Christmas 2008: Josh

[Feuerstein]

At 6:32, December 24th, Josh took a seat in front of the piano in the music room and started playing “O Holy Night” in key of Ab major. Each Christmas at his parents’ annual holiday party, someone would badger him into playing a whole roll of Christmas carols. He’d oblige, of course, because his parents would be fit to be tied if he refused, and besides, he liked playing the piano. He even liked the carols, though the lyrics didn’t mean anything to him.

This Christmas was no different. He was at the piano, starting off his recital with his usual song. There were only two anomalies. One, Aunt Ramona wasn’t beside him singing the lyrics in her prim, operatic voice. Two, he was completely alone in the music room.

He hadn’t thought the emptiness would both him. He played music by himself all the time. Yet, somehow, the carols themselves felt empty. As he plunked out each note on ivory keys, they rang spiritless and lonely.

Nostalgia was… something new to him.

Heck, he told himself, this is the first year Bing Crosby isn’t crooning “White Christmas” over and over again, since it was his mother’s favorite Christmas song and she’d put it on repeat. This was the first year random relatives he only saw on Christmas wouldn’t show up to pretend to be interested in his schooling, his future, his social life. The first year his father wouldn’t down eggnog until he was pink in face. He should be grateful – this was a reprieve.

Outside, the courtyard was covered in a blanket of driven snow that had fallen days earlier. Though the snow had barely melted, it was old and spotted with dark mud and sludge. In the morning, he’d taken a walk through the banks, enjoying the contrasting feeling of the warm sun and cold air on his skin, breathing the crisp air. Alone.

In the afternoon, he’d emailed Rachel. Rather, he’d started to email her, but didn’t end up sending the message when he couldn’t think of anything to say past, “Hey babe. Miss you. Hope you’re having fun.” It wasn’t that he couldn’t come up with anything to tell her about the break, the others stuck at the university, even what had been on South Park last night. But when he went to type, he couldn’t stand how hollow his words seemed. A fake cheer. Because he wanted to be with her, he wanted to spend Christmas with her, he didn’t want to monologue about pointless nonsense, which would only prove he was indeed lonely.

Would she be surprised if she knew how much he was suddenly wishing she were here, enjoying the holiday with him? He certainly was. Did he really miss having a… “proper” Christmas? On his first day at Xavier U., he’d told his new classmates that he hated Christmas, that it was just another over-commercialized attempt by various industries to leech off the consmers. That his family barely even celebrated. That much was true – beyond the one family gathering, his family didn’t do anything for the holidays. On Christmas day, his brothers and he found presents under the false tree, opened them without any ceremony, and that was that. By the time Josh was nine, his parents didn’t even bother waking up to join them. He had never believed in Santa Claus.

He finished the first song and moved on to the second, which was “It Came Upon A Midnight Clear.” He played the first few bars, then broke off abruptly. Happy – joyful. This song was joyful. And he didn’t have that energy.

So, for the first Christmas since he was ten, Josh pushed away from the piano after just one song, and crept out of the music room silently, though the hall was deserted and why would he be worried about anyone spotting him anyway?

Josh looked at the clock in the hall, wondering what Rachel was up to. He refused to wonder what his parents were doing, or his brother Justin. It was Christmas Eve, but it was still just another evening. Nothing special about it.

He wasn’t lonely.

But… he was hungry.

The kitchen looked deserted. (Not that he cared that he’d be eating alone.) The fridge was probably bare, raided by festive students earlier in the day. Josh shrugged on his winter coat, pulled a knit New York Yankees hat over his blonde hair, and trudged out into the New York night. He intended to have a hearty dinner and then drink until he vomited it all up. The very idea of spending Christmas that way was enough to make him puke.

But there wasn’t anything else for it.

[Edited on 11-11-07 by Feuerstein]

[tears~fall~like~glass]

awwww...poor Josh

but awesome job! moar!

[Slarti]

Aww, I'll second the poor Josh! I feel for the little snot.

Beautifully written, Feuer!

[Feuerstein]

Weeell, I got a little ficcing done. I ripped off Mooch's fav bands from my friend's playlist, it was coincidence Paramore happened to be among them. The UConn comments are making light fun of some buddies of mine. Joshy gets shipped off to the snowy slops of Connecticut, because yes I am that homesick.

