards.  She hated the ones he chose. They always had gold foil inside the envelopes.  The greasy slick taste of the glue made her stomach flip over.

Chris is playing soccer and continues to do well in his studies.  He is having a stellar year and is thinking about his options for college.  We’re hoping he realizes his dream of becoming a doctor like his Granddad or a lawyer like Brian.  Chris is also singing in the church choir and enjoys socializing with his many friends after school.

“Doing God knows what.  I think he’s smoking dope.”  Anna nudged Peanut with her foot.  He groaned in protest and halfheartedly snapped at her ankle.  She noticed she had a hole in the toe of her sock.  “I wonder if I should tell Brian about the porn magazines I found under Chris’ mattress?”  Her son befuddled her.  What had happened to her cheery little guy with the missing baby teeth and the infectious laugh?  Her sweet boy had turned into an incommunicative teen whose ringing cell phone seemed to be the only things that could animate his face. 

Amy is our little angel.  She is a perfectionist in everything she does and has made the cheerleading squad yet again.  She is also teaching ballet to preschoolers and loves them to pieces.  There’s no doubt she’s headed for great things!

Anna was worried about Amy.  She couldn’t remember the last time the girl ate a proper meal.  When she did, it was junk and lots of it.  Anna had found a green garbage bag full of vomit at the back of Amy’s closet last week.  She was drawn to it by the smell – that sickly sweet stench of rotting food and stomach acid.  Amy spent most of her time in her room.  She never came down for dinner anymore.  Neither did Chris, for that matter.  He was out with his friends.  Not the ones from the neighborhood – but the new ones she didn’t know from high school.  Nor did Brian eat at home.  He stayed in the City most evenings, working late.  It was usually Anna all by herself, with Peanut for company, eating Campbell’s Cream of Chicken Soup with a glass of Shiraz and the latest Martha Stewart magazine.

Of course you all remember, Peanut, our dog.  Peanut is doing just fine and loves to chase balls in the park.  He is ever the great companion and I’ll miss him when he’s gone.  He’s 14 now and I dread the day he leaves our family for doggie heaven.

Actually, Anna couldn’t wait.  Peanut was a grouchy, incontinent little shit of a terrierist.  The last time he paid attention to balls, much less retrieved one, was just before his got lopped off by the vet.  Anna begrudgingly fed him his Purina Dog Chow twice a day, only because she was afraid of the consequences if she didn’t.  Peanut was the type of dog who, if you popped off in his presence, would tear out your eyeballs and eat them with glee.  You’d be found by the police with your entrails pulled halfway across the living room floor, the dog in the corner, panting and bloody.  Anna hated Peanut.

And me?  I’m just fine.  Busy, busy, busy.  I can’t even begin to tell you all that I’ve been doing!  Very happy – my family means everything to me – and I am so glad I can stay at home and take care of them.  I consider myself blessed.

Anna snorted derisively.  She took a sip from her teacup, and looked at the clock above her computer, wondering if it were too early for a drink.  It wasn’t quite past 11.  In the morning.  Anna loved her family.  At least she used to.  When Chris and Amy were young and needed her.  When Brian used to come home at 6, his arms full of flowers and groceries, his face alight and happy.  Even the dog was tolerable back then.  At least he didn’t stain the carpet.  Anna often wondered what would’ve happened if she’d kept her job in the City, at least part time.  She had enjoyed working, making her own money, thinking for herself.

Wishing you much joy and happiness for the holiday season  -- from our house to yours during this so very wonderful time of Jesus’ birth.  We can’t wait to hear what has been happening with you and your loved ones and look forward to receiving your letters.  Love always, Anna, Brian, Chris, Amy and Peanut

Anna saved the document and sat back in her chair.  She couldn’t wait to get her first Christmas letter from old college friends and neighbors who had moved away.  Oh, she had learned to read between the lines.  It was a private language she’d mastered, unwillingly, many years ago.   A lexicon that was only spoken – and understood -- once a year.