Smells Like Christmas

“I want that one!” Twiggy Ramirez demanded at full volume. He and his best friend, Marilyn Manson were in the process of picking out a Christmas tree.
A mother with two young daughters beside her gave Twiggy a dirty look, and hustled her children away from the scene.
“Twigs, that one’s too tall,” Marilyn said calmly, looking over the close to fifteen foot tall tree.
“But, I want that one!” Twiggy insisted, trying to put his arms around a few of the branches.
Marilyn sighed. He had no clue why he’d agreed to get a Christmas tree, or even why he’d told Twiggy that they could celebrate Christmas this year. Perhaps it was the fact that they’d moved into a huge house in Hollywood Hills, and it seemed natural that they should decorate. Everyone else in the neighborhood had put out decorations the day after Thanksgiving. Now, here it was, five days before Christmas, and they were just getting started.
“Is it still a no?” Twiggy asked with his most expressive, darling puppy dog eyes.
“Yes, the answer is still no. I’m sure there’s another tree you can grow to love as much as that one, and it will fit through our front door.”
Twiggy skipped along through the rows of trees, Marilyn dragging behind. It was funny that in public, he acquired more dirty looks for his long hair and mismatched eyes than Twiggy did for being dressed in a red and white striped dress with matching tights. He looked fairly normal in comparison to his candy cane themed friend, but Twiggy looked feminine, so anyone looking at him probably assumed that he was just an odd young woman, which was apparently less scandalous than an odd young man.
The woman with her children scurried on along when she saw Twiggy coming. She was probably afraid that he’d have another outburst, and she was trying to keep her kids on their best behavior. Funny, two small children were better behaved than a grown man. Of course, Twiggy was more like a child than most children were. But, Marilyn loved that about him. He always had a sense of wonder and amazement that was quite endearing.
“Mar-i-lyn!” Twiggy singsonged from a few feet away.
Marilyn hustled to catch up. “What, Twigs?”
“How about this one?”
Now, Marilyn had to assume that he was joking. The tree he was hugging was shorter than him, was sickly scrawny, and was clearly about two days away from death. The bottom branches were all brown, and little naked sticks poked out where lush, full branches should’ve been.
“This one’s small enough. Isn’t it charming?”
“Twiggy, that thing is dead. Just look at it. Find a nice, living one.”
Twiggy shook his head, stomping his combat boot on the ground. “It’s got to be this one.”
“Come on, you can’t be serious.”
“I am! I love this one. It’s even better than the other one!”
Oh, brother. The bassist didn’t appear to being going to budge at all this time.
“Twiggy, come on,” Marilyn grumbled, grabbing him by the arm and towing him along.
While Twiggy whined, he allowed himself to be dragged like a stubborn child.
“There, now, how about that one, hmm?”
Twiggy barely glanced at the tree Marilyn was trying to show him.
“Please, Twiggy? Don’t make a scene.”
With a heavy sigh, the bassist nodded.
“All right. Let’s go pay for this one.”
Releasing his grasp on Twiggy’s arm, Marilyn went to pay for their tree. When he came back, Twiggy had disappeared. He sighed. He knew where he was already.
Sure enough, Twiggy was back at the dying little tree, hugging it as if he could cure it.
“Come on, Twigs. We’re all paid up. Let’s go home and you can decorate the tree.”
“Please, can’t we have this one, too? No one else will love it. They will put it in the chipper. Please?” His eyes were big as saucers. He knew exactly how to get his way with only minimally causing a scene.
“All right. If it will make you happy.”
“Oh, it does!” He was hugging the little tree even tighter.
After loading up the first tree, it became obvious that they couldn’t take both together. There wasn’t room to tie it to the top of the car with the other one.
“We’ll come back,” Marilyn promised.
Twiggy shook his head. “No. I want it now.”
Well, there went that idea. Marilyn had been hoping that he could talk him out of the sickly little tree on the ride home.
“How are we going to get it home, then?”
“The trunk?”
Perhaps. If we folded down the back seat, it might work.
“All right. Come with me, and we’ll pay.”
