All Is Calm, All Is Bright

Lying around my sleeping, half-naked girlfriend’s feet were fallen, cool-colored Christmas ornaments in various sizes. They decorated her body like some sort of horizontal tree, their soft hues contrasting with the sharp orange of her hair that fanned out on the hardwood floor like a group of frozen flames. Leslie was wearing nothing but pink underwear and one of those slouch-y, off-the-shoulder shirts with a sports bra underneath.

Lying entangled in my sleeping, half-naked girlfriend’s arms was another guy, who was completely naked.

When I realized that it was my best friend Chris, the bulging plastic shopping bag hanging from my curled fingertips dropped to the floor with a dull thunk. A carton of eggnog tipped over, crushing flat a bloodred leaf of the small poinsettia I’d purchased for decorative purposes. Mostly, I just stared. My eyes traced an increasingly devastating trail down the hall—which was littered with ornaments and garland—and past Chris’s clothes scattered haphazardly on the stairs and into the living room, the entrance of which was blocked by the Christmas tree that now lay on its side.

There was a used condom next to my foot, I noticed.

I didn’t know why it took me so long to put the pieces together. They’d both been distant lately. Both ignored my calls or made up obviously fake excuses as to why they couldn’t hang out with me. I’d figured they were both just busy. Leslie was going to school at crazy hours to get a degree in Web Design, and Chris, who’d gotten into college on the strength of his athletics, was almost always in some type of practice. I’d made sacrifices. I’d eaten way too many Hot Pocket dinners alone in the apartment Leslie and I shared, thinking that once things had died down, someone would have time for me again. But apparently, they only had time for each other.

My mind raced. Leslie and Chris. Kissing. Touching. Groping. Half-naked. Naked. Fucking like rabbits on the hardwood I’d paid for with six months of my GameStop salary.

I could picture Leslie giggling as Chris pressed kisses into the hollow at the base of her throat and saying, “Let’s be quick. We have to clean this up before Avery gets back.”

I could picture Chris guffawing in that dumbass way of his when they knocked over the Christmas tree on accident.

I could picture the exact moment they got bored of waiting for me to get off work, locked eyes across the coffee table, and decided that giving into their lust would be the best way to pass the time.

Sudden fury roared through me. It crescendoed and towered over itself so many times that before I knew it, I had kicked the carton of eggnog clear across the room and stomped the poinsettia to bits. I knew it had made significant noise, yet neither Chris nor Leslie stirred.

I gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Must have been some damn good sex, then. Couldn’t even make it to a bed; can’t even hear Avery when he’s having a mental breakdown and kicking shit across the room. Great. Awesome. Fan-fucking-tastic.”

Sometime during all that sarcastic mumbling, I realized that I’d started crying. I felt the evidence sliding in wet tracks down my cheeks and violently wiped myself dry with my shirt sleeve.

“Get a hold of yourself, Avery.” I stepped on the poinsettia as I walked away from the scene that ruined my life and headed for the kitchen. “There’s got to be a more logical way to handle this.”

I gripped the sides of the kitchen island.

Do not cry. You are a twenty-year-old male. You are not a pussy. You do not cry.

I cried anyway.

And then I got angry at myself for it, and swung my arm violently across the island’s surface. A roll of paper towels, a stack of girly magazines, and ingredients for several types of holiday cookies clattered to the floor.

It was then that my eyes fell on the alcohol. Two bottles of whiskey, to be more precise. My crazy Uncle Dennis had sent them over a few days ago and I’d never found them particularly appealing until now. Things changed, then. I was so angry that nothing seemed real. It became almost as if I wasn’t aware of myself, like I was watching myself go through the motions of executing whatever heinous seed of a plan that had been hatched in the most twisted corner of my mind. I walked over to the whiskey and uncorked both bottles. I returned to where Leslie and Chris lay in the middle of the hallway and upended both bottles over their sex-paralyzed forms.

I heard confused noises, and I knew they were stirring, but I turned my back on them and grabbed the firestarter that we kept on top of the refrigerator. When I looked around the corner, Leslie was stretching, her eyes still closed, her foot pushing away a large blue ornament. Chris was still sleeping like the dead. I felt my mouth pull up at the corners, felt my face twitch, felt my hands shake as I clicked the firestarter into action. Once a baby flame was glowing at the device’s tip, I crouched down and touched the fire to Leslie’s foot.

I ran for the door after that. I didn’t need to stay and see the results of my own temporary break from sanity—the screams were assurance enough. I dropped the firestarter and fled from the apartment like the fire I’d just started was that of the very outskirts of Hell, chasing after me to reprimand me for being such an apparently unappealing boyfriend. I shut the door, stuffed my hands into my pockets, and headed out onto the streets of Winter Park.

There was a group of middle school kids and a chorus teacher wandering around the neighborhood, offering up Christmas carols at every residence. They were singing ‘Silent Night’, and as they reached the end of the first verse, I couldn’t help but glance back at the flames now licking at the window of my apartment. That demented smile from earlier returned to my face.

I casually strolled by the carolers as I made my escape, listening with sick pleasure to their last few, crisp notes.

Sleep in heavenly peace!

Sleep in heavenly peace.