Sort of Deadly

7 - Christmas Cheer, Coast Is Clear

I did tell you things got worse after, didn’t I? Pay attention. Be a good listener and be patient. Rule Number 1.

I nodded and smiled at Niffy, feeling more than a little sorry for her and culpable for myself.

Later I would get to know that hers was an inborn, congenital disease. Some sort of permanent inflammation in her larynx. She could manage a good belly-laugh, but not a throat-chuckle. As for speaking, there was a slim chance she’d be able to pull that off in her lifetime.

Es, meanwhile, had started singing her own parody-version of ‘Jingle Bells,’ which we had taught to her last week. The corn on her chin danced and gyrated like it were Michael Jackson. Now, I’m not into music myself, but I’d put her song somewhere between rap and soul music. Doesn’t make much sense, does it?

Well, neither did her song.

Marra joined her after awhile – the flop Broadway duo strikes again – caroling impromptu words of his own. It went something like:

'Santa, Santa, Claus, Claus
Climbing our chimneys, crawling with moss;

Plump, chubby Santa, bringing all sods a gift
Jolly old Claus, and his swift, swift, swift reindeers in a rift . . .’

I have to say, it’s not the worst rhyme ever. Grudgingly I admitted to myself that he was improving. Even Pops, who is usually as passive as capacitors or inductors are in an electric circuit, was happily snapping his fingers in synchronization. But with chowder all over my dress and Aar drooling over that Niffy's red-brown gown, I wasn’t exactly feeling too hot (that’s a figure of speech, of course I was feeling hot, there was soup on me!).

Marra stood up on his chair, an Olaf snowman in his hands, singing louder than ever. Full-on festive mode. I gotta say, some humane part of me was incredibly warmed at seeing him so happy, so normal. But chiefly I was feeling annoyed.

Momma put a Christmas hat on top of See's head, who started growling and tapping his paws in tune with the melody. I imagined him with his girly voice, going 'Goo-gaa white-beard man like snow ball goo I bark baa-boo,' but that definitively didn’t help lift my mood.

‘First we have Dasher, fastest of them all
Then we have Dancer, fluffy as a ball;

Santa adores Donder, sleepy and with flair
He tries his best to keep his open sleigh flying through the winter air . . .’

With my left ear I was listening to this; with my right I was listening to Aar, who had dragged his chair abutting Niffy, and was asking her in his best Jack Nicholson’s Joker voice if she had “ever danced with the Devil in the pale moonlight?”

Her response to everything he did or said was a smile. And dang it if her smile wasn’t charming.

I rolled my eyes, got up, grabbed a slice of pancetta pie, and left for my room, telling Momma I was 'feeling a little green around the gills'. It wasn’t completely false, either.

The coast was clear for me to leave. I muttered a half-hearted 'Bye, everyone' before I left. Not that anybody cared. Es uttered a cheerful, sprightly ‘Hehe.’ Aar was animatedly chirping with the girl he had taken such a liking to in a negligible amount of time. It took Adam so long to give in to Eve – learn something from him, you duffer. But he seemed to be enjoying learning sign language with Niffy (honestly, I’d love to learn sign language, too, but I wasn’t in the correct frame of mind), while Mar and See were occupied with their singing and dancing respectively, and Momma and Pops were having an immersive experience watching them.

I bet you ten bucks they were wishing they had children like these, sunny and full of life, not a nerdy killjoy like me.

As I shut the bedroom door behind me, I could still hear Marra trilling on with his verses.

‘We have Donner and Blitzen, and Comet and Cupid
We have Rudolph, who is red-nosed, feeling somewhat stupid;

He feels out of place, and his heart is aflame
What is his aim, my, what is his aim . . .’

how was the chapter? (´∩｡• ᵕ •｡∩')

*frantic flip-the-page dance*