I’m surrounded by a bunch of foul-mouthed, ill-mannered hooligans.
Every and any direction I look— crazy, crass, highly inappropriate— mine.
My family. My friends. My Crew with me through everything, good or bad.
For this blessing, often in disguise, I send up a silent, ‘thank you.’
And remain silent, letting them enjoy their laughs and jokes… at my expense, yet costing me nothing… going about my preparation, like the diligent “Leader of the Banshees” I am.
It’s a good thing I’m in the fold… They’d be lost without me.
And even though none of them would ever admit it, they love the little, extra special touches only I add, in just the right amount, to our soirees.
Oh, except Laney. Laney professes her adoration outright. Repeatedly. Somewhat aggressively. Absolutely unashamed to let everyone know that she lives for each and every episode of “Fun with Whitley.”
“Brynndolyn, can you please come help me, sweetie?”
“Um, sure? You are talking to me, right?” she asks.
“Who else would I be talking to?”
“No disrespect, but… whoever this Brynndolyn person is? I guess I assumed, being my aunt for twenty years, that you knew my name’s Brynn. That’s it, just Brynn. Not short for anything.”
“Ah, sweetpea, I’m just feelin’ all fancy and it popped out. I’m sorry.” I lean over and kiss the top of her precious head. “Ignore me. Your name’s perfect, as are you.”
“You’re pretty perfect yourself, and I was only teasin’ ya. No big deal; promise.”
“I think I may just be silly with excitement. Wait ‘til you see why! Hold these and I’ll… unveil our snow bodies!” I can hardly stand it. “You have to really guard them, Brynn, or they’ll disappear into the peanut gallery. It’s why I didn’t just set them down myself.”
With great, appreciated effort not to laugh, she takes the essential, lighted directional tools—not to be confused with mere toys—from me. “I’ll die with them in my hands, Aunt Whit. You can count on me.”
“That’s the spirit! And”—I rip the cover sheets off my masterpieces—“viola!”
Unaware we had anyone’s attention, what with all their sarcastic banter and laughter, I spin around to see why Bennett just loudly exhaled.
“Shew.” Her relief’s somewhat lacking the enthralled amazement I was expecting. “Not where I thought she was headed with that. So happy to be wrong. I knew better, I did, but not gonna lie… ‘Unveil the snow bodies’ was a li’l too ominous for me. Anybody else see actual bodies, cleverly hidden in the snow, flash before their eyes when she said it? I mean, not unthinkable. You know Whit, always trying to up her game; had me worried for a sec.”
“Really?”
“No, Whitley, not even close to really,” she snorts. “I’d put my money on Mother Teresa being a stone-cold assassin before I’d place a penny on your ‘Happiest of All the Fairies in the Forest’ ass.”
“Plus, there’s no snow outside.”
“Yes, that too. Thank you, Sawyer,” Ben nips, rolling her eyes. “Had there been snow… you know what, never mind.”
“Yeah, I’d give it up too. The whole ‘no snow’ thing’s not working with ya.”
“Again, thank you, Sawyer.”
“You’re w-”
“Alrighty, who’s ready to play?” I interrupt, grabbing the essential, lighted directorial tools from Brynn and proceeding to… direct. “Men, please group yourselves in that area.” I indicate exactly where I mean with the helpful light source in my right hand. “Ladies, over there.” This time, with my left hand, making things crystal clear. Once I’ve gone over the rules, I’ll join the girls and Brynn will come around to blindfold everyone, so get your bearings while you can. She’ll also be the one to announce when a team’s won and the game’s over. Only then may you remove your blindfolds. Got it?”
“Sorry, but no. Aunt Whit, you asked me to hold your, uh, gadgets. Lost on all the rest.”
“So is everyone else, sweet girl. So is everyone else. Don’t worry, just yell ‘winner’ after my turn; doing whatever the hell it is she’s gonna make me do.” Zach has to chime in; it’s inherent—Brynn’s biggest fan.
Laney, however, must feed her inner-warrior. Or outer, as is the case with her. “If everyone will zip it, I’ll bet Whit’s gonna explain.” Also, betting—she does a lot of that too—everything worth a wager. “And quit shining that damn light in my eyes. Saber down, Darth!”
Oh, for Pete’s sake… I checked, specifically, to ensure they were optically safe… knowing I’d need to pin someone back in place with a direct beam to the eyes. I move it out of hers, but do not put it down. Instead, reeling off exactly how the game’s played, with the help of my handy-dandy pointers. “Any questions?” I ask when finished, immediately sorry I did.
Chaos ensues… too many talking at once.
