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Dec. 25th, 2007 07:38 pmMonday, December 24, 2007
1121 Morrison Ave
Bronx, NY
Among those who celebrate Christmas in the New York City area, the custom of Christmas lights is observed in many ways. There are houses whose inhabitants set up a few token lights around one window and no more, or perhaps an ersatz candle in each window for some token of festivity. There are those who deck out all of their windows. There are those who favor the household vegetation as well. Those who are of similar spirit but dwell in apartments will often turn to their fire escapes for similar expansiveness. But there are those who stand in a class all their own, who compete against one another for the adulation of the masses. Their neighbors curse their names, both for the traffic and for the lack of sleep brought on by the light and sound left running well into the night. Their houses draw gawpers and spectators from all five boroughs and northern New Jersey.
One such house, in one New York, was home to Catherine and Alan Haff, and to their sons; and of those two boys, the elder was peering out the one part bay window that afforded him some small glimpse of the afternoon light-streaked street beyond the decorations. "Alex?" called his mother from the kitchen. Supper had long since been finished and cleaned up; she was squeezing the last few bits of dough out of her cookie gun. "Are you all right over there?"
"'m fine, Mom," said Alex, his tone distracted.
"Are there already people out there? You shouldn't be staring."
Alex fidgeted a little, but anything he said was lost over the whine of the gun's motor.
"Alex?"
"I said no, mom. But I think one of the snowmen's leaking. It looks all smooshy."
"Oh. Well, if there's no one out there yet, go and unplug the compressor, would you?"
"Okay, Mom," said Alex, and darted for the coat rack. Catherine shrugged and reached for the bowl of maraschino cherry halves.
The snow that had been promised for three days was only beginning to drift down as Alex trudged out to the curb. As he followed the electric cord from the seriously smooshy snowman back to the junction box his father had installed back at Thanksgiving, a movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. He put down the cord and looked up. It was a man, one who had the look of someone trying not to be seen, but with the sheer number of lights on every single piece of property, there was really no way for that to happen. And given that he was wearing all black, and looking at the lights through a pair of black sunglasses...
"I can see you, mister," Alex called.
The furtive figure froze.
"Come on, mister. I know you're there."
"That might not be the safest thing to say to a stranger on a New York City street, kid," answered the figure quietly, but by then Alex had come around to a different angle and gotten a better look.
"Oh," said Alex. "It's you, isn't it?"
The man blinked back at him, expression a little tired, but more than a little surprised. "I don't know what you mean," he said.
"You were here last year," said Alex. "I remember. And the year before, when I was five. I saw you."
"You get hundreds of visitors every year," the man answered, adjusting his long, tasseled black scarf a little. "Every day of the Christmas season, in fact. You're bound to get some repeat visitors sooner or later."
Alex shrugged. "I remember you, though." he said.
"Why's that?"
"You look like my mom," Alex answered simply. "A lot."
The man was silent for a while.
"Anyway," said Alex, "I should go back inside. Mom probably wants me to help with the cookies."
"Yeah," said the man. "Yeah. You do that, Alex."
Alex nodded, and turned towards the house. Halfway there something occurred to him. He turned around to ask the man how he knew his name, but there was no one there at all.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
1121 Morrison Ave
Bronx, NY
"MOOOOOOM!" cried Joey, the sound muffled a little by the detritus of wrapping paper and opened cardboard boxes all around. "No FAIR!"
Catherine rubbed her temples with both hands and counted to five before answering, "What's not fair?"
"Alex isn't letting me see what he got in his stocking last! I wanna see! I wanna-"
"No! They're mine! I don't have to!"
"Oy," Catherine muttered. "Alex, what did Santa bring you now?"
"Nothin'! Just a pair of sunglasses."
I don't remember buying him sunglasses, Catherine thought, but it flickered through her brain and was gone. "Joey, they're your brother's. Leave him alone. He can show you later- right, Alex?"
"BUT I WANNA-"
"LATER, Joey," Catherine snapped. "Play with your own toys, now."
Joey pouted, but obeyed. Catherine sagged in her chair. Alan had wisely retreated to the bedroom for a supplemental nap long before. So there was nobody there to notice much when Alex got up and padded over to the window in his footie pajamas and slid the sunglasses on long enough to wave to the Man in Black on the other side of the street.
