Christmas in July by Alan Michael Parker

Author:Alan Michael Parker [Parker, Alan Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dzanc Books
Published: 2018-02-15T05:00:00+00:00

Liana is coming over later, my roommate Anders is at work, and I’m playing Minecraft and Christmas is watching. Christmas is thirteen years old; that gets me. I can pretty much remember being thirteen years old, watching my older brother Bruce play Call of Duty before he went off to Iraq and got killed. We were in the playroom, and maybe one of my sisters was there too? Makes sense, but I don’t remember—there was usually a sister around, but maybe not. In my memory, it’s just Bruce.

It’s not a memory I can control.

Christmas says, “Do you have anything to eat?”

“Hold on,” I say. Even though I’m in Survivor mode, and it’s early, I have to pay attention: the Creepers will blow themselves up, and then I’m dead.

She sits on the couch with her legs crossed. She’s been here an hour; she came over just after I woke up. The air conditioning in the apartment’s been struggling, making a puddle on the floor, which I’ve got a towel on, and Christmas and I are both too hot. We’re drinking pop, that helps, but I can’t drink too much pop on an empty stomach, I get the acid.

“I’m hungry,” she says.

“Hold on, hold on.” I use my sword to kill a Creeper. “Bam.” I pause. “I’ll get us a pizza,” I say.

“Pepperoni,” she says.

“Pepperoni’s gross.”

She slaps my shoulder. What a teenager.

Hanging out with Christmas means I have to act like a thirteen-year-old boy, but I also have to treat her like an adult. It’s a challenge.

“No hitting,” I say. “Remember?”

“You’re a dick,” she says. “Pepperoni.”

“You’re a douche,” I say. “Now…who’s the evil genius here?”

Christmas giggles. “You.”

“Right. Don’t you forget it.” I hit her shoulder.

“NO HITTING!”

Christmas likes to sit on my couch with her legs tucked under her, making her tall body short. She never takes off her boots, which bugs me, it’s hot in here. She can sit there for a couple of hours and write in her journal while I play Minecraft, and we don’t have to talk—impressive for a kid, I think. She’s super extra-skinny, scary skinny, and the chemo or whatever has made her hair fall out, I presume, so she wears a purple beanie that says “Meg’s Team.” It’s a dumb beanie, probably from the Salvation Army. That kind of makes the beanie cool, I guess, one of those hats that’s cool because it’s dumb. I never could figure out how to be cool by being dumb, but she’s got some of that happening, even being just a dorky teenager.

I’ve only known Christmas for three weeks, but we’ve spent time together, usually like this, when I get up in the early afternoon and the kid just comes over and hangs out. She writes in her journal and then stuffs it in her dumb purse. It’s happened like four, five times.

Mostly, Liana’s sympathetic, but she’s tough too.

“Be careful,” Liana said last week.

“I’ve never had a little sister,” I said.

“You’re crushing on her, that’s all,” Liana said. She was getting ready to leave.

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