Except Brynn, who gives me a sympathetic smile and pats my shoulder, before sticking two fingers in her mouth to belt out one heck of a whistle, easily gaining the goons’ attention. “This isn’t rocket science, people. In fact, seem to recall playing something eerily similar to this… when I was seven. It was called ‘Pin the Tail on the Donkey.’ Now that I’ve put the impossible into perspective for ya, listen up. Whit has a bucket. Draw from it. Whatever you get are the parts that you’re in charge of placing on your team’s snowman, as close to their proper place as possible. When you’re done, run back and tag your teammate next in line, and so on, until everyone’s had their turn. Then, we’ll see which team got closest. If you still don’t understand, raise your hand, and I’ll go find the cat to play for you.”
“When’d y’all get a cat?” Sawyer hones in on the important part.
“We didn’t. Just a stray hangin’ around that we… help out. Kinda like you,” Dane groans.
While they backtrack, again, I grab the two buckets, handing one to Laney, the other to Evan. “Pull out an envelope and dump it in your hand. Those are your pieces to place. Okay, Brynny, we’ll need our blindfolds. Make sure they’re on tight.”
“Hurry up and show me what ya got.” Sawyer appoints himself Captain… as does Laney… who I’m listening to with one ear, using the other to eavesdrop on the enemy. “We’ve got that piss-poor prize of the ten-second head start, so whoever’s going first, no pussy footin’ with your hand out, feeling your way and shit. Full-speed ahead! When your face meets the wall, stop, slap the sac on the snowman and get your ass back here. You know what, I’ll go first. Show you ladies how it’s done. We’re not losing another fucking game to the women. I refuse.”
“These aren’t his sac, dumbass. They’re two eyes.” Evan actually has to clarify. “All your bitchin’ about my wife being in charge, you really think she’d make his balls a piece of the puzzle? Pull your head out. And once you get it pulled out, go back and rethink your ‘show us ladies how it’s done’ plan. We’ll be blindfolded. Ain’t showin’ us shit.”
“It pains me, truly, to interrupt such a prophetic debate, but I need you to squat down so I can blindfold you, Uncle Saw. Oh, and by the way, the paper carrot in your hand… it’s his nose.” Brynn clears up the no-doubt next issue on the docket... before it becomes an issue.
“Brynny,” Zach growls, in disapproval of the “Brynn’s still, and always will be, an innocent five-year-old angel” bubble he lives in threatening to burst.
“I’m sorry, but you know, he didn’t know until I just told him. A lot more appropriately than he would have asked.”
“Good point.”
I have got to get my own apartment.
And therapy.
The electroshock kind.
‘Cause you can’t unsee this— the whole gaggle, now blindfolded, bumping into each other, talking over one another, and holding what appears to be the aftermath of a snowman massacre in their hands.
And because there’s tape on the back of the pieces of carnage, yes, Uncle Evan’s “two eyes are made out of coal”—not to be confused with Frosty’s sac—have somehow become stuck to Uncle Saw’s forehead.
And the game hasn’t even started yet.
Cryin’ shame we already took our Christmas card photo. I mean, who wouldn’t want a snapshot of this hanging on their fridge?
All’s not lost, however. For I am videoing every stellar second… my motives in doing so as pure as the driven snow, which, we’ve established, there is none of outside.
I’m capturing “The Crew Christmas Special”—I’ll let the viewers define “special”—because I need proof. Since no one in their right mind, or my siblings and cousins, (the only ones I’d ever tell; I like to keep “our crazy” our own little secret), will ever believe this actually happened without hard evidence.
Eight, for-the-most-part-sober, willing, non-institutionalized adults… bumbling around a living room, sticking sacish-lookin’ eyes to each other’s foreheads, while dressed like colorblind rejects.
On purpose.
And again… game hasn’t even started yet.
Oh yeah… we’re making memories here, people.
“You guys ready?” I ask, trying to hold my phone still for optimal footage, amidst the shakes of my laughter. “On your mark, get set, go!”
And they’re off.
For a whole five, exhilarating, action-packed seconds… before the first of what will definitely be many catastrophes strikes.
My mother—a public figure in the community, currently sporting a sweater that showcases a reindeer’s ass pooping out Christmas-colored fuzzy balls— is obviously more familiar with the layout of furniture, so she easily hurdles the coffee table. Yep, hurdles.
Poor Uncle Saw doesn’t fare so well though… plowing right into, on top of, and through it. “Who moved the goddamn table?” he roars, over the ruckus that is everything once atop said table now smashing to the floor. “That’s cheating!”
“What broke? I definitely heard shit break. Dammit, Beckett, you’re the Captain! Way to start us off, you clumsy bastard. Brynn, What. Broke?” my dad yells.
“That’d be, um, everything, Daddy.”
“Of course it did. This. This is why we can’t have nice things!”