The Boy Who Wore Boat Shoes

26⎜The Holiday

26⎜The Holiday

           “I feel like this holiday was made for you, Eric Wilson.”

           I studied her face quizzically for a moment, not entirely understanding the assertion she had just made. So, I asked her about it: “How so, Ari Pomegranate?”

           “Well, historical accuracy aside, Thanksgiving is probably the most American holiday after the Fourth of July that I can think of,” Ari began to list off the reasons why the holiday was “made” for me. “There’s apple pie, Americans, football, and a parade. To me, that just embodies Eric Wilson to the utmost degree. Kind of like Scott and Christmas, Kay and Easter, and Houston and New Years.”

           “What are you talking about, Ira?” Scott interjected with a snort. “Why does Houston get New Years? I want New Years! Besides, he’s totally a Fourth of July type of guy.”

           “How?” Ari questioned right back, her face pumped with skepticism.

           “Barbecuing, fireworks, seersucker shorts, bowties, America, and red, white, and blue. How is that not Houston?” Scott voiced his reasoning for linking their other friend to the summer holiday commemorating when the United States of America gained its independence.

           “Fair enough,” Ari complied, “but you’re still Christmas.”

           “Why? I love getting drunk and counting down on New Years. I’m, like, the best partier I know!” Scott then defended his thought-process as to why New Years was to be his holiday.

           “Yeah, but on Christmas you get drunk, there’s snow, Christmas carols, and presents. You love opening up presents and watching Christmas specials more than a six-year-old girl,” Ari pointed out, her argument one I thought to be valid and winning.

           Scott seemed like the type to go crazy during the onslaught of winter holiday explosion. Here though, in California, I wasn’t really sure if Christmas was celebrated the same way it was back home—in New York. We had cold weather. We had leafless trees. We had oodles upon freaking oodles of holiday spirit. Like, there was probably enough to suffice for the rest of the country. Alas, it was only but Thanksgiving, so I had yet to see how this state approached Christmas. Regardless, Scott was clearly a Christmas type of guy.

           “And what about Kay?” I inquired, wanting to know why exactly Ari had paired one of her best friends with the holiday most commonly associated with bunnies, chicks, and spring.

           “You’re kidding, right?” Scott laughed, looking at me as if he actually thought I was joking about what I had just asked. “You have met Kay Rodgers, correct?”

           “Yeah,” I shrugged, not comprehending how that related to anything.

           “Kay is like a walking and talking and breathing Lilly Pulitzer ad,” Scott said with a laugh. “The girl wears pink and green year round, and lives by those two colors. When Easter comes, it’s like she is literally on meth. No joke. Kay Rodgers lives for Easter.”

           I sucked in a breath at the mention of drugs, but didn’t say anything. Making light of drugs with metaphors wasn’t exactly the funniest thing to a recovering addict like myself. It was pure insensitivity and ignorance. Most didn’t know what being on meth was like. I had tried it once. It wasn’t fun. Thankfully, I managed to stop and only stick to pot, but all of it was bad. Some looked at drugs like an unattainable entity that was about as absurd as a unicorn. They thought that drugs were only for lowlifes and criminals. A nice quarterback from a suburb could never touch them. Why would he, anyways?