Write a nonfiction story of a Christmas when things weren’t as they always had been. Perhaps it was the first Christmas since a loved one passed, the first Christmas since the divorce of your parents, or maybe it was the first time you celebrated Christmas. Take the above option, and apply it to your real life.
Stupid reindeer. They're all over the place, breeding on the yards like glowing hamsters, gazing at us with the faces they lack. We're driving around Dubuque with a bag of grapes in our frozen hands, looking for something to do tonight, December 24th. I remember sunny afternoons back in Colombia in my paternal grandparents' house, cold nights at my maternal grandparents'. Relatives all around, playing the guitar, eating buñuelos and natilla. Christmas is the paradigm of family reunion. But this year that's happening somewhere else on the surface of the planet, and now it's just us, the car, the grapes, Dubuque.
Minori drives around the streets while I gaze through the window. Beyond the reindeer, inside the houses, hundreds of families have gathered to enjoy their feast.
I've never fully adapted to this place. I came here feeling a total stranger, and I'm sure I will leave as such. The frozen river seems like a lulling comfort for a stranded heart, even though the sad gray it's washed in is the same gray in the sky, on the street, under the trees. Everyone must be aware that the world has withered, for a new species has emerged to make up for the lost life. Red, yellow, green lights take the shape of slender furry animals and dominate the hills like ridiculously fierce captains. The car keeps going, we're tourists in a silent safari, and the excitement of danger has become a silly idea in a land where movement has been relegated to a lonely vehicle.
Our fingers are numb, and the grapes we're holding don't resemble Christmas dinner, not even remotely. It's difficult for Minori to understand why tears stream down my face: he comes from a country where December 24th is little more than a night to eat cake and fried chicken. Nobody is going to rescue me from solitude. But sinking inside it, wrapped in layers of silence, won't help either.
"They're all together, and I'm stuck here with a bunch of grapes. Stupid reindeer... They protect them from us, they protect happiness from leaking into us."
"I know nothing about that. If you want to be happy tonight, you will. We'll celebrate at my place."
"Even with nothing more than a bunch of grapes?"
Electric reindeer, gazing at us through a thousand burning eyes, melt into flashes passing by as a car rushes down a highway, by the river, right into the promise of pure bliss. Cake, fried chicken, natilla, grapes, it doesn't matter. Being together with the people you care for, that's all it takes to enjoy an unforgettable Christmas.
