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It is Christmas.
I do not know what that means. Sol has told me it is a holiday. I understand what a holiday is. I do not understand why they are.
Sol has invited me to her place, on Christmas.
No, the day after Christmas. He had swallowed hard and told me he had plans on Christmas. He didn’t tell me about his plans. Sometimes he doesn’t. I don’t mind.
So, today it is Christmas, by Sol’s reckoning. I have to trust that she is correct in this matter, because I do not own a calendar. I don’t care for things like that.
What I know about Christmas is limited. Sol told me that people gave gifts to their friends on Christmas. It was to celebrate the birthday of some dead guy, although Sol said he wasn’t even born on that day. There were trees, and mistletoe, and reindeer, and green and red. And the Grinch. Sol did not explain what a Grinch is. From what I gather, it is some kind of monster that hates Christmas, and tries to kill people for celebrating.
Sol expects me to bring a gift, I imagine. That is why he told me about the gift-giving tradition. I do not know what kind of gift Sol would like.
These are the things I tell my snails. They have many ideas about Christmas and gifts that they share with me.
Get Sol a large basket of fruit, like you bring us, but all to herself!
This is a good idea, if Sol was a snail. I inform the snail as such. It is very pleased with itself. However, Sol is not a snail.
Get Sol a large leaf in the sun to enjoy!
I do not think Sol would fit on a leaf. The snail asks me how big Sol is. I tell it that he is as big as me. The snail marvels at this information.
Get Sol a particularly tasty cucumber!
I consider this for a moment. This is a good idea. I tell the snail that I will get Sol a cucumber. That seems like a good gift.
Get Sol a friend! We always like when you bring us friends.
Sol already has friends, I tell the snail. I do not know if Sol wants more. I would have to ask.
Get Sol something for his guitar. Doesn’t he have one of those?
I look at my snail. She peers up at me from under her favorite leaf. She nudges my hand and asks for something to eat. I give her a cucumber that I have already cut up for the snails. “What do guitars need?” I ask. The snail doesn’t know. She is like this, sometimes. She does not always remember where her sentences were going. That is okay.
I wonder what guitars need. I think about guitars. I do not think, that once a guitar is built, it needs anything in particular.
I pick up my golden snail and move through the garden, feeding snails and telling them about Christmas.
Reindeer? They get a holiday to themselves? And what do snails get! My snails are quite indignant. I agree with them.
“The day after can be a snail holiday,” I tell them. It is not quite true, I think. There are rules to holidays, from what I can tell, and not anyone can make a holiday. But I will tell my snails such nonetheless. They have very small brains and lives, and can be content with making up their own holidays to enjoy in the snail garden.
I pace the garden until it is time to leave. I set down my golden snail. She looks at me, and I feel the warmth from her. Sometimes, she has the most to say, but she often talks the least. “I have tasks to do,” I tell her. She understands. She always did.
I walk through the forest, and I consider Christmas. I do my tasks, and I consider Christmas. I come back home, and I consider Christmas.
-
When I wake the next day, I have my gifts prepared. When Sol was showing me Christmas presents, they were wrapped in paper. I do not have that sort of thing on hand. I try to tie a bow around the handle of my basket. My hands feel awkward and clumsy today. I struggle with the bow.
I give up. A knot will have to do.
I take the basket with me, and I warp to Sol’s house. Sol can hear me do this, I believe. I try not to warp so close to Sol’s house, anymore. I think it hurts him. I do not like hurting Sol.
I walk to Sol’s porch, and she is standing there, waiting for me. She smiles and invites me in.
His house is decorated, in red and green. I find the colors strange together. There is a tree in his living room, and underneath, there is a box. Sol sets something on the table, and tells me to sit.
“It’s just leftovers, uh, from yesterday, but hopefully it’ll taste good!”
I look at the food.
“What it is?” I ask.
“Uh, ham?” Sol says. “It’s, like, traditional, or whatever, but it’s not all I made. There’s other stuff that’s less traditional. This is just… What I have the most of left over. There’s a casserole, though, and…” Sol trails off, opening containers and setting some in her box that heat things up.
“I don’t eat ham,” I say.
“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I have other stuff. Potatoes, uh… there’s a little bit of turkey, and some cookies. There was supposed to be a bit of cake, but Morgan ate all of it.”
“Potatoes are good,” I say. I don’t eat turkey, either.