1121 Morrison Ave
Bronx, NY
Among those who celebrate Christmas in the New York City area, the custom of Christmas lights is observed in many ways. There are houses whose inhabitants set up a few token lights around one window and no more, or perhaps an ersatz candle in each window for some token of festivity. There are those who deck out all of their windows. There are those who favor the household vegetation as well. Those who are of similar spirit but dwell in apartments will often turn to their fire escapes for similar expansiveness. But there are those who stand in a class all their own, who compete against one another for the adulation of the masses. Their neighbors curse their names, both for the traffic and for the lack of sleep brought on by the light and sound left running well into the night. Their houses draw gawpers and spectators from all five boroughs and northern New Jersey.
One such house, in one New York, was home to Catherine and Alan Haff, and to their sons; and of those two boys, the elder was peering out the one part bay window that afforded him some small glimpse of the afternoon light-streaked street beyond the decorations. "Alex?" called his mother from the kitchen. Supper had long since been finished and cleaned up; she was squeezing the last few bits of dough out of her cookie gun. "Are you all right over there?"
"'m fine, Mom," said Alex, his tone distracted.
"Are there already people out there? You shouldn't be staring."
Alex fidgeted a little, but anything he said was lost over the whine of the gun's motor.
"Alex?"
"I said no, mom. But I think one of the snowmen's leaking. It looks all smooshy."
"Oh. Well, if there's no one out there yet, go and unplug the compressor, would you?"
"Okay, Mom," said Alex, and darted for the coat rack. Catherine shrugged and reached for the bowl of maraschino cherry halves.
The snow that had been promised for three days was only beginning to drift down as Alex trudged out to the curb. As he followed the electric cord from the seriously smooshy snowman back to the junction box his father had installed back at Thanksgiving, a movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. He put down the cord and looked up. It was a man, one who had the look of someone trying not to be seen, but with the sheer number of lights on every single piece of property, there was really no way for that to happen. And given that he was wearing all black, and looking at the lights through a pair of black sunglasses...
"I can see you, mister," Alex called.
The furtive figure froze.
"Come on, mister. I know you're there."
"That might not be the safest thing to say to a stranger on a New York City street, kid," answered the figure quietly, but by then Alex had come around to a different angle and gotten a better look.
"Oh," said Alex. "It's you, isn't it?"
The man blinked back at him, expression a little tired, but more than a little surprised. "I don't know what you mean," he said.
"You were here last year," said Alex. "I remember. And the year before, when I was five. I saw you."
"You get hundreds of visitors every year," the man answered, adjusting his long, tasseled black scarf a little. "Every day of the Christmas season, in fact. You're bound to get some repeat visitors sooner or later."
Alex shrugged. "I remember you, though." he said.
"Why's that?"
"You look like my mom," Alex answered simply. "A lot."
The man was silent for a while.
"Anyway," said Alex, "I should go back inside. Mom probably wants me to help with the cookies."
"Yeah," said the man. "Yeah. You do that, Alex."
Alex nodded, and turned towards the house. Halfway there something occurred to him. He turned around to ask the man how he knew his name, but there was no one there at all.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
1121 Morrison Ave
Bronx, NY
"MOOOOOOM!" cried Joey, the sound muffled a little by the detritus of wrapping paper and opened cardboard boxes all around. "No FAIR!"
Catherine rubbed her temples with both hands and counted to five before answering, "What's not fair?"
"Alex isn't letting me see what he got in his stocking last! I wanna see! I wanna-"
"No! They're mine! I don't have to!"
"Oy," Catherine muttered. "Alex, what did Santa bring you now?"
"Nothin'! Just a pair of sunglasses."
I don't remember buying him sunglasses, Catherine thought, but it flickered through her brain and was gone. "Joey, they're your brother's. Leave him alone. He can show you later- right, Alex?"
"BUT I WANNA-"
"LATER, Joey," Catherine snapped. "Play with your own toys, now."
Joey pouted, but obeyed. Catherine sagged in her chair. Alan had wisely retreated to the bedroom for a supplemental nap long before. So there was nobody there to notice much when Alex got up and padded over to the window in his footie pajamas and slid the sunglasses on long enough to wave to the Man in Black on the other side of the street.
