Trash Family Christmas


I remember sitting at the table for
supper, telling my mother and step-father
about a girl I’d met who had diamonds
in her eyes and tattoos on her body. “Oh,
and her ears have gauges, which means there are holes
in both of those fleshy things that only grow
longer with age. What are they called?” My parents…
They are what they are, are they not? They’re ear lobes.
I just now remembered. Isn’t it funny
how the brain works? Anyway, when I said that
Steve, my stepfather, made the most wicked face
and flashed his hands at me in an odd fashion.
This was weird, because he always preached manners
and fairness, yet never practiced what he spoke
of when he was hanging off his crucifix
and I was fed up. “Fuck you, Steve. Come at me,
bro,” I’d yelled, rising to my feet from my place
at the table across from Mom when he’d said,
“You won’t bring some freak in this house.” … “Erm, ok.
I won’t visit. Ever. Fuck you, asshole.” And
then exit, stage left/stage right. Even, Steven.
That’s what I should have done. Instead I pointed
my right index finger at his chest and made
direct eye-contact with his pitch black pupils,
then I growled, “I am not a kid anymore.
I will kick your motherfucking ass, old man.”
He just glared right back at me. Neither of us
so much as twitched until Mom started crying
and the whole scene turned into some kind of white…


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