Thursday, December 19, 2013

A Holiday, Here and Now (A Christmas Story for y'all)


If you didn't know any better, you’d think that Millie Wong was particularly attractive to curbs. Whenever she crossed the street, whatever curb was there would stop what it was doing to catch her toe or heel, tripping her a couple of involuntary steps left or right.
Actually, Millie liked to have something attracted to her—even a curb. She felt unnoticed and oblivious to huge swaths of day or week, or season. Life wasn’t merely passing her by; existence seemed to waltz through her, often leaving her with no trace, no place, no idea of how she got from car to home to New Years once again.
Days, celebrations, stock market crashes, Rose Parades… They seemed to transpire with her without her, or whatever. Even something as political or personal as her own transition didn’t seem as definite, as real as the transitions she kept hearing about.  Her path was less of a roadmap, and more like crossing a street, catching a curb, and stumbling two feet somewhere else.
Somehow, on her way to womanhood, Millie had blundered through mascara-tinged drinking binges, well-meaning crossdresser support groups, lesbian goth catfights, some guy who sprinkled cocaine on his penis, and farmer’s markets with parsnips and a poofy loaf of sweet bread.  One night, Millie walked into a Denny’s with a handful of semen and a twenty-dollar bill. And she still wasn’t quite sure of where she had been or where she was going.

What might it mean to know one’s here and now? To be sure of one’s form, substance, location? Millie knew this was a stupid question, but it was a stupid that always seemed just a little smarter than she was, and even a confused Millie didn't like feeling stupid. So she usually tried to accept, even be grateful, for the clueless grey zones in her life.
Sometimes, such gratitude was easy. Like in November, the month where some genius placed the Transgender Day of Remembrance just a few days before Thanksgiving, forever mixing names of the dead with turkey gravy, murder rates and uncontrollable crying with pumpkin pie and Mrs Cubbison’s corn bread stuffing into one tragic, mouthwatering trannygiving mess of a month that she wanted no part of.

And yet, November would pass and here was December, and it was a particularly beautiful day, and she remembered that December was not November because December was Christmas and Christmas something she depended on every year. Christmas was reality on steroids—the lights were lightier, the songs songier, the stores even more open and welcoming than they had been all year.
 Christmas helped remind her that she was alive, a part of the world, even if she owed most of that belonging to Black Friday, Cyber Monday, extended mall hours, and the holiday Bed, Bath, and Beyond flyer she found in her mail.
Which must have been why she was at the Bed, Bath and Beyond today with an ad for a toaster oven.


***

“I’m sorry, that item’s not in stock,” the woman said.
“Oh… Well I’ll just order it online.” Millie started turning away.
“If you order here in the store, you can get free shipping, and you can use your coupon! The post office will deliver it to your door, free of charge!”
Without giving her pause to reply, the woman grabbed her arm and led Millie to another woman by a computer station.
“Nicole will help you, dear!” she said before she waved and disappeared into the festive rows of helpful household appliances.
Nicole, however, did not seem like she was going to be helping Millie any time soon. She was assisting a customer in stylish, yet sensible shoes, who insisted that Bed, Bath, and Beyond should be selling acrylic martini glasses throughout the year.

“ I don't care if it IS December,” the customer said. “I sit outside in my backyard all year round. It’s what we DO in California. Why live here if you don't sit out and enjoy the weather in December?”
Nicole tapped on the keyboard, “Yes, of course, that’s a very good point. I’ll make sure to let the managers know that we should have acrylic stemware available all year round.”
The customer shrugged. “Of course you should. It’s California, right?”
“I go to the beach in December, and send pictures to my friends on the East Coast,” Millie blurted.
The customer spun to face her.
“Exactly! It’s part of what makes winter so much fun! The rest of the country is buried in snow, while we’re outside having lazy afternoon drinks.”
Millie nodded.

Nicole stopped typing and exhaled. “O-kay. Your stemware is on its way, Mrs. Reese. Now what else do you have?”
Millie noticed the stack of 20% off coupons remaining in the customer’s hand.
Mrs. Reese pulled out her next coupon and guided Nicole through the next transaction.
“…and this goes to my Nephew Steven. We haven’t spoken all year.”
As Mrs. Reese continued, Millie stared out past her and Nicole, at the instant mini donut fryers, and double-walled plastic tumblers. She smelled the holiday-scented candles, the crisp, reassuring carpet cleaners, and inviting floor wax. The aisles were magnificently accented with snowflakes and lights and ribbons. And on them were the Nickel-plated Kitchen Aids, the sleek Keurig coffee machines, the bright green and red silicone pot holders, spatulas and muffin trays.  

