Sanford Crow

CHAPTER 9

The record player hissed as the needle laid into the groove. Nat King Cole bellowed out through the speakers. When Sanford heard his voice, it surely felt like Christmas again. Sanford was wrapped up in his red and green flannel robe. He wore it annually, only on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. Each year he would grow a little taller and the sleeves would inch a little more up his arms. This year was no different; his spastic growth had made him look oafish. But he wore it anyway; he was a creature of habit after all, and tradition was the hardest habit to break.

Jonathan wore a green turtleneck sweater and swayed to the music as he diced onions. Tears filled his eyes. He stared out of the kitchen window, seemingly lost in the winds full of swirling snow. It was the rain in the forecast that had the town worried. Ice could encase the power lines, possibly sending them into the dark ages for Christmas.

"Sanford? How about you check the oven, see if the thermometer popped up on the turkey," Grace said, swinging hip to hip with Jonathan.

"It popped! It popped!" Sanford shouted, his mouth was watering from the sight of it. His appetite had been nonexistent the past few months, but on Christmas Eve it came rushing back. Everything around him had settled; he felt like he could eat for days and sleep for years. The nightmare was finally over.

They crowded around the table. The aroma of holiday decadence filled the air. The turkey gleamed in the tray. Green beans, mashed potatoes, and stuffing with gravy. A pecan pie sat cooling on the kitchen counter; the steam, constantly rising from it. Sanford watched his father sharpen the knife. He sipped his apple cider, savoring the tart taste. His whole body tingled in that moment. It was Christmas and everything felt right.

Jonathan stood at the head of the table and carved the turkey. The knife slid through the meat like butter. His eyes as voracious as his appetite. He stood tall, poised like a butcher.

They feasted, joyfully talked and laughed. Jonathan told stories of hearing the reindeer prancing on his roof as a child, and the footsteps of Santa Clause as he waddled towards the chimney. He gave Sanford a wink so Eric wouldn't see.

"But even if you do hear him tonight, or any bump or sound that you think could be him, you can't get up and check. Because if you see Santa, he'll know, and he won't leave you one single present. It's all part of his magic. So make sure you go to bed early tonight!"

"You kiddin'?" Eric said. "I'll go to bed now if I get more presents!"

They all laughed.

After dinner, they sat in the living room, where the fireplace was lit. Sanford felt the heat radiating on his face as he lay on his stomach. He rolled over next to the tree and put his head underneath it, staring into the vast green pines, illuminated by the multicolored lights bouncing like the Aurora Borealis across a clear night's sky.

Grace walked in, gingerly holding two glasses of wine. She handed one to Jonathan, who had Eric nestled in his lap. Her hand ran across the back of his shoulders and she planted a kiss on his lips.

Sanford looked back at his father and saw the fire reflecting off his horn-rimmed glasses. It danced in them, and even though Sanford was warm from the fire, he somehow felt a chill pulsating through his body. His father's face was expressionless as he began to whistle. Then he transitioned to singing: "Silent night... Holy night..."

Outside the wind wailed, as if it were trying to sing along with him. They could hear the ice against the house; the snow had changed to sharp freezing bullets. It seemed like at any minute the windows would shatter and the ice would fill the living room, freezing them where they sat.

"Are we all right in here, Jon?" Grace asked.

He didn't respond. Instead, he kept on singing.

"All is calm... All is bright."

"Jon?"

Eric was asleep in his lap. His father's arm lay stiffly on the chair, while his other one carelessly held the wine glass. Grace gave up trying to talk to him; it was a trance she seemed familiar with.

Regardless of what his father had told him, something in the back of Sanford's mind wouldn't let him relax fully, and couldn't help but feel his Christmas joy slowly slip away.

The sky lit up with vibrant flashes, followed by what sounded like a cannon. The bay window flashed with bright blue.

The power went out as if a chord was pulled. The only source of light in the room was the fire.

"All is calm... All is bright." Jonathan now talked instead of sang.

"Jon, the transformers blew. The power went out," Grace said, concerned.

He ignored her. His eyes were glued to the fireplace. Eric stirred restlessly in his lap.

"Jon? Did you hear me?"

His fingernails dug into the arm of the chair.

"Jon?"

"Yes Grace, I know, goddammit!" he said, erupting out of his trance. "The radio said power outages were guaranteed. We're just gonna have to suffer Christmas in the dark."

"Suffer?" Sanford asked.

"I meant celebrate," he responded, with a hint of sarcasm.

He moved in front of Sanford, above the fire. He stood still as the fire swayed, causing his shadow to move without him, almost as if it wasn't a part of him at all. For the first time since that morning, Sanford once again was afraid.