Not Another Christmas Romance PT 1

*For my cousin Jennifer and everyone else who loves a cheesy Christmas romance.  


It's hard to believe that my life started seven years ago. Seven years ago, when everything that I knew and loved about it left town. In order to tell you how I got here, we have to go back there. To 2009. This should be quick and relatively painless. If you aren't me at least. 

2009--

The clock turned six a.m. and the music started. “I'll Be Home For Christmas” by The Carpenters. I reached out for...I'm not going to say his name because on this day he had only been gone for six weeks. My voice would still catch if I said his name. He was “My Ex” for the first three months. Six months on birthdays, anniversaries, and other days that we had considered important as a couple.

“I wonder what would happen if I left a note at the radio station asking them to only play this song between the hours of 8 am and 6 pm.”

“They would think that it was a joke and probably play it anytime except between 8 am and 6 pm.”

I glared at my brother as he stood in my bedroom doorway.

“Hey, it's a small town. They have to find their entertainment some place.”

“What are you doing here Ben? How did you get in?”

Ben threw the spare key at me that I keep at my parent's place.

“Dad sent me. We are to pack up the dipshit's...shit.”

“Don't call him that.”

“He didn't know what he had and he broke my sister's heart. He's a dipshit.” Ben held up a box. “What room should I start in?”

“None of them.”

“Carrie...you don't think that he might come back, do you?”
“It's Christmas. People see the errors of their ways and do wonderful things at Christmas. Besides it's only been six weeks.”

“He isn't coming back.”

“You never know. Zelda read my tea leaves and she said...”

Ben shook his head, “He isn't coming back.”

“I know that tea leaves are silly and something that should only be read for fun.” A newspaper landed on the bed in front of me.

“He isn't coming back.”

I looked down at the newspaper. A wedding announcement taking up a whole quarter of a page verified what my brother was saying. The dipshit was smiling at me plain as day cuddling his new wife.

“How long does it take to plan a wedding?” Ben asked.

“A quick one that's still nice? At least six weeks. He walked out of my house and proposed to her.”

“Probably the same day.” Ben said. “So. Which room should I start in?”

“Start in here, with the random clothes he left behind.” I answered as I got out of bed. “I'll make you some breakfast.”

“I already ate Sis.”

“Just coffee?”

Ben nodded.

“Coffee will help me think. I have to figure out what to do with the stuff once it's been packed.”

“It's okay. I've got it covered.”

My eyes teared up and my voice cracked a little. “Thanks Ben.”

“It's no problem Carebear. I'll just drop it off to his Mom on the way home. She works at the homeless shelter.”

I was on my way out of the room when I heard Ben whisper.
 “This box can sit next to the other donations.” 

The 2010 incident came and went a lot more quietly. The alarm went off, the song played, I threw a pillow at it, cried in my other pillow for the rest of the song, ate cookies for breakfast, took a shower, and moved on with my day.

When 2011 came I was over What's His Name. The song played. I listened quietly and lingered in bed as a new day began. I marveled at my lack of sadness upon hearing the tune, my growth, my inner strength. I remember smiling. The words “It's a sign” crossed my lips. I basked in my new found contentment.

In 2012, I woke to “I'll Be Home For Christmas,” knowing that nothing had changed and any signs from last year had been meant for someone else. It was all a huge load of crap and I was not listening to the damn song next year. I would definitely be writing that letter to the radio station.

In 2013 the radio station played “I'll Be Home For Christmas,” by the Carpenters. All The Time. If they had three minutes and fifty seconds that they did not know what to do with they played the song. I sent the letter and just as Ben predicted, they took my request and ran with it. Assholes. I was not listening to that damn song again. Next year...I would be ready.

I was. 2014 dawned sunny and bright, one December morning they played the song. I took aim. Unfortunately I don't know much about firearms. I stopped the music when I took out the alarm clock. I also took out the wall behind it. I was thrown back against my headboard which hit the wall behind it too hard. The headboard became one with the drywall. I bruised my shoulder pretty good too. Never ask a little old lady if you can borrow a firearm. Little old ladies tend to carry more firepower than they will ever need.

“Mom wonders why men don't ask you out.” Ben said as he grinned from the doorway to my bedroom.

Word got around about the incident. How could it not? “I'll Be Home For Christmas” was not played again in 2014.

The first time I heard it in 2015 the day had dawned...it was well before dawn actually. I woke to the feeling of something sharp puncturing my toe. I moved a little bit, pulling my foot out of target range, which only hastened the assault. It quickly turned into a game. Two fully armed attackers against one half-asleep human. The kittens that I had adopted a few months before decided that it was time to get up. It was a joy to wake to such sweet faces. I laughed so much during our game that I barely noticed the music.

Song morning started abruptly in 2016. I was lingering in bed, mentally laughing at how much I used to hate “I'll Be Home For Christmas”.

Whoosh. Next came the sound of tinkling glass. I know that sound. “The Tree.” I raced out of bed to find the kitten standing on the tree looking triumphant, proud of her new kill. The tree had been subdued and was now laying on its side.

“Down.” I said, clapping my hands and chasing her away. “Nothing is broken.” I said to myself as I put the tree back in an upright position. It was still dark. I took a look at the clock. Five-Thirty? “Five-thirty? Really kitty?” All three cats lined up and listened to me for a moment. Soon they lost interest and began racing through the house, jumping across furniture, using the back of the couch to ricochet off of for their zero point turn, rustling the Christmas tree's branches but never touching it. “I'll make some coffee. There's no sleeping through the ruckus you three are making. Just remember that it is Sunday. I am home today. When you go to sleep I will be waking you up...every chance I get.” All three cats stopped in front of me. They looked at me, looked at each other, and took off again at a full sprint.

I heard the sound of something being knocked over in another room of the house. “I heard that. Leave that alone. It's not yours!”

As it turned out the source of the noise was not feline. Ben walked into the kitchen as I was nodding off, waiting for my brew. “It's like you have kids not cats Sis.”

“I haven't lost it completely. I'm not like Aunt Ethel with her 15 house cats.”

“Talking to cats like they’re kids? I hate to tell you this Carrie but you passed up Aunt Ethel months ago.”

I glared at my brother.

“What are you doing here?”

“I bought something for Tiffany. Can I hide it here?” He asked.

I nodded. “Remember the rules.”

“Wrap it first. Hide it yourself or we may never see it again.” Ben pulled a small rectangular wrapped box from his pocket and started looking around.

“Keep it out of the cats' reach. They know how to unwrap presents.” I called after him.