The Christmas Present

“Twiggy, calm down!” John 5 laughed, pulling the bassist down by the back of his white fur trimmed green crushed velvet dress.
“But, there are PRESENTS!”
“Yes, and they’re not going anywhere,” John said firmly, shaking his head.
It was 12:01 Christmas morning, and nothing would do but for Twiggy to get everyone out of bed the moment it was Christmas in order to celebrate and open gifts. Actually, it was a miracle in itself that he’d managed to wait until Christmas to open his presents in the first place. Clearly, by the way he was fully dressed and also wearing makeup, he had not been to bed as the others had.
“What’s going on?” Pogo asked tiredly, as he staggered into the living room. He’d been looking forward to a long, peaceful night’s sleep in the biggest guest room.
“It’s Christmas!” Twiggy cheered, squirming out of John’s grasp and diving for the pile of packages on the floor by the tree.
“Oh, boy! Gimme one!” Pogo yelled, diving onto the floor and tackling the bassist.
“Settle down,” Marilyn Manson groaned. He had no idea why he’d ever agreed to any of this. Just because Twiggy had wanted to have a big holiday celebration this year since it was the first year they were living in this amazing house in Hollywood Hills, he hadn’t needed to allow it. But, in the long run, letting Twiggy have his way was probably easier. Otherwise, he’d just whine and make him miserable.
Pogo started picking up packages, tossing them to whoever caught them. He didn’t bother to read the tags, they could sort that out later.
Twiggy was eyeing the biggest box, and was getting ready to throw it when Marilyn took it from his hands, putting it back under the tree. “You’ll break that. Calm down.”
With a sigh, Twiggy sat cross-legged on the floor, looking up at the tree. He’d wanted to decorate it himself, but Marilyn had hired a professional to decorate both the inside and the outside of the house.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Ginger Fish smiled, sitting on the floor beside his band mate.
“Very,” John mused, sitting on the other side of Ginger.
“Marilyn? Come sit with me?” Twiggy murmured, pulling the ribbon off of a package and winding it around his fingers.
Heavily sighing, the singer got down on the floor with the others. Four men in pajamas, one in a dress, all in their twenties, acting like excited children because it was Christmas. Well, one more excited than the others, but still…
Twiggy smiled, taking the ribbon and tying it into a chunk of his best friend’s dyed red hair.
“Thanks, Twiggs,” he sighed, looking helplessly at John.
“Here, Twiggy. Open mine first,” Pogo said, dropping a little package onto his lap.
“No. I want Marilyn to open one first.”
“All right. Here,” John said, handing the front man a red and white striped box with his name on it.
“Here, Twiggs,” Marilyn said, pulling off the red bow and sticking it into the bassist’s hair.
“Yay! Do I look pretty?” He batted his long eyelashes.
“Oh, yes. You look beautiful,” John smiled.
Marilyn finally had the box open, and took out a thick, heavy book.
“That’s from me,” Ginger said quietly.
“Me next!” Twiggy suddenly burst out before they’d even had a chance to see that the book was an illustrated guide of World War II history. He tore open the wrapping, taking out a shot glass with skulls and crossbones painted on. “Cool! Pogs, that’s got to be from you.”
The keyboardist nodded. He was the next to open a package, delighted with a book of Metallica sheet music from Twiggy.
Twenty packages and nine stick on bows hanging out of Twiggy’s hair later, it was time for the big box. It wasn’t the last package, but it was in the way of the few small packages still left.
“You know, we should’ve gotten less stuff. We didn’t all need to get each other something. This is taking forever,” Marilyn sighed, stretching his legs out.
“Don’t be a Scrooge,” Twiggy told him, pulling one of his bows off and sticking it on top of Marilyn’s head.
“Open that big package next,” Ginger said, “I can’t see behind it, but I know three of the ones from me are still here somewhere.”
“Who’s it for?” John asked.
Pogo dragged the thing out from under the tree. “Who else?” He pushed it over in front of Twiggy.
“Me?”
“Yeah. That’s mine,” Marilyn told him, a smirk on his face.
“Did you have to get him something huge?” Ginger wondered aloud.
Twiggy tore into the wrapping, stopping at the big brown cardboard box. He looked expectantly at Marilyn.
“What? You can open it.”
“You said I’d break it.”
“Only if you throw it. Go ahead. It’s fine.”
Slowly, carefully, he got up onto his knees and pulled the tape from the top of the box. He pulled out tissue paper and cardboard bumpers, finally seeing the top. His eyes lit up, and he pulled out a model R2D2.
“You got him a toy?” Pogo laughed.
Marilyn nodded. “It’s a little robot. I mean, it’s real…I mean….” he really didn’t know what to say. He thought the thing was lame, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Twiggy would adore the thing, as he was completely obsessed with Star Wars.
Twiggy’s eyes filled with happy tears, and he lunged at Marilyn, hugging him so tightly that he could hardly breathe. “Thank you! Oh, thank you, Marilyn! I love it!”
“I know, but hey, can you ease up? You’re choking me!”
Quickly, Twiggy let go, hugging his new toy instead.
When they’d finished with their presents, everyone started heading back to bed. Since it was such a big house, everyone had their own rooms to sleep in. Eventually, it was only Marilyn and Twiggy who remained in the living room.
“Twiggs? You going back to bed?”
The bassist shrugged, watching his robot walk across the floor.
“Well, I’m going to. Have fun with your robot.”
He looked up into the singer’s eyes. He hadn’t bothered with contacts at that hour of the night, so for once, he had a matching pair. It made him look much softer and less intimidating.
“What? You look like you’re sad. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just…you got me this amazing present, and I got you…” his eyes shamefully glanced over at the Batman and Spider Man lunchboxes he’d gotten him.
“Don’t be silly. Those are great. At least you didn’t get me that sweater,” he smirked, lifting up the edge of the red wool sweater John had given him.
“At least yours is red. Mine is yellow,” he shuddered. “I’ll look like Big Bird.”
Marilyn laughed. “You should trade with Pogs. He doesn’t like purple.”
“I don’t think John knows us very well.”
“Maybe he’s just not good at shopping. Why would he even get us sweaters?”
“Maybe.”
“You know, I really didn’t want to do this whole Christmas thing, but I’m glad you did. It’s actually been kind of…nice.”
“Yeah. I wish it would snow. Wouldn’t it be fun to build a snowman?”
“That’s kid’s stuff. We’re adults.”
Twiggy nodded as if he understood that it made a difference.
“Anyway, I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Twiggs.”
“Goodnight.” He watched his best friend leave, pulling the ribbon and bow out of his hair, tossing them into the trash can on his way upstairs to the master bedroom.
A few minutes later, Twiggy put his presents neatly back under the tree, and went up the stairs to the bathroom. He took the bows out of his hair, brushed it, took off his makeup, and changed into a nightgown. He opened the door to his room next to Marilyn’s, and walked to his bed. He sat down on the edge, tying his hair back.
“Hey.”
He jumped at the sound of Marilyn’s voice. He hadn’t heard him come in.
“Did I startle you?”
“Just a bit. Come on in.” He crawled under the covers, watching the shadowy figure of his friend come to sit on the foot of the bed.
“I just wanted to tell you that we should do this every year.”
“Really?”
“Sure.”
“Okay.” He snuggled deeper into the blankets, his small body shivering with cold.
“Okay. Goodnight, Twiggy. Merry Christmas.” He stood, looking down in the near darkness at his bassist.
“Merry Christmas, Marilyn.”