Josh trudged onto the late night Metro-North train and plopped down on one of the tacky bright orange seats. He clutched a syrafoam mug in his hands, moist heat spreading through his palms. Gingerly he sipped the too hot Earl Grey tea as his eyes darted around the car, thankfully close to empty.

“Southeast train to Grand Central, now departing,” sounded a woman’s voice, far too cheerful for the hour, from an unseen speaker.

Josh folded his arms over his chest, a head-banging song from Rachel’s Nightmare Academy CD (aptly named “See You in Hell”) crashing in his ears. For once he was grateful for the wild beat and occasional screaming, as it was keeping him awake. He’d slept through his stop before and didn’t relish the idea of going through all that again. He really could use the nap, though. He'd been going nonstop all day on nothing more than a bagel and a regularly refilled thermos of coffee.

---earlier---

Eight a.m. that morning, Josh caught a train from White Plains directly into Putnam County, where he met up with his high school friend, Lawrence “Mooch” Alessio, by the ticket kiosk. Mooch, an undergrad at the University of Connecticut in Storrs, had driven out with a group of buddies to meet Josh and head off to ski in Cornwall, CT. The whole trip for both sides was absurdly long, and the UConn students certainly could have found somewhere closer to campus to hit the slopes, but Mowhawk Moutain in Cornwall had been picked for its convenient location to Josh’s stop on the railroad.

Mooch and Josh went way back – they’d even started a truly terrible band that consisted of Josh trying to figure out the keyboard, Mooch plucking the life out of his dad’s Les Paul, Daniel Fisher banging away on Mooch’s drum set, and Sean Gregory making up lyrics as he shrieked into the microphone. Josh hated the music, and wasn’t familiar with the keyboard, but he bore with it because he liked hanging with his friends. The band dissolved after only a few months, because Mooch kept getting grounded for talking back to his stepdad and Sean got bogged down fulfilling the 80 community service hours he needed to be confirmed at St. Margeurite’s. Josh couldn’t claim to be sorry.

Mooch had apparently kept up with his guitar playing and, though his major at UConn was biomedical engineering, still dreamed of producing his own CD one day. The first thing he asked Josh as they crammed into fellow UConn freshie Ben Neuman’s plum-colored minivan was if he still played piano.

Josh was trying to shake hands with both of the other two boys in the backseat (ostensibly named “Big Foot” and “Vlad, as in the Impaler,” but were really Nick Richards and Alex Suarez), and had to think for a moment to process what Mooch had asked. “Uh, yeah, I get to play once in a while,” he replied as he rubbed his hand, which “Vlad” had tried to wrench off.

“Where you at again? Xavier U., was it?” Mooch asked.

“Yeah.”

“The chicks like musicians up there?”

Josh laughed. “No more than at your school, I’d bet.”

“You kidding?” Mooch stared at Josh with his eyes bugging out and his mouth open, making him look like some kind of slack-jawed fish. “Girls at UConn don’t know what music is, dude! They’re into all these weird steel drum and big band stuff… you’d think they’d never heard of Foo Fighters, Creed, Sting, Paramore –”

“Paramore?” Josh interrupted. “My girlfriend likes that group.”

Mooch slapped the back of the seat. “See what I’m saying? New York girls know what’s what in music.”

“Shut your trap, Mooch,” Josh grinned as he slumped back in the seat.

“Yo, Benny! Tunes, man, we need tunes!”

“He talk like that when you two went to school in Queens?” Ben asked Josh from the driver’s seat. "Mooch, quit your jawing and grab me the map," he added as he obliged Mooch and turned on the radio. Immediately they were hugged by the melancholy intro to Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 1.

The others groaned in protest, while Mooch nudged Josh in the ribs. “You jinxed us, man!”

“What?” Josh exclaimed innocently. “It could be worse! It could be Madrigal singers!”

“The heck is that?”

This was going to be fun.

[tears~fall~like~glass]

hehehe! nice to know Josh tortures everyone else too

and technically, Rae is the girl from Paramore

[fourpawsonthefloor]

awww, that's awesome! I missed the first post. Great work feuer!