My Christmas Story--

I lost my little wallet at the craft fair. I cried.

A teacher leaned down and asked me what was in it. Paper money, I said.

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By the time I was in college I drank my wallet thin and kept my daggers sharp for Karen. She was my roommate, but not a friend. I peeked toward the back steps when I thought the house was falling. In her grip was a huge slab.

Look! she said. Yanking the thing past the front door's crooked shadows I saw a mossy, worn, engraved stone drop at her feet.

A headstone! she said.

I was only 18. I had never called anyone an asshole before, so I said, Karen, that's really bad. Really, really bad.

But a day later in the bar she treated it like a fairy tale and I smiled at her story. It was just a smile, and hardly hit my lips before it crawled off my face. I turned to John next to me. He had an old man's burnt wisdom toward life, and was always stoned. Laughing, he told Karen she was just so out there, I mean, who does that! I mean, it seems so wrong…

He had dimples, blond hair, and smooth white teeth. I did not care that Karen had stolen my seat when I left for the ladies room, but when I came back and found her shoulder-to-shoulder next to John, it made her even shittier. Oh Karen, your ass is a little heavy for those sandals, and you are just so out there, I mean, who does that!

Did she wrap the stone for Christmas that year? I reached for my small leather wallet with its zipper top and could not find it. I had five bucks of paper money inside and I wanted another beer.

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