Play The Field.

Our front lawn was covered in snow, there was mistletoe strung up in the doorways of our house and, while Frank and I sat on the couch watching Rudolph, my mother was baking cookies and singing Christmas carols in the kitchen. The jolly season had come around rather quickly; one moment, we'd been having our holiday assembly, the next it was Christmas Eve. Frank was going to be celebrating Christmas with my family, before his dad picked him up the day afterwards. Technically, he was supposed to be with his mom but Frank had summed the situation up quite well.

"Mommy said she was too busy on Christmas to be with me," he'd told us the previous night while we were eating dinner. Even at a young age, I saw the look my parents had shared briefly before staring into their potatoes. They looked horrified.

"Well, I'm glad your mom was too busy," I told him, leaning off my chair to wrap my arms around his shoulders. "That means you get to open presents with me!" At least that made my parents smile.

On Christmas Eve, my mom would only let us stay up until nine o'clock before ushering us quickly to bed, saying that if we didn't go to sleep, Santa wouldn't give either of us presents. Frank and I tried to go to sleep but everything was just too exciting; after awhile, we gave up the pretense and simply laid there, trying to keep our giggling to a minimum. Despite our best efforts, Gerard had heard us through the wall and, without mincing words, told us to, "please shut the hell up." Naturally, this only made us laugh harder and, when Frank rolled off the bed and hit the floor with a thud, we were practically shrieking with laughter.

However, only seconds later, we both stopped, bodies completely freezing. Both of us had heard the same thing; a thud on the roof above us.

"What was that?" Frank asked, voice barely above a whisper. Even as he asked, we heard more thumps, followed by the sound of jingling bells.

"Its Santa!" I said, reaching down and pulling him back towards the bed. We burrowed ourselves beneath the blankets, deadly serious now. I could actually feel his small body trembling and I grabbed his hand, trying not to betray how scared I was. If Santa knew we were still awake, would he really take back all our presents? Soon, we heard the front door open and I tried to tell myself that it was just my dad going outside for some reason. However, when the footsteps began to come up the stairs, I grabbed Frank tighter, burrowing even further into the blankets. By the time my bedroom door creaked open, we were trembling so badly that I knew Santa could tell that we weren't asleep.

"Well, what do we have here?" Santa's voice was booming, filling the entire room as if it had a physical presence. "Two little boys, sleeping soundly? They'll be getting lots of presents!"

It seemed to take an eternity for the door to creak shut again and I swear that, for those precious seconds that seemed like hours, Frank and I stopped breathing. As soon as we could however, Frank and I threw the blankets off and let out a giant breath. I let out another nervous giggle but when I looked at Frank, I could see from my night light that he wasn't smiling at all. In fact, it looked like he was about to cry.

"Frankie? What's wrong?" I asked, scooting closer to him. He sniffled and wiped his eyes with one tiny fist, swallowing loudly before he spoke.

"Mikey, what if I don't get any presents?" he whispered, staring up at the ceiling. "What if Santa was just saying that to be nice?"

"Why wouldn't you get any presents?" I asked, trying to find a logical explanation for why he would say such a strange thing. My parents had always told me that only children who weren't nice went without presents and Frank was one of the nicest people I knew.

"Because I'm a bad boy." At this point, he was fully crying, tears dripping down his face and onto my blanket. "Mommy tells me that all the time."

If anyone ever tells you that a five year old isn't capable of having a broken heart, know now that they are fucking lying. At that moment in time, I felt more pain than I ever knew existed. When Frank said those words, all I could do was hug him and try to speak through my own tears.

"You're not a bad boy Frankie!" I said, feeling his tears soaking my pajamas. "Your mom is the bad person! I just wish you could live with me instead of her, that stupid... bitch!" The word seemed to hang in the air with a physical presence, polluting my room. However, it made Frank stop crying; the sniffles slowly stopped, even as I was poking my own lips in shock. Had I really just said that?

"Thanks Mikey," Frank finally said, pulling away from my arms. "But you said a bad word." At first, I wasn't sure if he was being serious but then he started to giggle, squirming with laughter. His giggles were contagious; within seconds, we were laughing nearly as hard as we had been previously.

Looking back at my time as a child, I always miss having the ability to get over things so quickly. As a teenager, if your significant other says the wrong thing to you, you can brood about it for days. However, as a child, you can forget anything with a good dose with laughter. It is a quality to be envious of.

"Shut the hell up!" Gerard yelled through the wall, once again. This of course led to my parents yelling at him to go to sleep, which led to more yelling, which just made us laugh even harder. By the time we finally got to sleep an hour later, we had completely forgotten about Frankie's tears.

Or, at least I had.

***

Christmas morning, I woke up to the smell of gingerbread cookies floating into my nose. Beside me, the bed was empty and when I listened closely, I could hear Frank's giggles floating up from downstairs. Within seconds, I flew out of bed and down the stairs into the living room, where Frank was lying on the floor being tickled by Gerard. I hadn't checked the time before I'd come downstairs but looking out the window, I could see that it was still dark outside.

"Mom, what time is it?" I asked, yawning loudly. She was just pulling a fresh sheet of cookies out of the oven and they smelled absolutely delicious.

"Six o'clock," she chirped, sticking her head into the refrigerator. She didn't look or sound tired at all. "As soon as I start this other batch of cookies, you boys will be able to open your presents."

While Mom was handing out our presents, I could see a flicker inside Frank's eyes every time one landed on my lap or beside Gerard; to me, it looked like the look I got when Gerard got more candy than I did on Halloween. However, as soon as my mom sat a small but respectable pile of presents down in front of him, his face lit up with the brightest grin I had ever seen. We barely had time to yell out a collective thank you before the three of us were digging into our presents, sending wrapping paper flying in every which direction. My parents had gotten Frank a new pair of pajamas, a new hoodie (this one was just plain red) and three Star Wars action figures, which he immediately tore into. When I'd gotten my new Transformers ones open with some difficulty, we immediately smashed them together, on a quest to see if Luke Skywalker, Han Solo and Darth Vader were better than Bumblebee, Optimus Prime and Ironhide.

When my father finally got out of bed an hour or so later, he just so happened to catch my mom crossing underneath the mistletoe that was hung in the doorway. My parents weren't hugely affectionate so, to say the least, it was a shock when he grabbed my mom and literally dipped her nearly to the floor. Even though the hugeness of my mom's eyes was hilarious, I couldn't help but crinkle my nose and look away. No matter what age you are, it seems that watching your parents kiss is just plain awkward.

However, when we were called to the table for breakfast, I was treated to yet another surprise. As we crossed over the threshold, Frank leaned over and pecked my cheek ever so softly. For a few moments, I wasn't even sure if he had kissed me; his lips had been that fleeting. However, when I looked over at him, eyes nearly as wide as my mom's had been, he was blushing scarlet. I could feel my own cheeks grow hotter.

"Merry Christmas Mikey," he said, biting his lip.

"Merry Christmas Frankie," I managed to say before returning the favour, which sent both of us into giggles.

To this day, that is not only the best Christmas I've ever had but one of the best days of my life. Lord knows that it was the last perfect day Frank and I would have for two more years.