As soon as Marilyn asked how much for the dying little tree, the salesman gave him a look like he was out of his mind.
“There are much nicer trees, like the other one you bought.”
“Yes, but my friend wants that one. I know it’s probably not going to live to see tomorrow, but you aren’t the one who’s got to go home and live with him.”
The salesman chuckled. “Him?”
“Uh, yeah. I know, everyone always thinks that Twiggy’s a girl if they don‘t know him.”
“Well, I guess it fits. An odd tree for an odd guy.”
Marilyn wanted to laugh, but he was protective of Twiggy, and the comment was kind of mean, in an offhanded way.
“I’ll tell you what. You can just have that tree. I was gonna put it in the chipper tonight, anyway. Merry Christmas.”
“Thank you.”
Gathering up both Twiggy and his tree, Marilyn folded down the back seat, and easily slid the dead looking thing inside.
Twiggy leaned down and kissed a bare branch before he went to get into the passenger seat.
Once they were home, nothing would to but to take Twiggy’s tree in first. They propped it up in an old pot in the kitchen. The ride hadn’t done it any too much good. It was looking even sadder and more sickly than before.
After the big tree was safely inside the living room, Twiggy was digging through all of the decorations he’d bought the day before. Shopping with him was always a challenge, but that particular trip and been a nightmare. He’d wanted to buy the whole department of decorations.
While Marilyn started stringing popcorn for the green tree, Twiggy was hanging little colorful glass balls on his sad little stick. He’d found a pair of garden shears, and was carefully snipping off little places here and there.
An hour later, the tree Marilyn was working on was decked out in red and green lights, popcorn garland, and a few tasteful ornaments. It looked almost professionally done. Twiggy’s tree, on the other hand, was more glass balls and clumps of tinsel than tree.
“Oh, Twigs, that poor little thing…”
“I’m not done!”
“Are you sure?”
He stuck out his tongue.
“Would you like some cider or cocoa?”
“How about some whiskey?”
“All right.”
Drinking didn’t improve the situation. Twiggy was hammered in less than thirty minutes, and swayed over onto the poor little tree twice, trying to string some lights on it. Of course, only Twiggy would decorate and then put on the lights.
“Are you about finished?” Marilyn asked, sitting on the couch and taking a sip of his cider. He wasn’t fond of it, but Twiggy had insisted that they needed holiday beverages the last time they’d been to the grocery store.
“Almost.” He went back to the pile of plastic bags filled with decorations, and pulled out two spray cans.
“Twigs, what is that?”
“You’ll see!”
A minute later, he was hosing the poor thing down with spray flocking. When that can was empty, he started dousing it with the other one.
“Twigs, you’d better not be getting that on the carpet!”
“I’m not.”
Yeah, right. Twiggy never made a mess. It was always his imaginary partner in crime that left things for Marilyn to have to clean up.
Twiggy happily skipped out to the garage. He returned a minute later with another spray can.
“That had better not be paint you’re using in the house.”
“It’s not!”
Marilyn watched as his band mate spritzed the tree all over, and then stood back to admire his work.
“Okay. All done. What do you think?”
The singer wrinkled his nose. “What is that smell?”
Twiggy held up the now empty can of Pine-Sol.
“Twiggy! That’s disinfectant!”
“So? It smells like a tree, doesn’t it?”
“If that sad little thing wasn’t already dead, you’d have just killed it.”
He stuck out his lower lip in a pout. “I don’t have any ‘smells like trees’ spray.”
“Well, it will smell like disinfectant long after it’s good and dead.”
“You’re mean!” Twiggy said, though he was smiling just a bit.
“I know. I’m an ogre,” Marilyn smiled back, as Twiggy sat down beside him. He had to admit, that sad little tree didn’t look half as bad with the decorations and the flocking. If only it didn’t smell like a hospital.
“Do you like it?” Twiggy asked hopefully, gazing at his best friend.
“Sure, Twigs. It’s very nice.”
Twiggy grinned from ear to ear. “Tomorrow we get to decorate the outside of the house!”