Quote:
There’s a particularly cheesy looking section of the carnival that you happen to pass by, requesting you take one of the provided slips of colored paper and write down a favorite holiday memory and pin it to the excessively large festively decorated tree stationed in the corner, near the children’s play area. Maybe you’re feeling nostalgic, maybe you’re doing it to humor a companion but for whatever reason, you find yourself jotting down a memory. Regardless of whether or not the memory you've written down is true, you find yourself dreaming of this memory in your sleep that evening, very vividly. Maybe you're reliving the memory, maybe you're standing in the background and watching it all unfold. Maybe this fabricated memory has you regretting writing down anything at all, as you experience this for yourself. Either way, guess it was on your mind for longer than you thought!
Crowds and lines were never some of Reid Cho Covey's favorite things to begin with but adding in the cold factor was quickly moving those negative things up in the mental ranking he held for Things Reid Doesn't Like. It was a fairly large list with things constantly finding themselves added onto it. People chewing gum loudly. Foot tapping, at least to a non-rhythmic beat. Smelly people in adjacent seats on the bus.
Yet, while his list continued to add several new things onto it that day alone (like people hurling snowballs randomly while there were innocent bystanders milling around or shoppers talking loudly with their gaggle of friends about how much money they dropped on frivolous, unnecessary things), he still was ready to subject himself to at least another hour of voluntary torture... if anything, for the sweet little woman whose hands were tightly wrapped around the arm of his jacket.
"You can have my jacket if you're cold, Umma."
The older woman clucked her tongue and shook her head, one hand freeing itself to dismiss the idea as preposterous before returning to the clinging she happily continued to do onto her son. Reid didn't mind - he quietly enjoyed feeling needed, of knowing his mother was pleased and enjoying herself as she ambled slowly around the carnival with her only child. It wasn't very often that he got to treat his mother to fun things - money was tight, always, frustratingly tight - so now that he had an opportunity to do so, he was going to make it last as long as she wanted it to last.
Even if it meant adding on things to his Do Not Like list.
As they passed by an ornament decorating booth (one would actually need a decently sized tree to be able to decorate it accordingly - something the Coveys failed to have, unfortunately), he felt an insistent tug on his sleeve that had his dark head turning. Blue eyes followed where the older, weathered hand was pointing and he followed her obediently, ever the dutiful child.
She chattered in her native tongue and he nodded his head as she praised the size of the large tree, eager to inspect the odd looking slips of paper folded and pinned up onto the large, healthy looking branches. A few heads turned to glance in their direction at hearing unfamiliar words but most everyone was too busy scribbling on their own papers to pay the new duo any mind.
Reid felt a pang of jealousy that the carnival could afford such an elaborate tree for something as dumb as pinning paper onto it. The tree the Coveys had used for years had been forced into retirement as the middle section of the fake spruce had finally snapped. It was overdue to happen - a tree found in the depths of the clearance section, missing several branches and needles when it was initially bought. Rough handling and poor storage had cost it even more branches and greenery over the years and this was the first year that they were without a tree. He'd offered to pick up extra work to afford one but his mother had told him she was pleased with the remaining decorations they still had, having planted them all over various parts of the house.
He'd save up and buy a better one, a new one, next Christmas. He swore up and down right then and there that he was going to make it happen and he'd get one that would have Umma just as excited as she was now.
His attention snapped back into focus as he felt a piece of paper being slid into his hand. It was canary yellow in color while his mother held on to a cherry red, soon forcing a pen in between Reid's fingers as she took to her own.
"What is this for?"
She let out a soft sigh -- clearly she had already explained it once, while he'd zoned out. Reid had sense enough to look sheepish when he realized it but Umma, always the patient mother that she was, went back into detail about how the carnival asked for people to write their favorite memory on the paper and then pin it to the tree.
Reid thought it was a dumb idea to begin with and a clear waste of time but his mother was already busily writing out her own memory onto the paper and he wasn't about to burst his favorite lady's bubble, not when she was so excited over such a simple thing.
Hell, at least it was free.
It took Reid longer than he'd like to admit to come up with a happy holiday memory. Most of his holidays involved some form of taint thanks to him, making it difficult to recall a time that was purely a happy one and not one that inevitably soured with a fight or drunken comment.
Scribbling something down, he hastily folded the paper up and handed it to his Umma, who all-too happily made her way through the collection of people around the tree so she could pin their memories up onto two of the closer branches.
~
He hadn't remembered falling asleep as he lay in bed but as his eyes opened and he saw the living room, circa early 2000's, Reid knew he had to have been dreaming. His mother breezed by in one of her floral dresses, the hint of a bruise peeking out from the back of her leg and shoulder. He frowned at that but the gleeful hand clapping of a smaller being nearby had him blessedly distracted from obvious signs a younger, more innocent version of himself would be unaware of.
A small Reid was busy playing with one of the round, ball shaped ornaments as grubby little thumbs moved over the surface. The ball had lost some of its shine but the child didn't seem to mind, fascinated with the odd, warped reflection of himself staring back as he offered the ornament mirror image a grin, showing off the missing spot where a tooth had fallen out a little too early.
"If you keep playing with them, eolin-i, the tree will never get decorated."
The playful tease had him finally glancing away from his makeshift toy, offering an even wider grin to his mother, who knelt down to gently collect the red ornament from his hands. Fastening a hook to the top, she was careful and deliberate in deciding the right place for it to go on the humble looking Christmas tree. Little Reid didn't seem to notice the empty patches where branches should have been or how thin the lingering ones were but adult Reid, invisible in the background of his own dream, had an appreciation for how his Umma managed to make it look like an actual, almost respectable tree with the way she was arranging their handful of decorations.
"Are you ready to put the angel on top, my love?"
Shaggy brown hair bobbed up and down excitedly as the skinny child scrambled to his feet, almost bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as he watched his mother move to pull out the old, fragile looking angel from her box. Her dress was lined with lace and her hair was a chestnut brown, a warm smile painted on her mouth that always brought a smile to Reid's face when he greeted her every year.
"Hallo, angel."
His Umma stooped down to pluck him up, raising him the extra two feet it would take for him to lean forward and settle the angel's gown over the top of the tree. With a little expertise from Umma, the angel soon found her home on top, beaming down with her warm smile for all of the room to see.
"There. Perfect job, eolin-i."
Both little and adult Reid beamed at that, proud of their accomplishment. The smaller version received a kiss on his cheek as a reward, small arms moving to wrap around his mother's neck into a grateful, happy little hug.
"Santa will come this year, right Umma?"
The hopefulness in his voice was almost painful to hear from his own ears, the words this year resurfacing the memory of the previous year where Reid had awoken to a drunken stepfather, passed out by the tree with no presents in sight for the heartbroken little boy.
"She will make sure to tell Santa of the good little boy who lives here," she replied softly, gesturing up to the angel as she rocked back and forth, cradling her heart. One hand moved up to sweep through the tangled mass of wavy brown hair, the gentle smile reassuring the worried child.
Moving towards the open recliner, adult Reid's smile faded a small bit, knowing the happy moment would eventually, inevitably be shattered by something unpleasing. More than likely around the time the bar closed --- but in the meantime, however, he'd simply peek in on this happy memory and enjoy it for what it was... at least until he woke up, of course.