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll love this. It’s really a beautiful picture frame.”
“I was thinking about getting her a Tempur-Pedic pillow, but I’m not sure if she sleeps on her back or her side.”
Nicole looked behind Mrs. Reese and noticed Millie was still waiting.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!”
“No worries, it’s all good.” Millie smiled and gave a little thumbs up.
“It really is a nice picture frame,” she added.
Mrs. Reese nodded, and one-by-one they continued through her shopping list, from the vanilla-scented flameless candles to the portable vacuum cleaner (with pet hair attachment), to the Calphalon nonstick twin pack (an especially good deal).
Finally, Nicole finished her last entry.
“There you go, Mrs, Reese, and I’ve applied all your 20% off coupons.”
“And everything is being shipped?”
“Absolutely. No charge!”
“Thank you so much,” Mrs Reese said, and as she walked past, she put her hand on Millie’s shoulder.
“And thank you, dear, for being from California.”

Nicole looked at Millie, sighed, and clasped her hands.
“I’m so sorry for the wait. Thank you so much for being so patient!”
“Oh gosh, it’s Christmas!”
Nicole stopped, and Millie suddenly wondered if she should have said “Happy Holidays” instead. Could “Nicole” be a Jewish name?
But Nicole giggled. “Yes it is. And it’s been crazy! Thanks again for understanding.”
“Gosh, thanks for being so cheerful.”
What are you buying dear?”
“A toaster oven. Here’s the model number.”
Nicole pulled up the toaster ovens on her screen. She frowned. “We don't seem to have that one.
“But this Oster looks great,” she ventured.
“It has to be Cuisinart,” Millie said. “She really likes her Cuisinart.”
“Oh… Wait a minute—is this one it?”
“Yes!”
“Perfect—we just had the numbers mixed up. No problem! And yes, we do have it online, and if we ship it today, you’ll have it before Christmas.”
“Gosh, thank you! It’s not really a Christmas gift. I put meat dumplings in my girlfriend’s toaster oven by mistake, and they burned, and she’s, well, Jewish and uh… vegan… So she can't use it anymore”
Nicole sighed.
“I get it. My wife is vegan, too.”

“Okay, all we need is your credit card and ID.”
Millie froze.  Crap! How could she be so stupid! This wasn’t a debit card purchase. And her ID still said “Victor Wong.”
“Uh…” She fumbled and finally gave Nicole her credit card and driver’s license.  
“I haven't changed that yet,” Millie muttered.
“Not a problem Ms…” Nicole looked at the license, then at Millie. Then she smiled and winked. “Not a problem at all.
“All ordered! It’ll be shipped to you by—“
“OH NO!”
“What’s wrong?”
Millie had gotten so flustered by the ID, that she had totally forgot her 20% coupon!
“Aww… don't worry, Ms. Wong. Let’s just cancel this out and do this one more time. It is Christmas, after all.”

***

As she opened the door into her apartment, Millie heard a curse and clatter from the kitchen.
“Sierra?”
“Oh shit! You’re early!” Sierra was struggling with a hot wok, which was giving off a very uncharacteristic smell.
“Sierra—you’re cooking meat?”
Sierra grunted, and measured ¼ of cooking wine. Before Millie could stop her, she tossed it into what was frying in the wok.  
"SIERRA!" It was too late. The wok exploded with a spray of steam and splatter.
“Don't worry! I got this!” said Sierra, just before she grabbed her arm and stumbled backward.
“Ow! Fucking grease!”

Millie shut off the burner, grabbed a lid and slammed the wok closed.
“What are you doing!?”
“Shit, this stir-frying isn't easy!”
“Never put water into a pan with hot oil!”
“It was wine.”
“SAME THING! Sierra! Did you burn yourself?”
“No. Well, just a little…”
Millie had already soaked a dish towel in cold water, which she placed on Sierra’s arm.
“Here.”
“Thanks, babe… OMG, that feels great.”
“Sierra—why are you cooking meat?”
“It’s ethically raised cruelty-free organic chicken.”
“It’s still meat. And you’re a vegan.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking. A lot. I kind of yelled at you pretty rough after that toaster oven thing. And it’s stupid to have two toaster ovens and two Foreman grills and two of everything in the kitchen.
“So I don't know, maybe we could work something out? I mean, I moved into your studio, and I see you how you’ve been tiptoeing around, keeping your food hidden away for me—and I don't want to do that to you anymore.”
Millie sat down.
“You okay, babe?”
“I just bought you a new toaster oven.”
“What!?!”
“It’s a Cuisinart. And it’s coming in the mail.”
“Dude! Are you serious? What the fuck are we going to do with three toaster ovens?”
Three toaster ovens? Millie didn't know. It was messed up, but it didn't feel messed up. She was confused. Should it feel messed up? Why was it messed up?
And suddenly Sierra was next to her, arm around her, leaning her back, and giving Millie the softest, gentlest, most sweetest kiss she had ever felt.
“You’re fucking amazing, babe,” Sierra whispered. “Have I told you that?”
“Merry Christmas,” Millie whispered back.
“I’m Jewish.”
“I’m Buddhist. Fuck you. Happy Holidays, then.”
“Yeah, that’ll work. Happy Holidays.”
Again Sierra kissed her, and Millie knew right here, right now, where she was, who she was…
That was all she needed to be.


Happy Holidays,  Everyone! 
--XOXOXOXOX RYKA





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"A Holiday, Here and Now" by Ryka Aoki is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.