Nanobots, Murder, and Other Family Problems -
Sat 12/24 18:57:06 PST
“So there’s really no Christmas here?” I ask Marc. “Like, there’s no magical transformation that they do while everyone is sleeping where they put up a Christmas tree in the Residence and we all open presents in the morning or something?”
He stops pacing around the common room and looks at me with a mix of incredulity and pity, like I asked him if the tooth fairy were real. “Noah, I hate to have to be the one that tells you this, but there is no Santa.”
I take a deep breath. He means well. I know he does.
“I know that, Marc,” I say slowly. “But lots of people who know that still celebrate Christmas.”
He pauses for a moment. “Oh.” Another long pause. “I get it. You must be one of those people that believes in Jesus. I saw that on some shows. You probably think we need the baby with all the animals and stuff. I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, brother, but the magic baby isn’t real either.”
“Marc,” I say as patiently as I can. “Lots of people that aren’t religious still celebrate Christmas. I mean, I’m as godless as the next heathen, but I’ve had Christmas every year of my life until now.” At least I think I have. That feels right, even if I can’t remember the details of a single one of them. “So I’m just asking if there’s any kind of Christmas surprise waiting for me in the morning, or is tomorrow just another day around here.”
“I think I get it. Like how in the Hillside High Christmas special they all celebrated it, even though only two of them went to church to do it.”
“Sure, yeah, like that. So do we do that here?”
I should have started with Hillside. I realize that now that he’s reminded me of how much he uses it as a reference for the outside world. I throw a reminder into my index entry for Marc to use the show whenever I need to explain anything to him. Of course, now I’ll need to add an entry for that stupid show, since I had completely forgotten that it existed.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Father says religion is just for stupid people. I mean, he doesn’t say it like that, but I’m pretty sure that’s what he means. But anyway, yeah, we don’t do any of the religious holidays they have on the shows.”
No presents then, not that I actually need anything. No Santa for all those little kids. No celebration at all. Nothing. I didn’t really expect anything big. I have Father’s disdain for religion down as part of my index entry for him, but somehow I still figured there would be something.
“So, what’s Christmas really like?” Marc asks, settling into the corner of the couch opposite me. “Does everyone really give each other presents? I mean, you had like a bunch of kids at your school, right? Like more than a hundred? How do you know what to get for everyone?”
Honestly, I’d love to answer him if it meant I could remember any of it. But rack my brain as I might, I can barely coax out a vague memory of Mom and a Christmas tree back home. I think my grandparents were there too at some point. “I guess it’s different for everyone, but I don’t think anyone gets presents for everyone at their school. I think it’s a family and close friends thing for most people.”
Instead of satisfying him, that just sends him into another series of questions that my brain isn’t qualified to answer anymore. I fend them off as best I can and realize how terribly deficient what I have in my database is for any kind of real conversation. My classes have given me a false sense of success since I always know the material in advance so I can prepare. I fake it as best I can, and if Marc notices anything is off he doesn’t show it.
At least I have my weekly call with Grammy and Gramps tomorrow.
Merry Christmas to me.
Merry Christmas to you too, Mom, wherever you are.
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