I sit at the table.
Sol dishes up mashed potatoes for me. I eat it. It tastes fine. Sol eats some of the other foods, as well. It is a quiet meal. Sol offers me some cookies, and I take them. They are nice.
After we eat, Sol pulls me over to the living room, to sit next to the tree. I look curiously at it. It is decorated with small plastic objects. They mostly mean nothing to me.
“Oh, oh, I nearly forgot,” Sol said. “Here!” He hands me a small plastic object, shaped like a snail.
I stare at it, in my hands. I don’t know what Sol wants me to do with it.
“What is it?” I finally say.
“It’s a snail ornament. It— They go on the tree. You can put it on my tree, if you want. Or you can just keep it and put it in your house somewhere.”
I look back at Sol’s tree. I stand, and I look over the ornaments. There is a guitar ornament, hanging next to an ornament shaped like a cog. I place my snail ornament next to the guitar, on the opposite side of the cog. It falls.
Sol laughs, and then picks it up and shows me how to place it on the tree. My hands do not do the precise motions well, but I manage to hang it up next to the guitar. Sol smiles at me. I think that I have done something right, maybe.
“Okay, okay, time for your present.”
“Oh. I have a present for you, also.”
“Really?” Sol brightens. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Isn’t that the point of Christmas?”
“I mean, the point is mostly to hang out with the people you love. But gifts, also, yeah.”
I consider his words.
Sol picks up the box under the tree and then hands it to me. “Here you are!”
It is a heavy box. I open it. Inside is a statue carved of stone, shaped like a snail.
“For your snail garden!” she says, smiling.
“I see,” I say. I turn it over in my hands, looking at it. “It is missing the tentacles on its head.”
“Is that a problem?” Sol asks.
I look at the statue. It is large in my hands, larger than any snail I have seen. Most likely, it is larger than any real snail in the world. Therefore, it must not intended to be realistic.
“No,” I say.
“Okay. Good! Do you like it?”
“Yes.”
“Good!” Sol leans back. “I’m glad.”
I pick up my basket for Sol and hand it to him. “Ooh! Thank you, Hayte!” he says.
I point at the items in the basket. “There are apples. For eating.”
“What kind?” she asks, picking one up and biting into it.
“Honey crisp.”
Sol makes a humming noise and takes another bite.
“There is an ivy from my garden, potted there.” I point at the small plant that I had wrapped carefully around the basket handle. “It will grow big leaves eventually. It likes the sun, and something to climb on.”
Sol carefully pulls the ivy out, making sure not to rip the vines. “Oh, it’s so pretty,” she says.
I point at the next thing. “There is a cucumber,” I say.
Sol smiles and takes it out. “A cucumber?” he repeats.
I nod. “It should be tasty. I grew it in my garden.”
“Thank you, Hayte.”
Sol keeps saying that. I wonder if I should have said it about the statue he gave me.
“This is a snail. It wanted to meet you, and be your friend. You don’t have to keep it, if you have no place to put it.”
“Oh, cutie!” Sol takes the snail from me, and then sets it on what is left of his apple.
“And,” I say, pointing at the last thing. “A set of guitar strings.”
Sol picks up the pack. “Did you… go to a store and buy these?” he asks.
“No.”
“Where did you get them, then?” Sol asks, flipping the pack over and looking at the back.
“I got them.”
Sol looks at me strangely, but then laughs. “Thank you, Hayte. Really.”
“Do you like the gifts?” I ask.
“Very much!” Sol says, and she grabs my hand. “Thank you.”
I can feel Sol’s pulse in her hand, and I observe that for a moment, curious. “Do you love me?” I ask.
Sol startles. “What?”
“You said that Christmas is for hanging out with people you love. But you are hanging out with me.”
Sol tilts her head. “I—” Sol swallows hard, and then he looks away. “I do love you, Hayte.”
“Oh.”
Sol rubs my hand with her thumb for a moment, staring at the floor.
“Thank you,” I say.
Sol blinks and look up.
“For inviting me to Christmas, with you.” I look at the tree, at my snail ornament next to Sol’s guitar ornament.
Then Sol’s face is next to mine quite suddenly, and his lips touch my cheek.
I pause, and then look at Sol.
Her face is flushed, but she smiles. “Merry Christmas, Hayte,” Sol says.
I consider his words for a moment. “Merry Christmas, Sol.”