Sometimes, there are no gifts under the tree.
Sometimes, the real gift is the tree itself…
“My dudes, it’s already February. Are y’all going to help me haul our Christmas tree out to the curb or not?”
“No man, we can’t do that! Look at it–it’s still green as the day we brought it home. We can’t give up on our Miracle Tree now!”
It was indeed February already, and my roommates (and, coincidentally, my fellow physics grad students) and I were trying to come to a consensus about what to do with the Christmas tree we had all pitched in to buy almost 2 months earlier.
“You want my humble opinion?” P.F. Chaz, the least humble1The guy was–and is–a bit of a pompous jackass of the four of us, chimed in. “I think it’s like the Big Lebowski’s rug that got pissed on…”
“You’re right…it really does tie the room together,” one of us concurred. “Nice Cohen Brothers pop-culture reference, there.”
We sat there silently for a few moments, basking in the glory of the Ol’ Tannenbaum that sat in the corner of our living room.
In our heads, we knew that it wouldn’t be kosher to keep it around any longer. Not to mention that we would look like a bunch of asses that didn’t know how to move on with their lives if we attempted to keep the Christmas Spirit on life support any longer.
But if we went through with it, we could sense that it wouldn’t just be our bachelor pad in which its absence would leave a gaping hole. There would be 7-ft Douglas Fir-sized chasm of emptiness in our hearts as well…
“Ladies, ladies! Welcome to our humble abode…”
“Oh. My. Gawd. Becky, look at that tree. It is so big. I can’t believe it’s so round, it’s just like…out there (in the middle of their living room)…it’s just so GREEN.“2If you’re wondering to which stalwart of our pop culture that referred, just click here.
P.F. Chaz & I, on top of everything else, were also in a Bible study together, and the gentlemen of our study were hosting our sister Bible study for a belated non-Valentine’s Day dinner at our place. Now, this would end up being the first fancy meal shared by not one, but two, future husband and wife duos–yours truly included–and this particular scholar maintains that we all owe it to The Tree.
You gotta admit there was a streak of genius to it: the second thing the young ladies saw when they walked in the door that evening was, as “Becky” pointed out, a very much alive and well holiday tree in the living room. And–BOOM!–just like that, they’re spending the rest of the night preoccupied with where the hell we got a live tree in the dead of February, and but…why? Why? WHY?!?
And, just like that, with their guards completely down, they had no defense against any crafty subliminal messaging us potential young suitors might or might not have sent their way…
…
Nah, I’m just messing with ya. It wasn’t some grand Get-A-Wife conspiracy.
It was just a humble Valentine’s Tree, born part out of ingenuity, part out of laziness, and 100% out of candy canes and red streamer…
“Green, purple…and gold, right?”
“Yeah, I think those are the right colors.”
“And beads…we need to put plenty of beads on this thing.”
“Oh, right. I forgot where your grandparents were from. I guess that makes you our expert on the matter.”
‘Twas but mid-March already, and our Miracle Tree just kept on being miraculously green, so what else were we supposed to do? As we snacked on the candy canes that had previously adorned our arborous roommate–because at that point “roommate” was the more appropriate term–we quickly yet carefully decked it out with decorations that were never really meant to go on a tree.
Afterwards, we sat our dining room table, enjoying some Sweet Baby Jesus cake,3Okay, so that’s not the right name for it, but the proper name escapes me at the moment. immensely proud of ourselves for having what was indubitably the one and only Mardi Gras tree in all of Chapel Hill…
“Dang, man, this tree is like some kind of Energizer Easter Bunny: it keeps going and going, right on up until the time on the Hebrew lunar calendar when we glorify ancient forms of capital punishment.”
“Welp, you know what that means!”
“You bet your egg-decorating, grown-ass-man ass, I do!”
*All roommates in unison: “IT’S EASTER TREE TIME!!!”
“Hmpph, that’s a bit ironic though,” one of us mused aloud. “Instead of being raised from the dead, Miracle Tree just seems to never die in the first place…”
“Dudes, oh, my dudes!”
“What? What is it? Oh, no, don’t tell me our basement flooded4For historical accuracy, the event which is alluded to, the flooding of our basement/lower level/my room, didn’t actually happen until about 3 weeks later. again?!?”
“No, no, nothing like that. You’ll never guess what I found at Party City.”
“Oh no you didn’t!”
“Oh, yes. I did.”
“I always thought that their existence was a mere Mexican urban legend. Like the chupacabra…”
“Gentlemen, behold: our very own red chili pepper party lights. Cut your limes and raise your cervecas, pinche cabrons, ’cause we’re gonna drink to what is indubitably the one and only Árbol de Cinco de Mayo in all of Carolina del Norte!”
Editor’s note: The Four Ghost-Faces of Willow Drive wisely chose to forego an attempt to make a “Juneteenth Tree.” Good call, my dudes, good call…
“Welp, it’s just you and me, Miracle Tree. Let freedom ring and what-not.”
I sat in solitude in our–no, my–living room, celebrating my first Independence Day all alone…by talking to a ----- tree.
Remember the basement flooding back in May? Well, that had set off a chain of events led us to collectively realize that it would probably be hazardous to our health to continue living in that place–something about “gray water” or “black mold,” I can’t exactly remember–and I was the last one to find alternate housing.
“I know, I know, Miracle Tree. I miss my dudes, too. But the holidays just aren’t the same without them.”
*rustle rustle rustle*
“What’s that? Yes, you are still somehow green as ever, despite not being watered for the entire month of June. But I just can’t bring myself to do it.”
*gentle weeping like a willow*
“You have been ever faithful my friend. But, alas, you have fulfilled your purpose here on Earth, one of providing a life lesson which I will be able to share with the readers of my popular blog many years from now…”
“…a lesson about not being too quick to throw out your Christmas tree, just because the calendar says January. Or February. Or March, April, May, or June.. Screw what society says–I say follow your heart.”
“Or maybe the lesson is deeper, like something about being adaptable to the ever-changing seasons of life?”
“Hmmm..or perhaps the lesson is actually super-shallow, like how to pick up women with unconventional Feng Shui tactics?”
“No, no, I got it. This is the lesson: no matter the colors, no matter the foods, no matter the arbitrary traditions, what makes celebrating special is celebrating with the proverbial ‘My Dudes’–whoever that special group of people may be–that is what the holidays are all about…”
“Yeah…that sounds profound enough to me. Now, My Dude–because after living with you for 7 months, you, Oh Christmas/Valentine’s/Mardi Gras/Easter/Cinco de Mayo/definitely-not-Juneteenth Tree, you will forever be My Dude in this dude’s heart–let’s go make one last everlasting memory…”
EXT. WILLOW DRIVE – DAY
A lone evergreen tree sits along the curb, waiting to be recycled, its branches quickly browning in the summer heat.
The local garbage man approaches as he makes his usual rounds. The garbage truck’s tires screech as he slams on the brakes when he passes by the tree. He gets out and quizzically scratches his head, unable to fully make sense of what he sees before him.
GARBAGE MAN
“What in the actual f*ck? Have I been in a coma for 5 months? Where am I? When am I?”
A be-ponytailed physics grad student pokes his head out the front door of a nearby home. He has clearly been waiting several hours waiting for the perfect moment to deliver his punchline.
GRAD STUDENT
“It’s ‘Christmas in July,’ mother ----- !”
END SCENE
Content created on: 23/24 December 2021 (Thurs/Fri)
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